'I'm a psychologist who treats psychosis. When I experienced it myself, I didn't see it coming.'

I've treated psychosis for over a decade as a clinical psychologist. After the birth of my first child, I developed psychosis myself — and I didn't see it coming.

I remember when the nurse gave me the standard discharge talk after my daughter was born. When she got to the part about watching out for the baby blues and any mood changes, I smiled confidently and said: "Don't worry, I'm a psychologist." 

We both laughed. 

I mean, who better to spot mental illness than someone who treats it professionally?

My moment of clarity finally came eight months after giving birth. I was sitting across from the sixth psychiatrist I'd seen, in my fourth inpatient facility. 

The diagnosis I'd been given, 'postnatal depression,' had been bouncing off my brain like food off a non-stick pan but this time, it finally stuck.

'You are suffering from a major depressive episode in the postpartum period, it's a severe episode with psychotic features,' he said matter-of-factly, notepad in hand, trainee doctor by his side.

I froze. "Psychosis! What do you mean?"

"Your beliefs about your perceived parenting mistakes have taken on a delusional intensity, they have completely taken over your life," the psychiatrist said. "What you are experiencing are called delusions of guilt."

Left alone in my room, I grappled with the diagnosis.

 Psychosis? Had I experienced a loss of contact with reality? 

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'I was a textbook example.'

I knew psychosis inside out — everything except what it felt like firsthand. I'd spent years documenting 'lack of insight' in other people's files, a clinical term for not recognising your own illness. 

Now I was the textbook example.

The descent had come quickly after my daughter's birth. I had prepared myself for sleep deprivation, for baby blues, for the adjustment period — but I hadn't prepared for postnatal depression, even though the onset of a mental illness is the most common complication of pregnancy and childbirth, according to research. 

I had no idea how common perinatal mental illness actually is — one in five women are affected. 

When we are pregnant, we focus on the birth, the baby shower and how the baby's room should be decorated. Not the possibility of being diagnosed with a mental illness for the first time. 

In fact, it seems somewhat taboo to talk about this possibility until after the birth — leaving new parents remarkably unprepared when something happens.

First came the insomnia — nights spent wide awake while my baby slept soundly. 

Then the internal agitation that felt like I had ants crawling under my skin as I paced the house day and night. I began to mentally catalogue all my perceived failings as a mother before I eventually circled on one. 

'I was completely consumed.'

I became completely consumed by the belief that putting my baby on a sleep routine had somehow caused my life to unravel, that this one decision proved I was fundamentally unfit to be a mother. 

I was so consumed by this belief it took on a life of its own, I made sure I told everyone who entered my orbit about my life-altering error, this innocuous parenting decision became all I could think about and speak about.

Despite being told by a psychiatrist early on that I had 'a classic case' of postnatal depression, I simply couldn't accept it or recognise it in myself.

The irony was crushing. How could I, with all my training and expertise, miss the signs in myself that I'd spotted so easily in others? The perfect mother I had imagined myself becoming was dissolving before my eyes, replaced by someone I didn't recognise — someone who, despite all her knowledge, couldn't even correctly diagnose herself.

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My professional knowledge didn't just fail to help me — it actively blinded me. I kept thinking I could solve it myself. I could dictate my treatment path. I knew what was needed.

I didn't.

From expert to patient.

After attempting and failing multiple treatments, as though I was trapped in a maze with no exit, I reached a crisis point and landed in a public psychiatric ward — the very system where I'd dedicated most of my career. 

I went from writing notes about others to having notes written about me. From recommending treatments to receiving them. 

From being the expert to being the patient.

My recovery ultimately came through electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) — a treatment I'd seen work wonders for others. Although this is unfortunately a highly stigmatised treatment, it can be life-saving when used in the right circumstances and I know that it was life-saving for me. 

While ECT kickstarted my recovery, my improved mental state opened the door to re-connecting with my daughter and loved ones, engaging in psychological therapy and continuing psychiatric care for a number of months. 

I made a full recovery and went on to have another child. I believe I am now stronger and more self-aware than I was before I became unwell. 

My experience taught me that the line between clinician and patient is razor-thin. The very knowledge I'd accumulated to help others created a dangerous blind spot when it came to helping myself. 

None of us — not even mental health professionals — are immune. When we are struggling, we need someone else to see us, because we can no longer see ourselves clearly. 

In a field where we still rarely speak openly about our own mental health struggles, this silence reinforces the very stigma we work to dismantle. How can we expect our patients to feel comfortable discussing their psychosis when we ourselves are afraid to admit we've experienced it too? 

Even though all experiences of mental ill health are stigmatised, some have become more commonplace to share with others — psychosis remains one of the most misunderstood.

The myth of perfect motherhood.

The most important lesson I can offer other mothers is this: the myth of perfect motherhood is dangerous. It sets us up for a profound sense of failure when reality inevitably differs from our expectations. 

This gap between expectation and reality found its foothold in me and I struggled to come to terms with the fact I wasn't getting motherhood 'right.' 

Perhaps Donald Winnicott said it best back in 1953 when he said, there is no such thing as the perfect mother, just the 'good enough' mother. That's my new mantra.

If you're struggling, please know this: asking for help isn't a parenting failure — it's a parenting success. 

You're breaking down the stigma that stops people from getting the help that might save their life, and you're setting that example for your child from the earliest age.

If you're based in Australia and are an expecting parent, new parent, or support person looking for safe, caring, and confidential space to talk, the PANDA National Helpline is available on:1300 726 306 Monday to Friday, 9am - 7.30pm Saturday, 9am – 4pm (AEST/AEDT). PANDA is not a crisis service, 24-hour support is available through Lifeline on 13 11 14 or beyondblue on 1300 22 4636.

You can find Dr Julia Nicholls on Instagram and her website.

Feature Image: Supplied.

More stories like this:

• "Like a drunken nightmare." I spent 108 days in hospital with postpartum psychosis.

• 'Docs said I had every single symptom of postnatal depression. My misdiagnosis almost killed me.'

• 'I didn't feel depressed after giving birth. Instead I felt anger towards my husband and baby.'