Feeling Numb

Nappies, ABC Beyonce book

After Gracie was born, I expected that instant, overwhelming love everyone talks about and that you see on Instagram. I did love my baby, fiercely, but inside I felt strangely numb. My life slipped into survival mode: feed, change, sleep (if I could), repeat, almost like a robot.

Instead of the “new baby bubble” I’d seen influencers talk so blissfully about, I felt dissociated, like I was watching myself from the outside. I was holding two truths at once: I adored my child, while at the same time I was feeling so lost and disconnected. It reminded me of being homesick at boarding school, longing for a “home” I couldn’t get back to.

One night, listening to Beyoncé’s Just for Fun. It’s a song I’d heard a million times before (shout-out to the Queen!), but the line: “I just need to get through this… I just need to get through it or just get used to it” resonated so strongly in me. It helped me to put words to the fog of my postpartum depression.

Getting my Pink Back

Books, body spray, Swiftie bracelets

I first came across the phrase “getting your pink back” on TikTok. How very Gen Z. As soon as I heard it, something clicked. For me, “pink” is the colour coming back into my life after everything had gone grey, which is how it felt with postpartum depression.

It’s joy returning in lots of little tiny ways: like just going to the shop with my gorgeous, healthy baby girl, getting a coffee, stopping to noticing the flowers, enjoying slow days instead of just trying to get through them. It is finding joy in the mundane again, feeling vibrant and alive.

Pink is girlhood, friendship, Barbie, Beyoncé, Taylor Swift - all the soft, fun, “too much” parts of myself I’d lost touch with while I was just trying to survive. I’m not just surviving motherhood anymore; I’ve become a brighter, fuller version of myself. A version of myself I never thought I’d see. I’m better than I was before because now I’ve got the bonus of a gorgeous family and a community of women supporting me. I wish I could tell that other version of Charlotte that it’s all going to ok.

It’s going to be... pink!

Kidney Failure...0/10...Would Not Recommend

Mocktail, face mask

A few years ago, before I got pregnant with Gracie, I got through a really awful time. In true Swiftie style, this was my sick era.

The thing about kidney failure is that at first it didn’t look or feel like kidney failure. It felt like a strange flu. I was vomiting, freezing cold, had a constant funny taste in my mouth, an aching back, and a bone‑deep tiredness so heavy that it meant I could nap in the day and still sleep all night. I even thought I might be pregnant. Plot twist: instead, I was told I had renal failure.

Life around me kept going. It had to. My partner and I were about to move house, so Tyler packed everything alone while my mum travelled up almost daily, exhausted but determined to care for me and help out as much as she good. The illness didn’t just hit my body; it pulled my whole family into crisis and began one of the most challenging parts of my story. Personally... would not recommend.

Recovery Is No Joke

Sudocrem, pill box, cornwall map

By the time my kidneys were stabilising, everyone, including myself, expected me to feel better. In all honesty, the recovery part was the worst bit of the whole ordeal.

The steroids that helped save my life, were also changing my body fast. My face and stomach bloated with water, my body felt so unfamiliar, and after a life time of clear skin, I developed severe steroid acne, which hit my confidence really hard. None of my clothes were fitting, and when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t even recognise myself.

I started avoiding social events and work meetings. I just couldn’t bare it. I was hiding from cameras on the rare occasions when I was out and I hid from people.

The actual kidney failure part of things almost passed in a blur; it was in recovery, staring at this new body and trying to process what had happened, that it really hit me.

I felt mutilated.

Surprise!

Miniature bottle of wine, application form and performance text book

By the time my kidneys had stabilised and the “recovery” period was almost behind me, I was desperate to just start feeling normal, like myself again. Once I was fully back on my feet, I started enjoying life again.

I was on a work trip. I was drinking wine and having a time, feeling like maybe, finally, my body was mine again. After months of illness, steroids and not recognising myself in the mirror, feeling well came with a quiet, fragile kind of joy and relief.

It was while on this trip that I found out I was pregnant. I can tell you, it landed like a beautiful shock. We had been trying, so it was definitely planned and a wanted surprise, but because of everything my body had been through, I truly didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.

I felt a mix of excitement, disbelief and fear: amazed that my body could carry new life after all it had been through, and I was a little scared .

Odd One Out to Yellowbelly

Lincolnshire flag, Scotland flag, family picture

My dad has been in the RAF for nearly forty years, so I grew up as a military child, moving often and spending part of my childhood at a military boarding school in Scotland.

That upbringing made me resilient and practical. Moving around and then being away from my parents taught me early that life doesn’t stop because you’re struggling. When I was desperately homesick, my mum’s would lovingly remind me to stand on my own feet, make decisions and look for what I needed instead of waiting to be rescued. I learned how to arrive somewhere new, feel out of place, and find a way to settle.

Lincoln is where all of that finally turned into home. It’s where I moved out, from under my parents’ care. It’s where I met Tyler, built my career in HR, and chose to stay. After years of never quite fitting in, building a life here, with my partner, my daughter and my friendship “village”, means I finally know how it feels to belong.

I’m Not Broken

Glow stick, light bulb, water bottle, stickers

I first started to suspect I had ADHD in the most Gen Z way possible: TikTok. Late at night, I found videos of women talking about things that felt uncomfortably familiar: re-watching the same TV shows on repeat, struggling with household tasks, impulsive spending - I once had a whole phase of obsessively buying celebrity perfumes.

I’d spent years thinking I was just weird, the odd one out in friendship groups.

Getting an adult diagnosis in 2022, and starting medication, was a genuine ‘aha’ moment. Suddenly, so many things made sense. There was nothing ‘wrong’ with me; my brain just worked differently.

ADHD doesn’t just explain my struggles, it also explains some of my strengths. I’m dedicated, hard-working, passionate, brilliant with people, and I thrive in HR. The diagnosis gave me self-acceptance: language for my ‘ADHD-isms,’ permission to use tools like lists and notes, and the confidence to say, “This is how I learn and work best.”

It helped me see that I’m not broken... I’m just me.

Long-term Lovin’

Pictures, football trophy

I’ve been with Tyler since I was 16, sitting my GCSEs. We met through Instagram with a liked photo here and another one there, and somehow we just… clicked. We’ve grown up together: from teenagers messaging on Facebook to a family with a baby.

We are complete opposites. I’m 5'2", chatty, sociable, the one who loves people and pushes us out of our comfort zone. He’s 6'4", quieter, more reserved, happy to stay in.

Our love isn’t grand gestures; it’s sharing a chocolate bar on a Saturday night, pulling an Irish exit from nights out because we’d rather be at home together, and supporting each other when things get hard.

This past few years has tested us a lot: serious illness, a baby, postpartum depression, but we have always found our way back to each other. Gracie’s first year is coming up soon and it has felt like a joint achievement: not just her birthday, but a quiet celebration that we did it. Our love is solid and true, and that’s exactly what I want Gracie to see.

Notes From the Trenches

Book, teddy bear

During the darkest part of my postpartum depression, I started writing notes on my phone. Little sentences, half-thoughts, things I couldn’t say out loud. Some of them were about the urge to run away because I didn’t feel good enough or worthy, about feeling like I’d failed, about wondering if I would ever feel like myself again.

For a long time, I couldn’t bear to read them. When I finally did, they made me want to hug that version of me - the Charlotte who was so exhausted and scared, just trying to survive each day. The Charlotte who had lost her ‘pink’.

I’m sharing some of those thoughts here, because I want other mothers to know that sometimes you have to dig deep when no-one is coming to save you. But also, there are people who can support you. If you’ve had thoughts that frighten you, it doesn’t make you a bad mum. It makes you a mum who needs help and support and who deserves compassion, especially from herself.

My Pink Era... a love letter to my girls!

Pottery plate, Christmas reindeer boppers, cardigan

When I think about getting my pink back, I don’t just think about myself. I think about my girls. We met in an antenatal class in a beige training room, partners looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. None of us knew back then that we were about to become each other’s village.

They’ve become my sisters. We message every day. We do nights out where we get to be girls again, not just mums. When one is ill, someone offers to take the baby so she can rest. Their children feel like my nieces and nephews; I would ride for all of them.

After a childhood of moving, of boarding school and feeling like the odd one out, I finally feel like I fit. These women helped pull me through postpartum depression and into my pink era: a life with colour, joy, girlhood, Barbie energy and friendship.

This card is my love letter to them. This museum might be about me and Gracie, but I’m also doing this to say thank you to my girls: you helped save me, you are my home. I love watching Gracie grow up inside the village we’ve all built together.