Working through it: Birth trauma, anxiety and the NICU

When you find out that your baby needs to go to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), your world shifts in an instant. Whether it’s a decision made before birth or an unexpected situation afterward, nothing quite prepares you for the onslaught of emotions that follows. For many parents, it brings a mix of fear, sadness, guilt, helplessness, grief and more, all at once. It’s an experience that takes a toll on your mental health long after being discharged from the NICU and seeps into other areas of life, including the workplace. I’ve been there myself, and I know firsthand the struggles of balancing perinatal mental health challenges with the expectations of parenthood and work.

In this post, I’m sharing my personal experience, the impact it had on my professional life, and what workplaces can do to better support expecting and new parents who may go through a NICU stay.

My experience: The toll of perinatal mental health problems.

In 2016 I graduated as a Clinical Psychologist and in 2019 I became a NICU parent after having my baby prematurely at 31 weeks. We found ourselves plunged into an environment of alarms, monitors, tubes, wires, and uncertainty. It was a traumatic time, and my mental health was impacted as a result. It wasn’t something I recognised straight away, but over time I noticed the impact that having experienced birth trauma and neonatal care had on my mental health.

I developed postnatal anxiety (PPA) and was experiencing some trauma symptoms too. The experience of having my baby early, in the NICU, coupled with the constant fear for their wellbeing, left me feeling disconnected and scared. The anxiety was all-consuming, manifesting as a constant need to check on my baby, to be in control. I struggled to sleep and had fears of worst-case scenarios, intrusive thoughts and an overwhelming sense of guilt for not being able to protect my baby from this difficult start in life.

My road to recovery was difficult, I was willing and wanting to find support, but it just did not seem to be available. I was told that the waiting lists were long and that I probably wouldn’t meet the criteria. I continued to try but was rejected from all NHS support, I just didn’t fit the box they had created. It was then lockdown and I started to do what every other person did at that time, I turned to the internet and to other parents feeling similar to me. I found a community online and developed a close connection with another mum, Georgie. We realised the lack of support that was available for NICU parents, that no one was really talking about this emotional impact, yet we knew that we and so many other parents were feeling it too. So, we started an Instagram page called @miraclemoonuk where we started talking about the impact of our time in the NICU, from a professional and personal perspective.

I eventually sought my own therapy privately and started to process my experience. Alongside this, I decided that I did not want to return to employed work as a Clincial Psychologist, it would take me away from my child too much and I wanted to be more available. I had already missed so much, I didn’t want to miss more. So, I took the leap into becoming a private Clinical Psychologist, first working as an associate, before eventually starting to see other people who had been through birth trauma and NICU experiences when I felt ready to do so. What truly helped was connecting with other NICU parents who got it, I found so much power and healing in the community we had created. I also found solace in focusing on my physical wellbeing; I joined a Crossfit gym and found a love for lifting weights. Slowly, I started to find myself again.

The impact of perinatal mental health on work.

The mental health challenges I faced as a NICU parent didn’t stay confined to my personal life; they inevitably spilled over into my work, as I have touched on above. As a Clinical Psychologist, I had been trained to support others, but I found myself struggling to extend that same compassion to myself. Returning to work after such a traumatic experience was daunting, too daunting. I felt a fear about leaving my baby, I didn’t want to enter a space where I had to “put on a face”. My priorities and values had shifted and, suddenly, my employed work didn’t feel like it aligned with what I wanted out of life.

It became clear that my experiences had fundamentally changed the way I approached my work. I was often consumed by worry, not just about my baby’s health, but also about whether I was going to be able to work to the same standard as I had previously. The anxiety and hyper-vigilance that had become a part of my daily life didn’t just disappear when I walked into the workplace on my first keeping in touch (KIT) day. It felt like my body was on fire, telling me to get out. I found myself avoiding conversations about my experiences, feeling that admitting to struggling could be seen as a sign of weakness or a lack of professionalism. I know I would not say the same to other people, but those thoughts felt strong in my mind.

The support I received from understanding colleagues made a significant difference. Being able to have open and honest conversations about what I was experiencing helped me feel less isolated. We had a discussion about what returning to work could look like for me, but I ultimately made the decision to have a change in career and move into working privately and eventually for myself. Having a workplace and a boss who supported me in my decision making, understanding my perspective and the impact on my mental health helped with my recovery.