The Silent Mental Load Mothers Carry (That No One Talks About)

I became a mother already carrying scars. Two depressive episodes in my teenage years and regular anxiety episodes which left deeper marks than my C section . So when I stepped into motherhood, I thought I was prepared for the sleepless nights, the crying, the diapers, the chaos. What I wasn’t prepared for was the silence inside myself. The one where the person you used to be disappears, and you don’t recognize the one who’s left.

Really now, why is nobody giving you a brief training about this? 

Nobody tells you how the first two years of motherhood can define you. Not just your child. You. They literally shape the wiring of your brain, your hormones, your sense of identity. And most of us don’t treat those years like the critical window they are. We squeeze the baby into our old life. We try to keep up with work, with friends, with being a partner, with “who we were before.” We tell ourselves nothing has changed, but everything has. And when I say we, I mean me….or maybe you as well. You’ll see if that’s the case as you continue reading this...

I used to believe I was just tired. Just hungry. Just hormonal. But looking back, I see the truth: I was drowning. I didn’t call it postpartum depression because I’ve been depressed before and it didn’t feel like that this time. And to not mention that for me that word sounded made-up. Dramatic. Weak. And I did not wanted to feel weak or to victimize myself. But inside, it felt like hell. It felt like losing myself, my identity, my purpose, everything that made me me.

And now if I think back, that’s the ugliest part, that on the outside, you can look fine. I sure did. Put on makeup, post a smiling photo, get back into your jeans. And the world claps. “You’re doing amazing.” But your body doesn’t recover just because it looks okay. Your nervous system doesn’t reset just because you pushed through.

For me the hardest part of motherhood wasn’t the diapers or the mental checklist that never shuts off by the way: meals, vaccines, doctor appointments, school, birthday presents, laundry, playdates etc.
It’s being the default human for every single need in the house.

For the first two, three, even four years, the child doesn’t just want care. They want you.
Not dad. Not grandma. You. 

You become the safe body, the predictable smell, the voice that calms. And tell me if that doesn’t sound beautiful on paper. It does, doesn’t it? Until you’re in the middle of it…. Until you can’t shower without a toddler screaming at the bathroom door. Until you can’t eat a meal without little hands climbing on you. Until your brain can’t string together a thought because “mommy, mommy, mommy” never stops.

You see dear mother, this is the silent load you and I are both carrying:

•  Always being on call, even when you’re bone-tired.
•  Anticipating meltdowns before they happen.
•  Holding the emotional temperature of the house.
•  Switching between baby cries, toddler tantrums, and husband expectations without a pause.

And don’t get me started with the guilt of leaving for work or the guilt of staying home…

And to make it harder than it is, we don’t share it, so from the outside, you look fine. You post smiling pictures, you host family dinners, you go back to work and even have time to give a hand when a friend needs. So nobody sees that you can’t remember the last time you had an uninterrupted thought. Nobody sees that you carry everyone’s needs before your own. (and then wonder why you feel empty - silly you).

I’ve been there too. I’ve looked at my husband and wished he could see what was happening inside me. Wished he could see the woman who wasn’t lazy, unmotivated, or cold, but broken, exhausted, and desperate to feel human again. And he didn’t. And how could he, when it took me 4 years to see it myself…

But what I did not knew back then it’s that when your need for validation, rest, and recognition goes unmet, your nervous system doesn’t shrug and say “oh well.” It goes into survival.

•  You breathe shallow.
•  You sleep light.
•  Your blood pressure rises.
•  Your reactions become sharper, defensive, disproportionate.

This is stress, but not the classic one. Not the kind you can point to. This is quiet stress. The one that burrows into your bones. The one that makes you sick, erodes your joy, and whispers: “You’ll never be good enough.”

Ohh but of course I’ve met “strong women” as well,  telling themselves they’re fine. That this is what all mothers do. That exhaustion is normal, it’s the receipt of a productive day. That losing yourself is the price of love.

But it’s that true? I found out it’s not.

You see, for many mothers, the realization comes years later, two, four, five, sometimes never. You look back and wonder why you were so angry, so numb, so disconnected. Why you felt like you were failing every single day even though you were giving everything you had. And sometimes you realize… it wasn’t you. It was your fried nervous system, your hormones unbalanced, your soul begging for air. It was your brain trying to survive a storm while you pretended the sky was clear. 

I write this not just as a brain coach. I write it as a mother who almost lost herself. So I don’t come to this knowledge from books alone. I come to it from the nights I cried myself to sleep. From the days I felt like a stranger in my own skin. From the shame of feeling broken when everyone told me to be grateful.

I understand it differently today. I know how the nervous system rewires. I know how stress hormones hijack your life. I know why identity feels like it’s shattering. And I help women not just survive those years, but adapt, to rewrite their schedule, to adjust expectations, to make space for healing and thriving.

If you’re a mother and you feel overwhelmed, empty, or invisible, you are not failing. You are carrying a load that is silent but crushing. And pretending it’s not there doesn’t make it disappear.

It’s time we stop telling mothers to “bounce back.”
It’s time we start telling them: Your brain, your body, your heart - they need care too. Not just your baby.
Because motherhood is not supposed to be about drowning quietly. It’s supposed to be about building a life where you and your child both get to grow.

Explore THE STRESS ILLUSION - MOMS'S EDITION , and find your way back to you!