Tiny hands big changes

They said it was time. But I wasn’t ready. Not yet. Not like this. I had counted the weeks like stepping stones— dreamed of making it to the end, of crossing that finish line with swollen feet and a full heart. I wanted the last kicks. The last stretch. The waiting. The wondering. The story where my body decides when it’s time. But instead— monitors. Numbers. The word induction said with calm voices while my own heart raced. I nodded, signed the forms, swallowed the fear and did what I had to do. But later— when the room was quiet and the baby was here and the world said, “You should be happy”— I grieved. Not because he wasn’t perfect. He was. Not because I wasn’t grateful. I was. But because it wasn’t what I pictured. Because I didn’t get the ending I’d written in my head a hundred times. I missed the last stretch of the journey. I missed feeling ready. I missed that final swell of waiting that so many others seem to get. And that’s the part no one tells you: That even when everything...

Postpartum OCD isn’t something people warn you about. They tell you about baby blues, postpartum depression, the exhaustion, the sleepless nights. But no one really talks about the kind of thoughts that claw their way into your head and make you afraid of yourself. For me, postpartum OCD looks like this: I’ll be holding my baby and suddenly my brain flashes the most horrifying image — something happening to him, something unthinkable. Not because I want it, but because my mind won’t stop playing cruel, unwanted movies. It looks like checking his breathing over and over. It looks like washing my hands until they’re raw because I’m terrified of germs. It looks like avoiding certain situations because my brain convinces me I might somehow cause harm. Here’s the truth: these are intrusive thoughts, and they’re the hallmark of postpartum OCD. They’re not wishes, they’re not hidden desires, they’re not signs that I’m a bad mom. They’re mental noise — intrusive, repetitive, terrifying noise. ...

Today feels heavy. The kind of heavy that sits on your chest and makes it hard to breathe. I woke up already tired, like I’d been fighting a battle all night in my sleep. And honestly, I think I was. Some days I can fake it—smile, laugh, get through the motions of work, parenting, conversations. But today my depression is louder than all of that. It tells me I’m not enough, that I’m failing, that the people I love deserve better. And even though deep down I know those thoughts aren’t the truth, today they feel so convincing. I hate these days because they make me feel weak, but admitting them out loud is a strength I’m trying to lean into. Because this is what depression looks like. It isn’t always crying on the bathroom floor (though sometimes it is). More often, it’s exhaustion. It’s irritability. It’s staring at the wall because even simple tasks feel like mountains. It’s guilt for not being the parent, partner, or friend I want to be. Today my depression is winning—but that doesn’t...

Becoming a parent changes everything. And for me, those changes didn’t just stop at diapers and sleepless nights — they came in the form of postpartum OCD, anxiety, and depression. I never expected that loving my baby would feel so complicated. The thoughts that raced through my mind, the constant worry, the small rituals I felt I had to do just to feel safe — it was exhausting. Some days, I felt completely out of control; other days, I couldn’t stop questioning if I was “doing it right.” I started this blog, Tiny Hands Big Changes, because I want to share the reality of postpartum mental health. I want other parents to know: if you feel anxious, scared, or overwhelmed after birth, you are not alone. These experiences don’t make you a bad parent — they make you human. Here, I’ll share: My personal struggles and victories Raw poems that describe my postpartum journey Honest reflections on the emotional rollercoaster of parenthood This is a space for truth, for community, and for support...