Postpartum depression is something many of us moms are all too familiar with. Some women are fortunate enough to experience it only in short bursts, but I genuinely believe all mothers encounter it in some form—whether it's a fleeting moment of sadness, persistent feelings of emptiness, or a numbing fog that lingers for years after childbirth. It’s a quiet battle, one often fought alone, in silence.

When my daughter was two years old, I took a long-overdue trip to a bookstore. I was so excited to finally pick up a novel I had been wanting to read for three years. I remember holding it in my hands—it was beautiful, crisp, and smelled like new pages and possibilities. It felt like reconnecting with a part of myself that I had long buried under diapers, sleepless nights, and toddler tantrums.

I read thirty pages and never picked it up again.

I tried. I really did. I even bought more books afterward, convincing myself that maybe it was just that one. Maybe I needed a different genre or something lighter. But no matter how hard I tried, I never made it beyond those first few chapters. The books would sit unopened on my nightstand, mocking me quietly.

If you’re a mom, you probably already know why. But honestly, you don’t have to be a parent to understand that life can become too busy, too overwhelming. Self-care becomes a selective luxury—something you have to fight tooth and nail for. And at that point in my life, I had no fight left in me.

Two years and another child later, I decided to try something different. I downloaded Audible on a whim and used my free credit on a random book I had never heard of. I didn’t want the pressure of comparing voices to ones I had imagined in my head or judging the performance. I just needed something new—something with no expectations.

And that decision? It was one of the best I made that entire year.

The book was The Lost Apothecary by Sarah Penner, narrated by Lorna Bennett, Lauren Anthony, and Lauren Irwin. The story, the characters, the setting—it all pulled me in within minutes. I found myself completely immersed in the world of a secret apothecary in Blackfriars, London, discovering herbs, poisons, and the powerful women connected to them.

I listened while I cleaned the kitchen and made my son’s lunch. I found my earbuds and kept listening as I rocked him to sleep. I kept it playing while I folded laundry, vacuumed, prepped meals—the chores that usually left me numb, bitter, or worse—stuck in my own spiraling thoughts. The ones that told me I was failing, that I wasn’t enough, that I didn’t recognize myself anymore. On the worst days, I’d find myself fantasizing about hitting my head on the wall just a little harder than usual, ok a lot harder, not because I wanted to hurt myself, but because I needed something to break the numbness. 

But not that day.

That day, I was in another world. I wasn’t a mom drowning in domestic monotony—I was an adventurer, a detective, a confidante. And that night, for the first time in what felt like years, I showered because I wanted to. I moisturized. I read stories to my kids not out of obligation, but with real joy.

It was weird. And it was beautiful.

My daughter was five. My son was 20 months. I had been surviving under the heavy blanket of postpartum depression for nearly two years. I had tried everything to shake it. I even enrolled in online college courses, thinking that achieving something would help lift the fog. And it did—briefly. But eventually, that too became just another responsibility, another pressure. I was spiraling, and my inability to ask for help wasn’t making anything easier.

The truth is, none of us really know what to look for. I wasn’t the woman I was before motherhood, but I didn’t recognize the woman I had become either. I felt like a ghost in my own life.

Thankfully, I have the most amazing husband. He never pushed, never judged, but always checked in. He gave me space when I needed it, stood beside me in silence when words were too heavy. And when I found audiobooks, he saw the shift in me. It wasn’t dramatic at first, but it was real. The little spark in my eyes, the calmness in my tone—he noticed.

The Lost Apothecary wasn’t a particularly heavy or complicated read, but it was exactly what I needed. It was about women finding strength, grieving, reclaiming themselves. And it was delivered to me in a format that I could actually consume while juggling my chaotic life.

Audiobooks became my lifeline. They gave me access to joy, to escape, to hope—during times when I didn’t have the energy to hold a book or even process words on a page. I consumed story after story, each one helping me feel more alive and more me again. Whether it was fantasy, historical fiction, memoirs, or thrillers, each book offered something that I had been missing: connection.

And slowly, piece by piece, I began to heal.

Conclusion

I won’t pretend audiobooks cured my depression. Healing is never that simple. But they did save my life in the sense that they pulled me back from the edge. They offered me a safe place to rest my mind, gave me a way to reconnect with a part of myself I thought I had lost forever. They helped me find joy again in the small things—in my children’s laughter, in quiet moments with my husband, in simply being present.

If you’re reading this and any part of it resonates, please know you're not alone. You don’t have to suffer in silence. If you feel yourself slipping, ask for help. Talk to your partner, a friend, a doctor—anyone. The darkness can be overwhelming, but there are ways out. Sometimes that way out begins with something as simple as hitting “play” on a story that takes you somewhere else—just long enough to remember who you are.

And if you can’t remember yet, that’s okay. Sometimes, remembering takes time.

Let audiobooks or whatever form of storytelling works for you, carry you until you’re strong enough to walk on your own again. They did it for me—and they might just do it for you, too.

~The Fantasy Mom

If You Need Help Now

You are not alone. If you are in crisis or feeling hopeless, please reach out:

National Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (U.S.): Dial 988

Free, confidential support 24/7 for anyone in distress.

Postpartum Support International (PSI): 1-800-944-4773 (4PPD)

Text “HELLO” to 800-944-4773 for English or “HOLA” for Spanish.

SAMHSA National Helpline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357)

Free and confidential treatment referral and information, 24/7.

No shame. No judgment. Just help. Please don’t wait. You matter, and there is hope.