Big Little Feelings: We Need to Talk About Maternal Mental Health—Before It’s Too Late

A new study of almost 200,000 women proves that moms are not okay.

May 30, 2025

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With a global community of over 3.5 million, parenting courses that have helped more than half a million families, and the hit After Bedtime podcast, Big Little Feelings’ Deena Margolin and Kristin Gallant are the de facto architects of healthy parenting in the digital age. In this raw and urgent essay—on the heels of Maternal Mental Health Month—Deena and Kristin confront the unsustainable realities mothers face today and call for a cultural reckoning.

Earlier this week, a damning new study was published in JAMA Internal Medicine: Over a recent seven-year period, the mental health of mothers dropped steeply. In 2016, when the survey of upwards of 200,000 women began, one in 20 mothers reported her mental health as “poor” or “fair.” By 2023, that number shot up to one in 12. We are in a crisis.

As parenting coaches, these staggering numbers are not surprising to us at all. Even those of us who are fortunate—the definition of privileged—are drowning. (Though we would be remiss to ignore that “mental and physical health status was significantly lower for single female parents, those with lower educational attainment, and those with publicly insured children,” as reported in the study.) It is the exception to the rule if your head is above water. But it does not have to be this way.

For a long time, motherhood has been an invisible labor. We grew up with the idea that girls can do anything, but it didn’t set us up for success. We shouldn’t have to do everything. And we can’t—no one can. In fact, we are the first generation to be managing children, a home, a partner, and an ambitious career. On top of that, doing it all is supposed to look easy and flawless, and if it doesn't, it means you’re failing.

At the same time, there are no structures in place to help mothers thrive. There’s no federally mandated paid leave. In most major US cities, childcare for two kids costs more than rent. So we’re expecting mothers to look great, feel great, get their bodies back, be happy, put a smile on, work really hard, and do it all with absolutely no support.

We can’t do it anymore. We need help. Real help. And while the biggest and most effective changes here would come from legislation, there are ways mothers can keep tabs on our own mental health—by having raw conversations with yourself, and in community with each other.

Here is where it can start.

Acknowledge that motherhood does not equal martyrdom.

Many of us saw our moms drive themselves ragged into the ground. That was the norm: Our model was pure burnout—not someone who puts their needs first, or someone who asks their partner or grandma or neighbor when they cannot shoulder it alone. Instead, we start off motherhood with years of resentment. (Years…and years…and years of it.) We need to flip that coin and say, This is not enough. We need to not take on what our own moms automatically did—which was everything, but begrudgingly. It starts with that.

Pushing back on the expectations of what you—as one person—can handle can be an uncomfortable feeling for those of us who grew up as little girls that were told to just make everybody else happy: Don’t be too loud. Don’t impose yourself. You can’t do that. It’s an uncomfortable thing for us all to start to say, What do I need?

You might have to inconvenience somebody in order to get what you need, but it’s going to make you a better mom, wife, or partner, whatever it may be. Ask and demand it.

Start off on the right foot by planning your support system from birth, if you can.

I—Deena—was blindsided by my first postpartum experience. No matter how you give birth, the recovery process is brutal those first few weeks. If we aren’t setting up parents to at least recover from that, how are they ever supposed to get their footing?

Because we don't have systems in place to support postpartum families at a societal level, I’ve had to put so much thought, precaution, and creativity into my postpartum periods—and now, pregnant with my third child, I’m doing the same again. If you’re pregnant, can you and your loved ones create systems to get through postpartum a little bit better? For my family, that means saving up money and having my mom come stay with us for a while once the baby is here. It’s also meant figuring out how to juggle my husband’s job, because he works in an industry where, although they offer some leave, nonbirthing parents aren’t exactly encouraged to use it.

Leave the house.

Not forever. Not even for a day. Just go for an hour. It can be scary and uncomfortable, especially if you’re a new parent. You might think your partner is incompetent; you might wonder whether everything actually will be okay.

But funny enough, you leaving the house is exactly what everyone needs. It is how they figure it out: how your partner understands all the challenges you are holding day to day and what you actually go through. And then they have to find solutions. The beautiful part is that your partner or coparent will end up realizing how capable they actually are—and then you both can do more (you, out of the house; them, in the house). Your kid will bond in a special way with that parent, and everyone’s trust will blossom over time. It’s a beautiful thing.

Be a safe space for another mom who needs it.

All parents need a nonjudgmental place where they can show up exactly as they are. Let other moms sit, cry, or say nothing when they’re with you—whatever they need. Shame thrives in our untold stories and suffering, and the moment it’s met with empathy, safety, and connection is the moment that healing begins. Not sure what to say? Try this: You don’t have to be okay with me. You can be exactly as you are, and we will get through this together.

Another key part of this? Build a group of friends where you can share your struggles and successes—when you go to each other’s houses, they’re all a mess. Those are the special friendships—where you can share your messes and your wins.

Don’t bend until you break: Get the mental health support you need.

Let’s talk about the elephant in the room: antidepressants. We were taught to white-knuckle through life, and if you can’t overcome something, then you’re not trying hard enough. That is, simply put, a lie. Sometimes medication is the last puzzle piece your brain needs to be able to get to a place where all of the other things—therapy, meditation, exercise—really work and make an impact.

I—Kristin here—know this firsthand. There was a period last year where a lot was on my shoulders. There were some medical issues in my family, and on top of the regular load that comes with being Mom (and the breadwinner), there was worry. So I had to be the calm one. I had to be the strong one. That’s the position I found myself in: Everyone else can crumble but me.

It worked really well until it didn’t. Five or six months later, it hit. I was having panic attacks, which I hadn’t had since I was 20. I couldn’t sleep at night. I tried absolutely everything: waking up and working out seven days a week; eating only “clean” foods (which I obsessed over, because…I have anxiety!); meditating every single day for 30 minutes. I literally stared into the sun because Andrew Huberman said that would help.

Things got so bad, I ended up in the hospital with migraines. (No, I do not believe this is from me staring into the sun, though we don’t recommend that either.) I was screaming from the pain. I couldn’t look at my phone or open the blinds. It was all tied to my anxiety, but I didn’t know that then—I had never reached that point before. It was very, very scary. I just remember crying to my husband, saying, “I cannot live this way one more day.” Luckily I had a psychiatrist at the time. I talked to her and she instantly put me on Lexapro, an antidepressant and anti-anxiety medication.

I didn’t even know that was an option for me. I was not “sad.” I was doing all the things: getting out of bed, working, taking care of everybody. I’m not depressed, I thought. For a variety of reasons—like stigma amongst women, and the fact that we don’t talk about these issues in real life enough—I didn’t even know that selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, or SSRIs, could be helpful for anxiety. I also think it was engrained in me as a woman, going back to girlhood, that I had to figure everything out for myself, no “shortcuts” allowed. If I did not, I thought, I’m either a failure or not trying hard enough.

And then on top of it all, I was terrified of taking medication, which other people with anxiety might relate to. But I had no other choice. I was drowning. Maybe you’ve been there before and know what it feels like: You can't come up for air, and you're scared you’re never going to be able to again. I googled SSRI success stories, and I remember feverishly holding onto every one I found. I would read them over and over and over again and think, If I can just last six weeks on the medication, maybe I will feel the way that these people do.

And that was what it took. Six weeks later, I realized I should have been put on an SSRI when I came out of the womb. My brain needed this. There was no amount of exercise or meditation that was going to fix me. I remember thinking, This is what the rest of you feel like every day? Y’all just wake up and you're not worried that everything is going to crash around you because one little thing went wrong? Your brain just bounces back? Whoa. My only regret was not doing it sooner.

Talk about it.

Now, I walk around with a bag that says “Live, love, Lexapro” on it. But there was a time when I could barely speak those words out loud. I was so ashamed and scared to tell anyone that I was struggling or thinking about medication. The first person I opened up to was a doctor, and she was like, “Oh girl, I’m on Zoloft. What do you want to talk about?” The second person I told always has a blowout and looks perfect. And she said, “Oh yeah, I’m on Lexapro too. What do you want to know?” These interactions allowed me to accept myself: If Ashley is on Lexapro, and Ali is on it, then I am in excellent company. These women are beautiful inside and out: They are smart, they are great at friendships, they are professionals. So I can do this too.

The moment someone whispers, “Me too,” the shame starts to loosen its grip. And in its place? A little light gets in. Because maybe you’re not broken. Maybe you’re just a mother—trying to hold everyone else together while quietly falling apart.

If sharing this helps just one mom realize she deserves support—not suffering—then it was worth it. Because here’s the truth we’re never told: You were never meant to do this alone. Not the sleepless nights. Not the crushing pressure. Not the invisible mental load that starts the moment you open your eyes and doesn’t stop until you collapse at night.

You are not weak for needing help. You are not failing because you’re struggling. You are strong—so strong—for saying, This isn’t working. I need more. That moment you stop white-knuckling your way through and finally say, I can’t do this anymore? That’s not the end. That’s the beginning of everything.