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Because I’m Not Myself, You See: A Memoir of Motherhood, Madness and Coming Back from the Brink
9hrs 34 mins unabridged
I do not know who I am anymore or where I have gone ...'
Ariane Beeston is a child protection worker and newly registered psychologist when she gives birth to her first child - and very quickly begins to experience scary breaks with reality. Out of fear and shame, she keeps her delusions and hallucinations secret, but as the months pass Ariane gets worse. Much worse. Finally admitted to a mother and baby psychiatric unit, the psychologist is forced to learn how to be the patient.
With medication, the support of her husband, psychotherapy and, ultimately, time, Ariane rebuilds herself. And she also begins a new chapter working in perinatal mental health, developing resources to support other new mothers.
Because I'm Not Myself, You See is a candid, often humorous memoir of motherhood and madness, interwoven with research and expert commentary. It's the story of the impossible pressures placed on new mothers and how quickly things can go wrong during 'the happiest time of your life'. It's also about life on the other side of serious illness, trying to make sense of what doesn't make sense, and finding humour, beauty and joy when things don't go according to plan.
I do not know who I am anymore or where I have gone ...'
Ariane Beeston is a child protection worker and newly registered psychologist when she gives birth to her first child - and very quickly begins to experience scary breaks with reality. Out of fear and shame, she keeps her delusions and hallucinations secret, but as the months pass Ariane gets worse. Much worse. Finally admitted to a mother and baby psychiatric unit, the psychologist is forced to learn how to be the patient.
With medication, the support of her husband, psychotherapy and, ultimately, time, Ariane rebuilds herself. And she also begins a new chapter working in perinatal mental health, developing resources to support other new mothers.
Because I'm Not Myself, You See is a candid, often humorous memoir of motherhood and madness, interwoven with research and expert commentary. It's the story of the impossible pressures placed on new mothers and how quickly things can go wrong during 'the happiest time of your life'. It's also about life on the other side of serious illness, trying to make sense of what doesn't make sense, and finding humour, beauty and joy when things don't go according to plan.
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Published May 20, 2024
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About the author
Ariane Beeston
2 books10 followersAriane Beeston is a former child protection caseworker and psychologist with NSW's Department of Communities and Justice. She was a staff writer at Fairfax Media's Essential Baby and Essential Kids and has also published articles in The Sydney Morning Herald, Daily Life, Babyology and Mamamia. Ariane currently works for Australia's peak body in perinatal mental health, The Centre of Perinatal Excellence (COPE), as their communications and content manager. She is also a dancer and choreographer. Because I'm Not Myself, You See is her first book.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 138 reviews
January 1, 2024
This is a beautifully written, raw, and important memoir for anyone who has had a baby. Even if you have not struggled with mental health, the context in which all women in Australia mother, is fundamental to understanding so many of the issues we have in our society. Ariane writes beautifully and honestly, and holds your hand through her struggles and coming out the other side. Thank you
May 21, 2024
I don’t say this about many books I read, but this is an absolute must-read, for absolutely everyone whether you are a mother or know a mother. Ariane has crawled back out of the pit of postpartum psychosis and has used her experiences to create a truly human memoir that is so much bigger than it seems. I was worried going into this book that I wouldn’t really connect with it because it’s about such a rare situation that I can’t relate to, but instead I found an all-encompassing reflection of motherhood, and it just left me thinking: if these issues and thoughts are so universal why has transitioning to motherhood caused me more loneliness I’ve ever felt? (When I say transition, I mean like the kind of transition you might experience being thrown out of a plane)
Ariane explores her time working in child protection and how soul-crushing the system is for EVERYONE involved, and the lens she viewed old cases through changed because of her illness. Ariane is also a psychologist herself, and her writing shows incredible insight into the issue of mental health from both sides of the desk. She also discusses her struggles with disordered eating and body image stemming from dance culture, and how this took a toll on her before and after birth, in a way that is raw and devastating.
Because I’m Not Myself, You See somehow achieves two competing goals: to share Ariane’s unique experiences that are unimaginable to most and to create a patchwork of motherhood (and in an abstract sense womanhood) that every reader can find familiarity in.
Ariane explores her time working in child protection and how soul-crushing the system is for EVERYONE involved, and the lens she viewed old cases through changed because of her illness. Ariane is also a psychologist herself, and her writing shows incredible insight into the issue of mental health from both sides of the desk. She also discusses her struggles with disordered eating and body image stemming from dance culture, and how this took a toll on her before and after birth, in a way that is raw and devastating.
Because I’m Not Myself, You See somehow achieves two competing goals: to share Ariane’s unique experiences that are unimaginable to most and to create a patchwork of motherhood (and in an abstract sense womanhood) that every reader can find familiarity in.
June 10, 2024
An absolutely stunning book, so beautifully written. It manages to be completing devastating and heartbreaking while also being hopeful and sprinkled with lots of little moments of joy. I didn’t know very much about post partum psychosis, so I learnt a lot, but I think a lot of people who have been in the trenches of early parenthood will find lots of relatable moments in it as well, even if they didn’t experience this illness.
June 8, 2024
FIVE FUCKING STARS
May 15, 2024
The first line of this book is one of the best I have ever read: “I’m on my way home from work when my baby turns into a dragon.”
It’s perfect, and as a parent and perinatal psychiatrist I’m wary of the idea of perfection, but in this case it’s perfect because it fits perfectly the fingerprints of its author that are all over this memoir.
In its smashing juxtaposition of the quotidian and the outrageous it shows the sort of wit and boldness Ariane Beeston will thread throughout her book.
And those precious qualities of humour and courage will be needed to keep us with her, because golly she has taken on some tricky subjects.
Chief among them is postpartum psychosis, a rare but torturous and dangerous condition Beeston developed in atypical fashion and so was not diagnosed for some time.
After the opening scene, Beeston winds the clock back so we can see what went on privately for so long. I found it remarkable that for such a personal and at times lonely path, so much madness she encountered was public, of the wacky world we live in.
Her time working in child protection is first: the broken, racist system that chews up and burns out people, with and without lanyards, most of whom are trying their best at caring.
One word that still haunts me describes how kids look waiting in the office after being removed.
It still describes me thinking of it: stunned.
Beeston then straps us in for the ride she took with husband Robb - a calming humane presence throughout the book that felt sturdy like the glue in the spine - through transitioning to parenthood.
So many tricky subjects will receive the Beeston treatment, with unflinching humour and heart, and a fair bit of slow-burn outrage too, for a baby turning into a dragon is actually lesser among the outrageousness here.
For starters, Beeston experienced the dragon baby as a psychotic symptom, an individual “madness”, perhaps more respectfully described as her nervous system under extreme stress and losing the boundaries of self, imagination and sensation.
The madnesses that outraged me as a reader were all societal, like the child protection messes. To name a few: Gender inequity, parental leave inadequacy, under-resourced health care, individualistic comparison culture.
And the biggie, the mental health illiteracy, trauma-ignorant shaming and stigmatising that persists around mental suffering this deep into the 21st century.
I didn’t spend too long outraged though, simply because Beeston doesn’t sit still long enough. She’s off on another vignette, scene, poem or meditation and you can’t help but follow, because the writing sparkles, and before you know it you’re in a psych ward.
How did we get here?
I have worked on psych wards. That question can’t just be answered, it gets felt, like the daze of concussion.
How the hell?
I think Beeston’s account of her slow, halting journey to her “rock bottom” and out again is one of the truest I’ve read in a book.
Hemingway said something about going bankrupt slowly then suddenly; while some things occur suddenly like the dragon baby, most take their time and the writing gives a visceral sense of this, of the thousand cuts to Beeston’s selfhood.
Grim though this sounds you can’t help but stay with her, because each blow is leavened with a wincing grin from the wit of someone who lived by hers and fought on through times she’d felt them desert her.
Leavening too is the trove of references to beloved fellow writers. This book - like so many greats before it - is in love with books.
As alone as Beeston shows us she has been, we also feel the companionship of those mostly older mostly women who helped hold her febrile mind.
A book is like your baby as Beeston says, but we could say that a good one has so many doting literary aunts (and the odd uncle, hello Dr Winnicott) you need a civic hall for the christening.
Not that Beeston lets us lose sight of the actual baby, Henry, the reason in the madness. On the cover a flower obscures the lower abdomen of the falling heroine just as another covers her eyes.
For so long this new mum couldn’t truly see her little boy, because her heart couldn’t feel him yet.
I’ve worked with a lot of mums and dads who had this kind of gut wrenching lack punctuating a time when everyone is busy telling you what you’ve won.
I really hope parents read Beeston’s story of how she learned to see her darling boy and feel his wonder. I hope Hen reads it one day and knows how hard his mum tried, managing like most parents who visit hell in the first months and years, to find her way to love.
Love is also the best word for Dr Q, the psychiatrist psychotherapist at the heart of Beeston’s treatment and recovery. We can feel we aren’t supposed to use the L word as therapists, talking instead of transferences and boundaries.
But who are we kidding? Ourselves mostly I suspect. In the end it’s a specialised strengthened kind of love - military or NASA grade maybe - that helps hold the nuclear hate, the Sisyphean boredom of repetition, the nausea of the absurd, the bizarre dilations and contractions of all the moments and phases you take to the same person each week in the same bloody office.
Hint to new psychotherapists: make your office as nice as you like. It’ll still be hated regularly. And also in a way lived in forever, regardless of the hue of the rug or the cushions.
I’ve spoiled the first sentence of this heartfelt and irrepressible book, so I won’t spoil the last. But it’s as good. If it lacks the outrageousness, it makes up for that tenfold in its anchoring wisdom.
I so deeply admire memoirists willing to lend us their hearts, bodies and brains for our brief uses. Some are used less briefly, more deeply, as in darkness below our human cerebral tissue, more animal parts of our nervous systems confuse time and person such that the line between what we read and lived is blurred.
I have never read Alice in Wonderland - so I didn’t get the reference in the title - but I know about falling. I have never danced ballet, but I know about projecting serenity and hiding pain.
And how resilience isn’t something you have, like a ballerina’s genes, but is urged into existence one weird step at a time, practised again and again and again.
Thank you, Ariane Beeston, for keeping me (dad/ballet joke incoming) on my toes.
It’s perfect, and as a parent and perinatal psychiatrist I’m wary of the idea of perfection, but in this case it’s perfect because it fits perfectly the fingerprints of its author that are all over this memoir.
In its smashing juxtaposition of the quotidian and the outrageous it shows the sort of wit and boldness Ariane Beeston will thread throughout her book.
And those precious qualities of humour and courage will be needed to keep us with her, because golly she has taken on some tricky subjects.
Chief among them is postpartum psychosis, a rare but torturous and dangerous condition Beeston developed in atypical fashion and so was not diagnosed for some time.
After the opening scene, Beeston winds the clock back so we can see what went on privately for so long. I found it remarkable that for such a personal and at times lonely path, so much madness she encountered was public, of the wacky world we live in.
Her time working in child protection is first: the broken, racist system that chews up and burns out people, with and without lanyards, most of whom are trying their best at caring.
One word that still haunts me describes how kids look waiting in the office after being removed.
It still describes me thinking of it: stunned.
Beeston then straps us in for the ride she took with husband Robb - a calming humane presence throughout the book that felt sturdy like the glue in the spine - through transitioning to parenthood.
So many tricky subjects will receive the Beeston treatment, with unflinching humour and heart, and a fair bit of slow-burn outrage too, for a baby turning into a dragon is actually lesser among the outrageousness here.
For starters, Beeston experienced the dragon baby as a psychotic symptom, an individual “madness”, perhaps more respectfully described as her nervous system under extreme stress and losing the boundaries of self, imagination and sensation.
The madnesses that outraged me as a reader were all societal, like the child protection messes. To name a few: Gender inequity, parental leave inadequacy, under-resourced health care, individualistic comparison culture.
And the biggie, the mental health illiteracy, trauma-ignorant shaming and stigmatising that persists around mental suffering this deep into the 21st century.
I didn’t spend too long outraged though, simply because Beeston doesn’t sit still long enough. She’s off on another vignette, scene, poem or meditation and you can’t help but follow, because the writing sparkles, and before you know it you’re in a psych ward.
How did we get here?
I have worked on psych wards. That question can’t just be answered, it gets felt, like the daze of concussion.
How the hell?
I think Beeston’s account of her slow, halting journey to her “rock bottom” and out again is one of the truest I’ve read in a book.
Hemingway said something about going bankrupt slowly then suddenly; while some things occur suddenly like the dragon baby, most take their time and the writing gives a visceral sense of this, of the thousand cuts to Beeston’s selfhood.
Grim though this sounds you can’t help but stay with her, because each blow is leavened with a wincing grin from the wit of someone who lived by hers and fought on through times she’d felt them desert her.
Leavening too is the trove of references to beloved fellow writers. This book - like so many greats before it - is in love with books.
As alone as Beeston shows us she has been, we also feel the companionship of those mostly older mostly women who helped hold her febrile mind.
A book is like your baby as Beeston says, but we could say that a good one has so many doting literary aunts (and the odd uncle, hello Dr Winnicott) you need a civic hall for the christening.
Not that Beeston lets us lose sight of the actual baby, Henry, the reason in the madness. On the cover a flower obscures the lower abdomen of the falling heroine just as another covers her eyes.
For so long this new mum couldn’t truly see her little boy, because her heart couldn’t feel him yet.
I’ve worked with a lot of mums and dads who had this kind of gut wrenching lack punctuating a time when everyone is busy telling you what you’ve won.
I really hope parents read Beeston’s story of how she learned to see her darling boy and feel his wonder. I hope Hen reads it one day and knows how hard his mum tried, managing like most parents who visit hell in the first months and years, to find her way to love.
Love is also the best word for Dr Q, the psychiatrist psychotherapist at the heart of Beeston’s treatment and recovery. We can feel we aren’t supposed to use the L word as therapists, talking instead of transferences and boundaries.
But who are we kidding? Ourselves mostly I suspect. In the end it’s a specialised strengthened kind of love - military or NASA grade maybe - that helps hold the nuclear hate, the Sisyphean boredom of repetition, the nausea of the absurd, the bizarre dilations and contractions of all the moments and phases you take to the same person each week in the same bloody office.
Hint to new psychotherapists: make your office as nice as you like. It’ll still be hated regularly. And also in a way lived in forever, regardless of the hue of the rug or the cushions.
I’ve spoiled the first sentence of this heartfelt and irrepressible book, so I won’t spoil the last. But it’s as good. If it lacks the outrageousness, it makes up for that tenfold in its anchoring wisdom.
I so deeply admire memoirists willing to lend us their hearts, bodies and brains for our brief uses. Some are used less briefly, more deeply, as in darkness below our human cerebral tissue, more animal parts of our nervous systems confuse time and person such that the line between what we read and lived is blurred.
I have never read Alice in Wonderland - so I didn’t get the reference in the title - but I know about falling. I have never danced ballet, but I know about projecting serenity and hiding pain.
And how resilience isn’t something you have, like a ballerina’s genes, but is urged into existence one weird step at a time, practised again and again and again.
Thank you, Ariane Beeston, for keeping me (dad/ballet joke incoming) on my toes.
June 24, 2024
Beautiful, Heartbreaking, Reality, Harrowing.
As a mental health worker who experienced postpartum hallucinations, delusions, and intrusive thoughts, I found this book profoundly relatable. It validated my feelings while also resurfacing deep-seated guilt. This book made me feel heard and articulated the words I’ve struggled to express myself.
This will probably be a long review. Spoilers and quotes inside this review.
“I wait for the love to come, I wait for the moments they show in movies,” “I look at this perfect crying boy and I feel nothing.” Many mothers face this reality: the baby is placed on their chest, but what follows is numbness. If you're a new mum feeling this way, know that the bond will come, and it's okay to feel like this. The book discusses the guilt of struggling with something perceived as “natural.”
The delusions faced, the fear of DHS involvement—“they’re coming for him.” In my case, it became a reality. DHS questioned my parenting—was I safe to be around my own child? The case was quickly closed, affirming that I am a good mum, but the reality is harsh. “How many mothers are punished...for ‘reaching out?’” This quote hit me hard. The anger I felt when reported made me wonder how many other women felt the same way.
Coming to the realization “I know I need help,” but fearing the loss of your child and your reputation is terrifying. As a mental health professional, I resonated with “what if he reports me to the board and says I’m too broken to ever practice?” This was a struggle for me.
“I wonder if I’m going mad...I am simply a monster.” I, too, battled these thoughts and feelings postpartum. The intrusive thoughts, which I didn’t know were so common, as the book states: “almost all mums experience intrusive thoughts of harming their babies, while as many have had report unwanted, intrusive thoughts of harming their baby on purpose.” I, too, had these thoughts, and the guilt and fear were overwhelming. The book reassures, “no science that having unwanted intrusive thoughts of intentionally harming a baby is associated with an increased risk of harm to an infant.” This was incredibly comforting. The book also describes the fixation on “what if” thoughts.
“I accidentally spilt a hard-won 50ml bottle all over the bench; it sends me into a rage.” This was a cruel reminder of my own failed breastfeeding journey and the challenges that came with it.
“He rejects it, rejects me.” The feeling that your baby doesn’t love you, that you’re not doing all you can.
My child maternal health nurse and GP were unable to support me. Like the book says, it was “put down to being a normal part of adjusting to motherhood.” Living regionally, we simply didn’t have the resources. I spent three months in a psychiatric ward in four admissions during my son's first year, and the quote “There is guilt that my son's first year of life involved a psychiatric ward” resonates deeply.
The book discusses recovery from postpartum psychosis/delirium and the fear of recurrence. It highlights that getting better “isn’t linear.”
The whole book had me in tears. As triggering as it was, it was the most honest and raw book I’ve read. The ending paragraph, which I won’t quote, had me in tears. It was beautiful and a perfect way to end the book. This book put my thoughts on paper, written by someone else, and knowing that others have felt this way is incredibly validating.
I also love that this book is filled with facts supported by current literature. There is more I could say and quote about this book, like the systemic failures to new mothers and the push to be perfect but I’d go on forever.
If you are struggling postpartum, whether with psychosis or not, please read this book. You won’t regret it.
As a mental health worker who experienced postpartum hallucinations, delusions, and intrusive thoughts, I found this book profoundly relatable. It validated my feelings while also resurfacing deep-seated guilt. This book made me feel heard and articulated the words I’ve struggled to express myself.
This will probably be a long review. Spoilers and quotes inside this review.
“I wait for the love to come, I wait for the moments they show in movies,” “I look at this perfect crying boy and I feel nothing.” Many mothers face this reality: the baby is placed on their chest, but what follows is numbness. If you're a new mum feeling this way, know that the bond will come, and it's okay to feel like this. The book discusses the guilt of struggling with something perceived as “natural.”
The delusions faced, the fear of DHS involvement—“they’re coming for him.” In my case, it became a reality. DHS questioned my parenting—was I safe to be around my own child? The case was quickly closed, affirming that I am a good mum, but the reality is harsh. “How many mothers are punished...for ‘reaching out?’” This quote hit me hard. The anger I felt when reported made me wonder how many other women felt the same way.
Coming to the realization “I know I need help,” but fearing the loss of your child and your reputation is terrifying. As a mental health professional, I resonated with “what if he reports me to the board and says I’m too broken to ever practice?” This was a struggle for me.
“I wonder if I’m going mad...I am simply a monster.” I, too, battled these thoughts and feelings postpartum. The intrusive thoughts, which I didn’t know were so common, as the book states: “almost all mums experience intrusive thoughts of harming their babies, while as many have had report unwanted, intrusive thoughts of harming their baby on purpose.” I, too, had these thoughts, and the guilt and fear were overwhelming. The book reassures, “no science that having unwanted intrusive thoughts of intentionally harming a baby is associated with an increased risk of harm to an infant.” This was incredibly comforting. The book also describes the fixation on “what if” thoughts.
“I accidentally spilt a hard-won 50ml bottle all over the bench; it sends me into a rage.” This was a cruel reminder of my own failed breastfeeding journey and the challenges that came with it.
“He rejects it, rejects me.” The feeling that your baby doesn’t love you, that you’re not doing all you can.
My child maternal health nurse and GP were unable to support me. Like the book says, it was “put down to being a normal part of adjusting to motherhood.” Living regionally, we simply didn’t have the resources. I spent three months in a psychiatric ward in four admissions during my son's first year, and the quote “There is guilt that my son's first year of life involved a psychiatric ward” resonates deeply.
The book discusses recovery from postpartum psychosis/delirium and the fear of recurrence. It highlights that getting better “isn’t linear.”
The whole book had me in tears. As triggering as it was, it was the most honest and raw book I’ve read. The ending paragraph, which I won’t quote, had me in tears. It was beautiful and a perfect way to end the book. This book put my thoughts on paper, written by someone else, and knowing that others have felt this way is incredibly validating.
I also love that this book is filled with facts supported by current literature. There is more I could say and quote about this book, like the systemic failures to new mothers and the push to be perfect but I’d go on forever.
If you are struggling postpartum, whether with psychosis or not, please read this book. You won’t regret it.
December 27, 2024
A really interesting memoir about someone with the lived experience of postnatal depression/psychosis, while also being a great exploration into the guilt of working within the health field and the shame associated that prevents people from seeking help or support. Loved that there was also a short segment that reflected on the impact on her husband, but overall well written and a great insight read.
August 22, 2024
This was an absolutely brutal read, I cried through the whole thing. A strong reminder about how little society values mothers and mothering and how incapable it is at holding them through such an enormous and important undertaking.
June 17, 2024
After reading Catherine Cho’s memoir of postnatal psychosis, Inferno, a couple of years ago I didn’t think I’d read another. But this was a much more comprehensive look at the condition and the literature published around it. Beeston who worked in child protective services and trained as a psychologist before she had her son, has a unique perspective to offer. This book will be hugely important to parents of newborns who find themselves faced with mental illnesses in the perinatal period. For those of us who will never be in that position because we can’t or don’t want to have children, it’s still worthwhile reading so we know what to look out for in those we love.
October 8, 2024
5⭐️
If you know a mother, and all of us do, you need to read this. So many of us consider pregnancy, childbirth and motherhood in a very two dimensional way and I know I have certainly been guilty of this. This book terrified me if I’m honest, but it is so needed in this current society where “mothers are trying too hard, and society is not trying nearly hard enough”. I am once again reminded how important lived experience is and those who have it to be the loudest voice in the room when it comes to change. Sensational.
If you know a mother, and all of us do, you need to read this. So many of us consider pregnancy, childbirth and motherhood in a very two dimensional way and I know I have certainly been guilty of this. This book terrified me if I’m honest, but it is so needed in this current society where “mothers are trying too hard, and society is not trying nearly hard enough”. I am once again reminded how important lived experience is and those who have it to be the loudest voice in the room when it comes to change. Sensational.
February 2, 2024
This has to be one of the most powerful, raw books I have had the honour of reading. This memoir is Arianne. Arianne as a partner, a sister, a daughter, a mother, a ballerina, an employee, a mental health patient and a stat.
Postnatal depression is 1 in 7 new mothers. Postnatal psychosis is 1-2 in every 1000 mothers. 600 per year. And not enough is done. Not enough is done to support these women.
Arianne’s story is hard to read, it’s raw, it breaks my heart, I’m crying, sobbing. Thinking about how this could have been me. Could be anyone and we don’t know. The deep suppression of feeling that new mothers feel. It’s real. It’s the lonely days and nights, the hard time feeding and feeling like you are failing by giving them a bottle (I say fuck the haters & do what works for you; also easier said than done). People offer help but nothing is right. You get angry. You don’t want a coffee, you want a load of washing done. But you don’t really know if that’s true. I have felt all of these feelings. And Arianne felt the deep deep cycle of this psychosis. It’s traumatic. It’s an illness.
This is a powerful memoir that I recommend to anyone who has been around a new mother. If one little thing from this personal journey can help someone else, it’s a step in the right direction. I see you Arianne and I thank you for reliving this trauma for us. I see your struggle. I’m opening my eyes to see more of you who struggle. There is help. Start with COPE.
Thank you Arianne - this will forever sit with me.
Postnatal depression is 1 in 7 new mothers. Postnatal psychosis is 1-2 in every 1000 mothers. 600 per year. And not enough is done. Not enough is done to support these women.
Arianne’s story is hard to read, it’s raw, it breaks my heart, I’m crying, sobbing. Thinking about how this could have been me. Could be anyone and we don’t know. The deep suppression of feeling that new mothers feel. It’s real. It’s the lonely days and nights, the hard time feeding and feeling like you are failing by giving them a bottle (I say fuck the haters & do what works for you; also easier said than done). People offer help but nothing is right. You get angry. You don’t want a coffee, you want a load of washing done. But you don’t really know if that’s true. I have felt all of these feelings. And Arianne felt the deep deep cycle of this psychosis. It’s traumatic. It’s an illness.
This is a powerful memoir that I recommend to anyone who has been around a new mother. If one little thing from this personal journey can help someone else, it’s a step in the right direction. I see you Arianne and I thank you for reliving this trauma for us. I see your struggle. I’m opening my eyes to see more of you who struggle. There is help. Start with COPE.
Thank you Arianne - this will forever sit with me.
June 1, 2024
Far out, this book is raw and readable and gut wrenching and gripping. The writing is beautiful and the story is something else.
From the author’s time as a caseworker at DoCS to inpatient at a mother and baby ward, I feel like this is a journey through some of the darkest places a mother and baby can go.
I adored it and I want to immediately reread it. I also want to give it to all of my mum friends but I’m not sure whether it would help them or break them? I just loved it.
“As the baby dances around the suite, passed from the crook of one arm to another, the midwife ushers me to the shower. I am bloody, torn, empty. Emptied. I have carried this bump with me for nine months, housed this stranger who knows the rhythm of my heart and the sound of my blood, and now he is gone.”
From the author’s time as a caseworker at DoCS to inpatient at a mother and baby ward, I feel like this is a journey through some of the darkest places a mother and baby can go.
I adored it and I want to immediately reread it. I also want to give it to all of my mum friends but I’m not sure whether it would help them or break them? I just loved it.
“As the baby dances around the suite, passed from the crook of one arm to another, the midwife ushers me to the shower. I am bloody, torn, empty. Emptied. I have carried this bump with me for nine months, housed this stranger who knows the rhythm of my heart and the sound of my blood, and now he is gone.”
November 21, 2024
A vulnerable and insightful memoir about post partum psychosis.
Can't agree with the blurb which states the book is sometimes humorous.
Can't agree with the blurb which states the book is sometimes humorous.
November 22, 2024
Felt really authentic. I liked the authors insight into her privilege, and impact on others. I am glad she spoke about even the taboo parts of mental illness. Not a lot is known about depression with psychotic features and I think this is book highlights how very real it is. I am very interested to learn more about psychosis. Most women who take their lives postnatal are rich, well supported, and perfectionists. We are so focused on appearing well and driven by shame, that people are not helped. How can we better 1) identify symptoms of psychosis and identity “normal” postnatal experiences vs “abnormal”, 2) treat psychosis without trying every medication possible, 3) de stigmatise mental illness and reach those who are afraid of appearing unwell.
April 26, 2025
READ THIS!! Phenomenal. Expecting parents (all genders), grandparents, new parents, friends of new parents - everyone should read this. Ariane has shared her raw truth about motherhood and her crumbling mental health. It is triggering, yes, however burying your head in the sand and thinking "it won't happen to me or those I love" doesn't help spread awareness that perinatal mental health is a real issue, affecting the families around us. Support is available and knowing the signs and being able to find support at the right time is crucial to recovery.
Australian supports:
PANDA 1300 726 306
Gidget Foundation 1300 851 758
Lifeline 13 11 14
Australian supports:
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Lifeline 13 11 14
July 23, 2024
Beeston’s recollection of her time as a psychologist working in the Australian child protection system and experience of postpartum psychosis had me stunned for most of this book. I had to often stop reading to catch up with my thoughts and feelings as a lot of the content is heavy and gut wrenching. I think the structure of the book could have been more organised ,particularly the array of topics in the last third of the book, but overall, such a special book. Highly recommend when in the right headspace.
September 23, 2024
I don’t think i’ll ever stop recommending this book! Beautifully raw and super comprehensive, Ariane is a great writer who digs into her painful past to bring light to an often ignored possibility of motherhood. She takes us through her experience with postnatal psychosis and links it back to her experience as a DoCS Psychologist involved in the removal of children. Fascinating and devastating, this does mean that it can be hard to get through at times. She includes literature and research to bring an a scientific angle rather than solely her experience.
It continues to shake me to my core how dangerous childbirth can be, i can’t believe women go through this everyday. 4.5 Stars
It continues to shake me to my core how dangerous childbirth can be, i can’t believe women go through this everyday. 4.5 Stars
July 25, 2024
10/10 such a hard read but so worth it!
Read
March 4, 2025DNF
February 9, 2025
Wow. Stunned. Eye-opening. Go check on the new moms in your life & go read this book. Check the trigger warnings and read the synopsis before diving into this one though.
August 12, 2024
This book is a deeply moving, brutally honest account of perinatal mental illness.
July 7, 2024
A beautiful memoir that at times was difficult to read. Learnt so much about perinatal mental health and the systems that fail/help
January 22, 2024
If I could give this all the stars, I would. This is brutal, poetic, and so very real - at times I felt as though Ariane could be describing my own PP flashbacks, captured in words I haven’t yet had the the brain power to hold and examine myself.
August 8, 2024
Frickinnn love a good and interesting memoir 👏
August 6, 2024
Beeston has a self-reflective writing style and an honest vulnerability, linking her lived experience to literary references which like-minded readers will hold in high regard. This is an exquisitely urgent read.
March 5, 2025
At first I thought I wouldn’t be able to relate to this book seeing as postpartum psychosis is not something I’ve ever been through or seen someone else go through. But there are so many passages that I highlighted, screenshot and sent to friends - the way that the author writes about the shock of becoming a mother was like she had just looked into my brain and written my very thoughts and experiences. I had visceral reactions to reading this book, multiple times I got teary, felt my stomach drop and got goosebumps. Even though the subject of this book is heavy, and at times hard to read, it’s also very hopeful.
July 13, 2024
It takes so much courage to write with so much vulnerability! Ariane is one of my amazing dance teachers - I admire the strength she had shown and we all lean on dance to heal.
June 16, 2024
An informative, harrowing and compelling memoir about perinatal mental health.
June 17, 2024
4 1/2 stars, brilliant 👏
April 11, 2025
3.5/5 ⭐️⭐️⭐️
Vibes: Motherhood, Mental Health, Raw and Real
- - -
I put the call out on social media for more memoir audiobooks and this one was recommended. The cover drew me in and the mention of motherhood sealed the deal.
Ariane’s background in child protection, psychology and her advocacy for women with postnatal depression adds so much weight to this story. This memoir doesn’t just walk you through her personal experience, it also shares some pretty confronting facts about how little support and appropriate care is available for women, especially in rural or regional areas.
She takes us through her shift from being the psychologist to patient, navigating the complexities of perinatal mental health, including postpartum psychosis and it’s incredibly raw and eye opening and at times, uncomfortable and confronting.
Having had a baby myself during peak COVID, I related to the isolation side of her story, but Ariane’s experience was a whole other level. It was a strong reminder that every journey through motherhood is different and some are deeply difficult and in need of better support and earlier recognition.
I listened to the audiobook version and while I appreciated Ariane narrating her own story, it felt a little too scripted at times. I didn’t always feel the emotional pull I usually get when an author reads their own memoir and I found myself getting a little lost with the jumps between timelines (though that could’ve just been me multitasking).
This book was incredibly powerful, brutally honest and confronting. I think it is an important story to shine a light on a serious condition but I would add a gentle warning for new or soon to be mothers to read with caution.
Vibes: Motherhood, Mental Health, Raw and Real
- - -
I put the call out on social media for more memoir audiobooks and this one was recommended. The cover drew me in and the mention of motherhood sealed the deal.
Ariane’s background in child protection, psychology and her advocacy for women with postnatal depression adds so much weight to this story. This memoir doesn’t just walk you through her personal experience, it also shares some pretty confronting facts about how little support and appropriate care is available for women, especially in rural or regional areas.
She takes us through her shift from being the psychologist to patient, navigating the complexities of perinatal mental health, including postpartum psychosis and it’s incredibly raw and eye opening and at times, uncomfortable and confronting.
Having had a baby myself during peak COVID, I related to the isolation side of her story, but Ariane’s experience was a whole other level. It was a strong reminder that every journey through motherhood is different and some are deeply difficult and in need of better support and earlier recognition.
I listened to the audiobook version and while I appreciated Ariane narrating her own story, it felt a little too scripted at times. I didn’t always feel the emotional pull I usually get when an author reads their own memoir and I found myself getting a little lost with the jumps between timelines (though that could’ve just been me multitasking).
This book was incredibly powerful, brutally honest and confronting. I think it is an important story to shine a light on a serious condition but I would add a gentle warning for new or soon to be mothers to read with caution.
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