• When I had my first kid, I was worried about juggling work and motherhood, so I almost resigned.
• Thankfully, the pandemic allowed me to work from home, making me a better mom to my growing family.
• With return-to-office mandates on the rise, I'm worried this right will be taken from me.

When my newly wedded husband and I moved into our New York City apartment in January 2019, I ran to the Duane Reade across the street to buy a pregnancy test.

Alone in our new home while my husband was at work, I learned I was expecting our first child. A mix of terror and excitement quickly took over. I wondered how we would fit into this one-bedroom apartment as a small family.

One question nagged me the most: How would I juggle being a parent with my career in the media industry?

In the years that followed, I managed to maintain my career while parenting three children, and now I have another on the way. The ability to work remotely made it possible.

Right now, I go into the office two days a week, and though we make it work with the help of a nanny and day care, it isn't easy. I'm worried I'll eventually be forced to go in every day.

For many working mothers, remote work has been the missing key. We were given the opportunity to work remotely for years during the pandemic and got to see how helpful it was for keeping us in the workforce.

In a country with limited maternity leave, unaffordable childcare, and pay inequality, remote work is a necessary safeguard that helps mothers, with kids of any age, stay employed without compromising their role as caregivers. It's not about asking for special treatment; it's about ensuring equal access to opportunity.

Now, as return-to-office mandates are on the rise, I worry this vital workplace right for mothers is being ripped away.

It was difficult for me to juggle my career and new parenthood

When my maternity leave ended in February 2020, I left my 4-month-old daughter, Giordana, at home with a nanny for the first time. I had to commute over an hour from our new Long Island apartment to work in Midtown Manhattan.

Though I was excited to feel like my old self again, with cares and responsibilities beyond breastfeeding and changing diapers, my thoughts centered on my daughter all day.

The emotional toll involved in leaving my first and only child at home affected my mental well-being and my ability to be a good mother. I quickly became drained from the commute and sitting at a desk for hours a day. I would come home mentally and physically exhausted, with very little energy to engage with my child.

Childcare instantly became a problem, too. Not only was it expensive, but my part-time nanny couldn't be there every day — and sometimes, not even for the full day. Within weeks of returning to work, I found myself asking my mom, who luckily had a flexible schedule at her own full-time job, to fill in. The stress rippled across multiple generations.

Around that time, I had a heart-to-heart with my husband — an architect who owns a firm, earns more than I do, and goes to the office in Manhattan five days a week. I asked him how he would feel if I quit my job and started freelancing so I could care for our daughter full time at home.

My husband understood where I was coming from, though he seemed anxious at the prospect of taking on the entire financial burden of our family.

A few days later, my human resources department sent a note requesting everyone start working from home because of the pandemic, effective immediately. The move saved my sanity and my career.

Working from home made it easier to juggle my responsibilities

Suddenly, I could be home with my daughter when she was only a few months old. I was busier than ever at work, but at least I could feed Giordana, change her diaper, take her on a walk during my lunch break, and, most importantly, go through her bedtime routine.

Five years later, I'm now a mother of three and pregnant with our fourth. In August 2022, my company implemented a two-day-a-week in-office mandate.

I'm grateful to work for a company that understands the benefits of a hybrid schedule. Allowing me to work from home three days a week gives me the flexibility to pick up my kids from school if needed, take them to the doctor when they're sick, attend school events on the days I'm not in the office, and be home when they return from school.

It's about being physically present and being able to kiss them hello and ask how their day was before the chaos of bedtime, which is always tougher after a long day at the office.

Still, every HR email that pops into my inbox makes my stomach drop. I worry it will be a message about a full-time return-to-office mandate that would force me to choose between my career and my family responsibilities.

I understand there are some women who work in industries where remote work is impossible, but I wish some companies understood that forcing working mothers back into the office full-time is a mistake, especially when the job can be done at home.

Mothers in the US are facing a brutal decision

Mothers dealing with full-time RTO mandates often face one of two paths: continue working full time and pay for childcare or quit the workforce to raise their children.

These choices will be familiar to many women who worked before COVID. But the pandemic showed how inflexibility can cut both ways.

Employment by working mothers fell more sharply than for other groups during the pandemic. The Pew Research Center found that 2.4 million women left the workforce from February 2020 to 2021, compared to 1.8 million men. Women may have been disproportionately affected because they're usually the primary caregivers, facing unique challenges.

Workplace flexibility, which has been the trend post-pandemic, appears to have helped reverse this. According to the US Department of Labor, in February 2024, there were more working mothers than before the pandemic.

Nicholas Bloom, a Stanford University professor who has studied the effects of hybrid and remote work, says that the right to work from home must be protected to keep women in the workforce.

"Supporting such schedules is going to give the biggest boost to female employment," Bloom told me. "Hybrid and work-from-home schedules are one of the factors supporting parents — particularly, women — remaining in the workforce."

"We know that the ability to be flexible at work is incredibly important when trying to keep women in the workforce," Tanya van Biesen, the CEO of VersaFi, an advocacy group for women in finance roles, told BI. "It makes a difference both in attracting and keeping women at work."

I believe I'm owed the right to work from home as a mother

While I'm lucky that my company has taken a hybrid approach, I believe more companies should allow women to work from home altogether so they can stay in the workforce.

The benefits I've noticed from working from home — both for my mental health and for the ability to raise kids in a way that makes financial sense — are unparalleled. That's why I believe denying remote work to mothers should be considered indirect discrimination since women usually bear the burden of caregiving.

Why should I have to choose between being present for my children and having a career?

Ultimately, work-from-home is not a perk; it's a shift toward creating a more equitable work environment for mothers.

• I'm a single mom to a toddler, and Mother's Day doesn't include fancy brunches and flowers for me.
• This year, I'm dropping off my 3-year-old for one day with my mom so I can rest.
• I want to acknowledge the extraordinary job I'm doing as a mother.

As a single mom, Mother's Day has never looked quite as curated as the picture-perfect brunches and bouquets I see splashed across social media.

Instead of a leisurely breakfast in bed, I'm more likely to be woken at 6 a.m. by the calls for "Mama!" from my adorably persistent alarm clock. Without a partner to make plans, I've had to find a new path to celebrate Mother's Day.

The first Mother's Day was a blur

My first Mother's Day was a blur of newborn snuggles and sleep deprivation. My daughter, Via, was one week old, and I was so madly in love with my tiny, wrinkled baby that every moment with her felt like a celebration.

I had no plans beyond washing bottles and feeling her fist grip around my finger. Last Mother's Day, we were living in Bali and Mother's Day wasn't on the local calendar (they celebrate in December, instead), so it again passed without plans or special recognition.

This year, however, feels different. Via is 3 years old; she's a whirlwind of curiosity, energy, and increasing independence. I'd love to do something meaningful on Mother's Day. Yet, the thought of orchestrating a traditional celebration — the kind that often involves a partner's thoughtful planning and execution — feels like adding another task onto my already overflowing plate.

As a working single mom, the mental and emotional labor of planning, deciding, preparing, arranging, and managing is never-ending. Adding the pressure of creating a Pinterest-worthy Mother's Day feels less like a celebration and more like another "to-do."

I'm dropping my toddler off with my mom for a day

I considered not making any plans and letting the day once again pass without notice, but I also feel that this incredible journey of motherhood deserves special recognition. I decided to split the weekend into two parts. On the Friday before Mother's Day, I'm dropping Via off with my mom for a sleep-cation. Every time I catch up on rest, I feel like the best version of myself; the best gift I could give myself this Mother's Day is to show up for the day recharged.

I booked a night at the nearby resort and a dinner reservation at an upscale Chinese restaurant I've wanted to try. I'm going to sleep in the next day and stay in bed for the better part of the morning before heading to brunch. Then, on the way home, I'm stopping for an ultra-relaxing massage. A nice dinner, a serene resort, sleeping in, and a visit to the spa — to me, this is the ultimate relaxing pre-Mother's Day respite.

After recharging, I'll reconnect with my daughter and celebrate my own mom

This year, my Mother's Day won't involve a fancy brunch I had to research, book, and then wrangle a toddler through. Even better will be the sweet reunion I always feel with my daughter after a night away; I breathe her in like oxygen, and she fills every cell of my body. These are my favorite, fleeting moments of motherhood — when I'm recharged enough to delight in her fully.

Every so often, I'm overcome with awe as I watch my daughter. Time slows down as I capture every word and expression like a video. My adoration leaks out of my eyes in happy tears that I wipe away before she notices. Those glorious, intoxicating moments don't happen every day; they usually occur when I'm mentally and physically well-rested.

This year, I've invested in giving myself the space and resources to do that, so that on Mother's Day, I can just spend the day enjoying the simple joys and ever-growing love I have for my daughter. And, of course, celebrate my mother. I've made her a photo book with some of our memories from the past year and, on Mother's Day, I'll help Via decorate a card to give her. I know these simple gestures don't fully demonstrate her importance to us, but she knows what I now understand: being a mom is the best gift.

As a solo parent, I'm redefining celebration not as a grand event but as an acknowledgment of the extraordinary job and privilege that it is to be a mother. In that, I've found a Mother's Day that truly resonates.

• Returning to the office disrupted my family routines in a way I wasn't expecting.
• The transition back to office life was chaotic, impacting both my family and personal well-being.
• I learned that I needed to set boundaries and ask for help to achieve a work-life balance.

After spending years working from home, I thought I had adjusted to a new normal, one where morning coffee was enjoyed in sweatpants, meetings happened at my kitchen table, and I could pivot between work and parenting without the added stress of a commute. It wasn't always smooth, but it was mine.

When I was told I'd be transitioning back to the office, I underestimated just how disruptive that shift would be. I didn't just forget how to commute or dress for work, I also forgot how to juggle everything. The routines I had carefully constructed around my family, the way I managed school pick-ups, homework help, and dinner prep, all came crashing down. Mornings turned into frenzied chaos. I'd find myself brushing my teeth while packing lunches, reminding my 11-year-old son to grab his gym shoes and helping my 13-year-old daughter find the permission form she swore she handed in. All while trying to leave the house looking like a professional adult and not someone barely holding it together.

The transition wasn't smooth

The first week back in the office was disorienting. There was a strange unfamiliarity to the fluorescent lighting, the awkward small talk, and the background hum of keyboards and printers. I felt like I had been dropped into someone else's life. The office buzzed with energy and productivity, but I was consumed by a quiet panic, wondering if I had left dinner ingredients defrosting, or if I'd make it in time for my daughter's volleyball game.

Evenings weren't any easier. By the time I got home, I was exhausted physically from the commute and emotionally from trying to hold everything together. Dinner became an afterthought. I'd throw together something quick, rushing through meals just to get to bedtime. The guilt of not being fully present for my kids crept in. I was there, but not really there. My mind was constantly toggling between deadlines, to-do lists, and the emotional labor of motherhood.

The struggle started impacting my family

I tried to power through, but the burnout came fast. I was irritable, sleep-deprived, and starting to question whether I could continue at this pace without breaking.

It wasn't until my daughter's teacher gently asked if everything was okay at home that I realized I wasn't just failing at balance. I was drowning in the expectation that I could fall back into an old life without anything else giving way.

One night, after putting the kids to bed, I sat at the kitchen table with my spouse and did something radical: I admitted I couldn't do it alone.

I started making changes

I began by setting boundaries, at work, at home, and most importantly, with myself. I stopped checking emails after 7 p.m., even when the guilt whispered that I should. I started meal prepping on Sundays to take some pressure off weeknights. I blocked out short windows in my calendar for breaks or quick check-ins with my kids.

One of the most important shifts was finally accepting help, something I had always struggled with. I leaned more on my spouse and we started truly co-managing the chaos. He picked up groceries on his way home, handled school drop-offs, and took the lead on bedtime when I had late meetings. We stopped assuming the other person knew what was needed and started communicating better.

We also leaned on our parents for help with school pickups and weekend childcare. At first, it felt like admitting defeat, but I quickly realized that calling on them in wasn't weakness. It gave them more time with their grandchildren and gave me much-needed breathing room.

Over time, a new rhythm began to emerge, not perfect, but more sustainable. I learned to approach each day with grace and flexibility, I forgave myself for the rushed mornings, and I celebrated the small wins.

Returning to the office was never going to be seamless, and I wish I had given myself more compassion from the start. But in navigating the messiness, I uncovered strength in places I hadn't looked before. I learned how to adapt, how to accept help, and how to prioritize what really matters.

• I went to college at 40 — when I was a mother of five children.
• My first statistics class was so difficult that I became stressed and ignored my motherly duties.
• When my schoolwork became so stressful that I fought with my husband, I dropped the class.

When I was 40, I decided to finally go to college. My father told me I shouldn't enroll in college right after high school, so I waited. It took me several decades to finally work up the courage to apply.

At the time, the problem wasn't just my age; I was also a mother of five children. My youngest were twins in the second grade, while my oldest was starting high school.

My calendar was crammed with family obligations, yet I tried to fit in three courses per semester at a community college. I decided to focus on general education requirements first before transferring to a four-year university to study English.

At that time, I was an integral part of my children's education — and played a key role in feeding and caring for the whole family. I promised the children and my husband they would remain my first priority — but that proved more difficult than I thought.

I struggled with one class, which caused a lot of stress

Math has always been difficult for me. I took a statistics class because Statistics I and II would transfer to a four-year university so I could complete my bachelor's degree in English.

This was only the beginning of my college career, and already, I was taking far too much time away from caring for the family. It got worse when my new statistics professor wouldn't allow questions in class. He wrote his notes on the board, and we were supposed to magically understand.

I tried to make an appointment to meet with him outside class, but he didn't have office hours. He was an adjunct who taught at a few different colleges.

So, I set up an appointment at the tutoring center on campus, taking more time away from the family. However, the young tutor's idea of solving statistics problems only confused me more.

To feed my fear of failure, the professor gave weekly quizzes that I failed to complete in the allotted five minutes. I couldn't teach myself to become faster in constructing a frequency table.

That college degree seemed to slip from reach as I doubted my ability to pass college-level math.

I started to damage relationships at home

I often stayed home trying to accomplish homework I didn't understand while my husband took the kids to family parties. I rarely left the house to buy groceries. I lived with a statistics book in my hand, burning dinners, and undercooking pancakes — the children's favorite. I snapped at the kids whenever they tried to ask me questions about their homework.

My husband and I no longer discussed family difficulties. Instead, I became the difficulty. All we did was argue. I could no longer concentrate on anyone besides myself and my inability to pass one of my first college courses.

I had broken the promise to my family. I was miserable, and so was my family.

I couldn't allow this course at the beginning of my college career to destroy us. Family has always been my main priority, and a college degree shouldn't come between me and my love for them.

I had to rethink my approach to stress and college courses

If I couldn't change my ability, I needed to change my perspective. This professor was simply not right for my learning style. But I couldn't afford an "F" on my school transcript.

I had to shed any feelings of killing my role model status for the children. I couldn't worry about losing the money for the course or the time needed for my college career. I had to keep my family together and discover a way forward in my education.

Counselors at the school informed me I could withdraw from statistics without penalty to my GPA. It would be a lateral move. I had to remind myself that withdrawing from a class does not make you a failure.

Then, I looked for a professor who permitted countless questions in class and could explain the math procedures with different methods. It took two semesters, but I rescheduled Statistics I with a professor who was better suited for me. I survived and moved on to Statistics II with the same professor.

Obtaining a college degree takes time and determination for parents. It took 10 years to receive my bachelor's from the University of Pennsylvania — but it was worth it, and my family is all the better for it.

• I've always loved my mother, but our relationship has always been complicated.
• When she started texting me in her 80s, our communication started to feel lighter.
• I'm so glad that I have our texts to look back on now.

Mother-daughter relationships can be challenging, and my relationship with my mother was no exception. But one thing my mother and I could always do was talk — whether in person or on the phone — though our chats often ended in some sort of argument. If we could figure out how to have shorter conversations, we would have been just fine.

An intellectual and a therapist, my mother had a penchant for delving deep, and sometimes I just wanted the short catch-ups my friends had with their mothers, but this wasn't how we did things. I needed to find my own way, so I moved away from home to explore.

Then, after years of living in different cities, I was ready to come home. And with this return to my old ZIP code, I inherited endless family obligations and outings. This also meant more phone calls with my mom to make plans.

When we started texting, our relationship changed

When the pandemic hit, it was the first time I had not seen her regularly since I moved back. I began to miss her and her constant questions. There were no more Sunday dinners, sushi, or long talks in her living room. Instead, we started to do something we've rarely done. We began to text. And then, something magical began to happen.

It started off simple.

Our texts were the short check-ins I'd always wanted, as one or the other of us would send a simple, "Doing OK?"

In lieu of children, I sent her pictures of my foster kittens. To my surprise, on the days when I didn't, she requested more.

"Where are the grandkits?" she wrote.

And I would blow up her phone with photos of adorable felines.

Over time, our text conversations got longer, but the tone was still light and easy. When I sent her pictures of sweet donut peaches from a farm upstate, she thanked me and sent a peach icon. She took to technology right away.

These are the cutesy conversations I would never have imagined from my mother. Yet they were as sweet as the fruit I bring to her. I finally got my own version of "normal."

As we started texting each other more, we had fewer intense conversations and, as a result, less tension. Instead, I began to send short messages almost daily, and started to feel closer to her. Before texting, it had felt stressful to get a call from my analytical mother; texting brought levity, and I started to look forward to hearing from her. It brought a balance to our relationship and allowed me to appreciate our longer in-person conversations, too. In some ways, I think it saved our relationship.

I'm grateful I have our texts to look back on

After a while, I wanted to spend more time in person with her, talking and belly laughing. Somehow, about a year after introducing texting into our relationship, the friction had dissipated. But soon, my mother fell ill. She didn't have a diagnosis yet, but her energy started to wane, and it was clear something was wrong. Now I was the one calling her to check in, and she was the one who needed to get off the phone.

I visited my parents in Upstate New York for Father's Day weekend in 2022, and even brought the kittens with me. We made a Sunday night dinner together, the first in a long time. We talked about film, life, and politics, and then my mother rested. This was unusual; she typically loved to sit and talk for hours. To comfort her, I went to Home Goods and picked up cough drops, scented soaps, and the brightest coral towels I could find to brighten her mood.

The day after I left, I texted my mother, worried she was more tired than usual.

I sent a lovely picture of the two kittens perched on my ottoman and wrote, "Same as it ever was…"

She wrote back a few minutes later. The text read, "Delicious as always."

That was our last text. She died a week later.

The first thing I did was look back at our correspondence. I am gifted with these modern-day notes — digital proof of just how much my mother truly loved me. How fortuitous, I thought, to spend her last weekend together. What a gift to have made our peace before it was too late. How wonderful to have all these texts of our relationship 2.0.

• Spain has some of the oldest moms, with 11% of women having kids post-40, compared to 4% in the US.
• Financial insecurity and settling down later in life play a notable role.
• But Spain's accessible fertility treatments and excellent public healthcare are also factors.

Monica Cruz-Lemini, a 46-year-old obstetrician living in Spain, had her first child at 44.

While pregnancies after 35 are considered "advanced maternal age," Cruz-Lemini's experience is far from unusual in Spain, where more than 10% of all births involve mothers 40 or older.

"I think there's a growing pool of women in recent years — and I've seen it both professionally and personally — who are a bit like me," Cruz-Lemini told Business Insider.

Spanish moms are among the oldest

According to Eurostat's latest data, Spain had the second-highest average age of women at childbirth in Europe in 2022, at 32.6 years, as well as the second-oldest average age for first-time mothers, at 31.6 years.

Spain also ranked second for the share of births to women aged 40 or older; 11% of live births in the country were to mothers in their fifth decade or beyond.

In comparison, only about 4% of live births in the US were to women over 40, according to data from the US National Center for Health Statistics, compiled by nonprofit group March of Dimes.

(Comprehensive global data isn't readily available, but Ireland came top in the most recent European stats.)

Financial insecurity

Delaying motherhood is a growing trend across Europe and beyond, not just in Spain.

However, Juan García-Velasco, chief scientific officer for IVIRMA Global, which operates a network of fertility clinics, highlights "a combination of factors" that help explain Spain's particularly high ranking.

One key factor, he said, is financial insecurity.

Spain has the highest unemployment and youth unemployment rates in the EU, and García-Velasco said that this, combined with low wages and financial instability, leads many women to wait until they are more financially secure.

Sarah Richards, a Barcelona-born mother of two who had her second child at 40, said that people want to be financially secure and own their own house before starting a family, "so that's going to happen a lot later here than it would in the UK, where salaries certainly are higher."

Property prices in cities and coastal areas also make it harder for many to afford a home, with Spain having one of the highest average ages in Europe for young people leaving the family home — at just over 30.

"You can't buy there, and the rents are just out of control," Richards said. "You either have a very good job, or you have a rich family that can help you and help with childcare."

Fertility treatments

Waiting longer often leads to a growing reliance on treatments like IVF, and Spain is a leader in Europe in IVF success rates, according to the global fertility agency International Fertility Group.

While a like-for-like comparison between Spain and the US isn't available — as different countries and clinics measure success rates differently — Spain remains a popular destination for Americans exploring international fertility treatment options.

García-Velasco said this may be why it may feel less risky for some women in Spain to leave trying for kids until later in life. "As the outcome is good, this reduces the pressure and the fears," he said

IVF is also widely accessible in Spain and is free for women 40 and under, including those who are single or in same-sex relationships.

In comparison, the estimated average cost per IVF cycle in the US is about $12,000, according to the American Society for Reproductive Medicine.

Spain also has more IVF clinics than any other country in the EU, per the European IVF Monitoring Consortium.

"The more facilities that are offered to become a mother later in life, the easier it's going to be," said Pauline Bronkurst, who had her second child this year at the age of 43.

"In our case," Bronkurst added, "both of our babies were conceived through IVF, so that definitely played a role."

Genetic risks

Having kids later in life does increase the risk of genetic conditions.

But Bronkhurst emphasized the importance of Spain's public healthcare system, which was particularly beneficial after her second child was born with a genetic condition.

While getting pregnant at an older age can increase the likelihood of complications, Bronkhurst said that in countries with universal healthcare and a high standard of medical care, the perceived risk of advanced-age pregnancy is significantly lower.

"I think that plays into the whole thing of waiting longer," she told BI.

Slow to settle down

Another major factor contributing to delayed motherhood in Spain is that people are simply settling down later in life.

The average age of first marriage among men in Spain is 36.8, the highest in Europe, while for women it's 34.7, also the highest, according to the latest Eurostat data.

Stephanie Galavodas, who had her son three years ago aged 41, told BI she waited until her 40s to have a child because she was "saying yes to things in life when I didn't have the partner to build a family."

After years of pursuing degrees, traveling, and establishing her career, she eventually met her partner, with whom she had her child.

"I always knew that I would have kids someday," she said, "and so it felt fine to me to kind of go out in the world and experience things instead of rushing to have a child first."

Going it alone

A growing number of Spanish women are also going it alone.

García-Velasco said the fastest-growing group seeking fertility treatment at his clinics in Spain are single mothers who have decided to raise a child on their own.

This trend is not unique to Spain. A 2020 study published in Fertility and Sterility found a significant rise in the number of single women undergoing IVF in the US over the preceding 12 years.

In Spain, García-Velasco said that many single mothers pursuing fertility treatment cite a "lack of adequate partner" as their primary motivation for going solo.

For Cruz-Lemini, the doctor who had her child at 44, this was the reality. "I'm a single mom by choice," she told BI.

Cruz-Lemini was occupied with studies, training, and then work as a doctor, but, she said, "You get to be around 40 years old and then suddenly you realize that it might be your last chance or chances to have a child."

She found a sperm donor and pursued IVF. A little over two years ago, she gave birth to her daughter.

Sometimes, she said, "you have to do it by yourself because you don't have time to get into a relationship."

• A new study found that postpartum depression rates doubled over the past decade.
• Mothers interviewed by Business Insider shared a range of symptoms, including anxiety and OCD.
• Researchers say early intervention is key, but some are scared to share their symptoms.

When Bri Ramos was pregnant with her second child, she was already worried about the symptoms she experienced with her first. The lack of motivation or excitement. The severe anxiety that, up until having her first child, she never dealt with before.

Then, she started having panic attacks in her second pregnancy.

"I was like, 'Oh, here it goes again,'" Ramos, 36, told Business Insider. Her doctor saw Ramos "walking right into some bad postpartum" and took a proactive approach: prescribing Ramos Zoloft shortly after she gave birth.

Ramos is one of the many mothers diagnosed with postpartum depression. A new study from JAMA found that postpartum depression diagnoses have doubled in the last decade.

Dr. Nehaa Khadka, a maternal and child health epidemiologist at Kaiser Permanente Southern California and lead researcher on the study, told Business Insider her team was surprised by how high the rise was.

While it could be partly due to increased awareness and screening, there seems to be more at play.

Rates of depression and loneliness are on the rise, and were turbocharged during the pandemic. Emerging cultural pressures to return to work quickly or to be the perfect parent can play a role too, therapists say.

Behind the research, many mothers with PPD say they still feel misunderstood, left in the dark, and lacking resources.

Working mothers are forced to slow down

Ramos, the founder and creative director of an ad agency, said one of the hardest postpartum adjustments for her was accepting a "new season" of her life.

"So many women go through an identity crisis because it's like, 'I've been this high-achieving career woman, and now I am at home for the next six or 12 months taking care of a child,'" she said. She had to take time to figure out who she was as a mother, separate from her usual work routine.

Not every working mom has the ability to take time off and transition into motherhood. There is no national paid maternity leave in the US; full-time working moms have to rely on their employers' individual policies. This puts mothers in a precarious position: if they can't take more time off to recover, their depressive symptoms can impact their productivity, putting their jobs on the line.

When Stephanie Fornaro had her second child at 33, she had "just an overwhelming feeling of doom and sadness." She also felt resentment toward her husband when he went to work, leaving her fully in charge of their son.

Because her symptoms were physically debilitating, she quit her software sales job for two years. Not working contributed to her depression, too.

"When you're accustomed to a demanding job and 'performing' and then you go to a slower pace, and solitude, it's a major adjustment that I think many underestimate," Fornaro, 39, said.

Plowing ahead, potentially ignoring postpartum depression symptoms, can lead to quicker burnout — and leaving a career entirely.

Justine Sterling Converse runs a women-owned event strategy and management company in Texas. She remembers many of her close friends in the industry jumping back into full-time work after taking three months of maternity leave. They all quit shortly after, unable to balance motherhood with working long hours and weekends.

Once she started having children of her own, Converse realized how hard it was to return to full-time work so soon. "12 weeks is just when you're starting to have a routine with your baby," Converse, 40, and a mother of four, told BI.

It was harder with postpartum symptoms. Converse was diagnosed with postpartum OCD, something she hadn't heard of before. In her office of 10 full-time workers, she said about 75% of them have experienced postpartum depression, anxiety, or OCD.

It's partly why her company policy includes 16 weeks of maternity leave and a 50% "transition" month for mothers to ease back into working full-time. Converse, who recently gave birth, is in a transition month herself and said it's been a huge help.

"I willed myself to not go through postpartum again," Converse said. "And I still did."

Postpartum depression can be hard to identify

Symptoms of postpartum depression range from intense mood swings to thoughts of harming your baby. While it's common to feel "baby blues" when you first give birth, PPD is much more severe and can last for weeks or months.

Still, it's one thing to know about postpartum depression. It's another thing to identify it in yourself when you experience new symptoms.

"As a new mom, you're in survival mode," Fornaro said. She knew something was off, but didn't have the space and time to take stock of it all and see it for what it was. "Now, I can reflect and go, 'Wow, I really was struggling.'"

Fear of judgment has kept some new parents from reporting their PPD, said Dr. Clayton Shuman, who led a 2022 study on how the pandemic influenced a rise in postpartum depression rates. He said patients might hold back on sharing their symptoms like being unable to bond with their baby, "to avoid the stigma and guilt."

Ramos believes more openness around the subject is helping.

Out of her tight-knit friend group, four out of five women have had kids. All of them have had postpartum depression or anxiety, and openly discuss their symptoms. While Ramos experienced a lack of joy, a friend had intrusive thoughts about her newborn's health.

In contrast, when Ramos' older sisters experienced PPD nearly two decades ago, one of them "just sat in her closet and cried." She thought her depressive symptoms were normal and, at the time, told no one.

In other countries, maternity leave is different

Postpartum symptoms can last for years, much longer than the three to four months of maternity leave many US full-time employees get.

In contrast, European countries like Greece and Iceland offer 26 weeks of leave or more. Some, like North Macedonia, allow parents to take additional leave if they need to, without fearing for their job security.

For American mothers without as many federal safety nets, extra help makes all the difference. Fornaro's husband worried about her postpartum depression and offered to pay for a nanny, which she initially refused. "It took a lot of convincing and setting aside my pride," she said.

Looking back, she said hiring extra help was the "best decision" for her family. Her nanny not only made every day more manageable, she offered crucial emotional support and helped Fornaro bounce back.

In Ramos' experience, even the smallest interventions can radically change postpartum symptoms. She said she is grateful her doctor was so quick to diagnose her and prescribe medication; it made for a much smoother experience with her second child.

"I'm just so thankful that I got to enjoy him being a baby and having fun with him," she said, remembering how overwhelmed she was when she had her daughter four years earlier. "I was just in a completely different state of mind."