There was a chill in the air on the autumn day when I finally found the courage to ask my husband to take me to the emergency room. All week, constant dark and intrusive thoughts had been chasing me, telling me to end my life and hurt my baby, while my whole body was feeling intense physical pain.

As a new mother in a new country, it was hard to ask for help. I wondered, "What if they decide to take my baby away from me? What will my family think of me? What will my husband think of me? Am I a bad mother?"

I'd grown up in Mauritius where admitting mental health struggles came with a huge stigma. I'd never heard of postpartum depression and didn't know that was what I was experiencing.

For weeks, I'd been keeping all my innermost thoughts a secret. It was like living a double life where

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