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I remember the two strongest emotions when my eldest son was born.

Love. Overwhelming, life-affirming, gut-punching love.

And relief. He was finally here. He was alive. He was safe.

A few weeks later, I looked back on that relief with deep judgement. How stupid was that?

He was here and alive and safe… but he had been much safer inside me.

I found myself longing to put him back, as if returning him to my body would return my control. If he were still part of me, I could keep him safe.

I had a difficult, traumatic birth with my eldest — a long labour that ended in an emergency caesarean. But looking back, the birth itself was nothing compared to what had come before it, and what followed.

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Many years later, when my son was five, I learned that I had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), a chronic mental health condition I'd lived with for as long as I could remember, though it had been misdiagnosed as anxiety years earlier

Back then, before my son was born and for all that time after, I didn't know. And it was horrendous. During the pregnancy I was paranoid about everything. I was terrified I would do something to harm him.

The mayonnaise incident is still the stuff of (horrible) legend in our house. I accidentally ate some mayonnaise on a café sandwich, realised it had raw egg in it (though it was from one of those supermarket jars, so not much…), and then cried for three days straight, convinced I would get salmonella and my baby would die.

We spent at least $1000 on additional scans because every time I hadn't felt him move for a while, I would become inconsolable and beg my husband to drive me to the hospital, so someone could check that our baby was okay.

This is why I thought it would be easier once he arrived. He would be there, with me. I could see him, hold him, protect him. But if you know anything about OCD, you'll know it's a stealth shapeshifter — a weed that grows anywhere — in any circumstance. You think you've solved one obsession, fixed it, finally calmed it down, and then a new, more horrible, more debilitating one appears in its place.

So, when my son was born, the obsessions simply changed.

I struggled to breastfeed and became consumed with getting it right. Pumping 12 times a day, tube feeding so he wouldn't develop breast aversion, screaming at my husband that he was undermining me when he gently suggested we give our hungry child a bottle of formula.

Then feeling soul-crushing guilt that I hadn't given him formula earlier, convinced he was starving, that I had failed him. I always felt I'd failed him. I believed he wouldn't bond with me because I couldn't breastfeed him, he couldn't love me because I wasn't a good enough mother.

And it wasn't just the breastfeeding. It was everything.

Cate Gilpin with her son. Image: Supplied.

I wouldn't let friends visit if they had children, terrified they were carrying germs. I switched our home to everything "natural": oil of cloves, vinegar and eucalyptus as our only cleaning products.

I baked bread from scratch. I was fanatical about making his purées. All of it was near impossible with a newborn and a truly broken brain, so the anxiety, fear and exhaustion just accumulated, layering on top of each other until I could barely breathe under the weight of it.

It wasn't only fears about the baby, though I definitely had those too, including intrusive thoughts that I might intentionally harm him, the kind no one wants to admit to and that I still struggle to talk about.

My other longstanding OCD obsessions also came back with full force. I can't share all of them; they're still too painful. And even though I know I shouldn't feel ashamed — I have a mental illness — the shame is still very real and very deep.

Those first three years were the most intense. When I was pregnant with our second child, my husband and I genuinely wondered whether we would survive it as a couple. I was horrible to live with for all those years, oscillating between sobbing despair, spitting anger at him for not "understanding" me, and then morphing into a Stepford wife because I thought that's what I had to be.

As I said, it turns out I'd had OCD for years. I discovered what it was at 39 while listening to a podcast, but that's another story I'll share another time. The horror of living 39 years with severe mental illness without knowing what it was, the grief of seeking help from psychologists and doctors for years without receiving the right diagnosis, is something I'm still unpacking.

According to the International OCD Foundation, perinatal (before baby is born) and postpartum (after baby is born) OCD affects up to two percent of mothers and can affect some fathers too. It is often more severe in people who already had OCD, but many expecting and new mothers develop it for the first time during pregnancy or after birth.

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For most mothers who develop perinatal or postpartum OCD, the obsessions centre on the baby: fears of the baby getting hurt, sick, lost, or fears that they themselves will harm the baby, either unintentionally or intentionally. The compulsions can look like avoiding bathing the baby or using stairs, not allowing other people in the house, constantly checking that the baby is breathing, or washing hands excessively.

One of the most essential things I have learnt, something that has helped me hugely on my OCD journey (and yes, I know that's an annoying word, but it truly is a journey), is that these obsessive thoughts are ego-dystonic.

They go against your values and beliefs. You will not act on them. That is precisely why they are so distressing.

I'm sharing this because anyone who is going through it, now or in the past, should know that it is not a personal failing. It is not bad parenting, and it does not mean you don't love your child. It is a mental health condition, and it can be treated.

Treatment isn't easy, but it is absolutely worth it. I have a mental health plan, I see a specialist OCD psychologist regularly, take medication, exercise, eat well, and talk with friends — all of which has helped me enormously.

Cate Gilpin took years to realise she had OCD. Image: Supplied.

And I promise you: you will bond with your child, and you do love your child.

For me, not knowing any of this until I was 39, having lived with OCD for as long as I can remember, recalling its onset at eight years old, and then enduring its full force through my first pregnancy and early motherhood, the sadness and grief can still feel acute.

But with treatment and support, I am well. I am more than well, actually. And my son and I adore each other. We are deeply bonded. He knows how much I love him, and how utterly precious he is to me, and always has been.

If you or anyone you know needs to speak with an expert, please contact the PANDA Helpline (1300 726 306) — the Post and Antenatal Depression Association.

If you or anyone you know needs to speak with an expert, please contact your GP or in Australia, contact Lifeline (13 11 14), Kids Helpline (1800 55 1800) or Beyond Blue (1300 22 4636), all of which provide trained counsellors you can talk with 24/7.

Feature Image: Supplied