Why Can’t I Sleep After Having a Baby? The Quiet Pain of Postpartum Nights

Struggling to sleep after having a baby? Leah’s story sheds light on postpartum insomnia, pressure, and the healing that comes with support.

We talk a lot about sleepless babies—but what about sleepless mothers?

When the house is finally quiet and everyone else is asleep, some moms lie awake in a storm of exhaustion, anxiety, and pressure.

This is Leah’s story—a powerful reminder that postpartum insomnia doesn’t always look the way we expect… and that asking for help isn’t just okay—it’s essential.

When the Baby Sleeps… But You Can’t

Leah is a 29-year-old mom of two and a brilliant, compassionate social worker. She’s the kind of person who’s deeply articulate—she doesn’t just feel her emotions, she can name them, sit with them, understand where they’re coming from. She's insightful, self-aware, and incredibly thoughtful.

Which is exactly why her story is so powerful—and so important to share.

I first met Leah a couple of years ago, after the birth of her first child. Like so many new mothers, she poured every ounce of herself into her baby’s needs. The sleepless nights, the nursing, the crying, the routines, the guessing—it was all-consuming. And when her baby finally started sleeping through the night at around 7 months old… Leah couldn’t.

She called me, completely drained and in disbelief. The common advice haunted her: “When the baby sleeps, the mom sleeps.” But what happens when that doesn’t work? When your body doesn’t get the memo? When your mind is wired and tired all at once? You lie there at 2:00 a.m., heart racing, fully alert… while the rest of the house is finally quiet.

It builds a very particular kind of panic.

Leah told herself, “This is my chance. I need to sleep now.” And the more she tried, the more sleep escaped her. Because sleep doesn’t respond to pressure. In fact, pressure is sleep’s worst enemy.

The Emotional Toll of Postpartum Insomnia

It took time. Together, over the course of three months, we explored what was happening—not just on a physical level, but emotionally and mentally. Leah learned how to calm her nervous system, how to step back from the panic, and how to trust her body again. Slowly, she began to fall asleep without forcing it. She started to feel whole again.

But the journey was anything but easy.

There were nights she cried. Nights she questioned everything. Days she felt like she had failed, or that something was wrong with her. But nothing was wrong. She was just a mother in the thick of postpartum—exhausted, overwhelmed, doing her very best in a culture that rarely gives mothers the space to unravel.

A New Baby, A Familiar Fear

Two years later, Leah called me again. This time, her voice wasn’t filled with panic—but with tears.

She had just had her second baby, and the exhaustion was taking its toll. Her newborn was up every few hours, needing to nurse constantly, and rarely giving her more than a two-hour stretch of rest. In an effort to survive, Leah would nurse him to sleep in her bed, hoping for a few extra minutes of sleep.

But the pressure returned. “I have to sleep in the first part of the night,” she told herself, “because that’s the longest stretch he gives me.”

And just like before, sleep wouldn’t come.

The fear was creeping in. Why is this happening again? I thought I had worked through this. I thought I knew what to do. That fear—the fear of slipping backwards—is something so many moms feel but rarely say out loud. It’s not just the sleeplessness. It’s the emotional toll of thinking you’ve lost the progress you fought so hard to earn.

We spoke. I listened. And this time, something was different.

Yes, Leah needed support. But this wasn’t just about her. It was about the baby’s sleep, too. She wasn’t dealing with post-insomnia in the same way as before—she was in the trenches of real, raw sleep deprivation. Her body was beyond exhausted. Her nervous system was on high alert. And her baby needed help settling.

So I gently offered something I don’t always say in the first session:

“I wonder if what you need right now is a baby sleep coach. Let’s get him into a rhythm. Let’s give you a longer stretch of rest—and then we’ll talk.”

She was open. She heard the suggestion not as a dismissal, but as a lifeline.

And it worked. The baby coach was an incredible fit. With some support, her little one began to settle more consistently. That opened the door for Leah to get some rest, and to re-engage with the tools she had already learned with me.

Healing Isn’t Linear—And That’s Okay

We often think that healing is linear. That once we “fix” something, it shouldn’t come back. But motherhood isn’t linear. Hormones shift. Babies grow. Life changes. Just because you did the work once, doesn’t mean it won’t resurface in a new form.

That doesn’t mean you failed. It means you’re human.

Leah didn’t need a full program this time. She needed a few sessions. A place to be heard. A space to cry. A voice on the other end reminding her of what she already knew—and affirming how incredibly hard this stage of life is.

Because postpartum is brutal in ways no one prepares us for.

It’s not just the physical exhaustion. It’s the loneliness of being up at 3:00 a.m., again. It’s the whiplash of emotions, the hormones, the tears you can’t explain. It’s the guilt of wanting space while holding a baby you love. It’s the fear that you’ll never feel like yourself again.

And the truth is: none of that means you’re broken.

It means you’re a mother. In the thick of it. Doing your best with what you have.

Support Is the Turning Point

Leah’s story is a reminder that reaching out for help isn’t weakness—it’s wisdom. Whether it’s a baby sleep coach, a postpartum therapist, a lactation consultant, or a sleep coach like me—what matters is that you don’t try to carry it alone.

You’re not supposed to know how to do this on your own.

Motherhood isn’t a test. It’s not a performance. And it’s certainly not a solo mission.

The real strength is in saying, “I’m struggling, and I need support.”

Today, Leah is in a better place. Both her boys are sleeping. She’s sleeping again too—not because everything is magically easy now, but because she has support, strategies, and space to be honest about how hard it really is. 

I hope her story reaches another mother who’s lying awake right now, wondering why she can’t sleep when the baby finally does.

You’re not alone. You’re not doing anything wrong.

And you deserve rest, support, and healing—however many times it takes,

If Leah’s story resonates with you and you’re struggling to sleep—whether it’s postpartum insomnia or raw sleep deprivation—you don’t have to navigate it alone. I’m here if you’re ready.https://calendly.com/chevymermelstein