Postpartum Rage, Spicy Brains & the Myth of the “Perfect Mom”
It’s 2:30 AM. I’m awake and standing in my bedroom in the dark alone with my squirmy baby who couldn’t seem to get comfortable in his own skin.
Again.
He’d already nursed. For the millionth time. Side-lying. In bed with me.
He nursed for a long time as he always did. Both sides. Multiple times.
Until I just couldn’t stand the fussing anymore.
The wiggling. The touching. The slobber on my boob.
And I was tired. F*cking tired.
Because I hadn’t slept in more than 2 hours at a time in months.
My then-husband was snoring away. Sleeping peacefully. Dreaming, even.
And I was f*cking furious, and terrified that I might actually lose it completely and physically attack my then-husband as he snored in peace the way he did all night, every night, while I parented our baby alone.
Our baby, who had such a difficult time settling. He had to be soothed just so. By the right person.
Me.
I often say that my baby only wanted me. But that’s not the whole truth. He only wanted me because I was the only one who was fully committed to him. I was the only one who took the time to learn him.
Everyone else gave up and handed him back to me saying, “He only wants the boob.”
How nice it must have been for everyone else to depend on me to stop his cries. How nice it must have been to do so little work but still get such a high reward.
It felt the opposite for me. So much work. So little reward. And if your gut reacts with, “OMG what kind of a mother says something like that?” you can hold your judgment. I’ve berated myself enough for the both of us.
But if you’re sitting there thinking, “Holy shit. This is me,” then I am so sorry. And I want you to know this:
You are not failing your baby. You are being failed. By your partner. By your mother. By your community.
But it’s not their fault.
I didn’t realize this at the time, but I’m AuDHD (ADHD and Autistic). And as a new mom, all I knew was rage, anxiety, and the constant whisper in my head: This sucks. It all sucks. Every meltdown, every disproportionate burst of anger, made me think I was a monster. That this was it. For the rest of my life. What had I done?
I wish I’d known that my rage was my brain screaming for help. ADHD, autism, executive dysfunction, emotional dysregulation, hyper-fixation, sensory overload—they were all conspiring to make my postpartum experience the exact opposite of what I’d imagined.
I wish I’d known then that if I could have just named my rage, seen it for what it was, and listened to it. I could have transformed not only my postpartum experience, but my entire life.
Postpartum Rage Is Real (And Gaslit)
Postpartum rage is an actual, measurable phenomenon, but it’s barely acknowledged in mainstream motherhood culture. We all hear about the baby blues, postpartum depression, and more recently we’ve been talking more about postpartum anxiety… but postpartum rage just might come with the biggest dose of shame there is, so most moms who are dealing with it don’t want to talk about it. Rage isn’t “lady-like” or polite. Rage is big, loud, scary, and dangerous. Women aren’t that. An angry mother is a moral failure.
Except no.
Research shows us that:
Around 1 in 7 new moms experiences PMADs (postpartum mood and anxiety disorders), with symptoms ranging from depression and anxiety to irritability and rage (Postpartum Support International).
Postpartum rage usually comes with a dose of anxiety and/or depression but is underreported and misdiagnosed, which leaves us “angry moms” feeling like we’re the only ones dealing with it. And we feel guilt. Heaps and heaps of guilt.
For neurodivergent women, postpartum rage is magnified due to things like executive dysfunction and sensory processing differences.
Think about that. Millions of new moms are experiencing rage that they’re told to suppress, feel guilty about, or blame themselves for. And many of them are neurodivergent women who don’t even know it yet.
The society we live in does not support new moms. And it’s certainly not designed for neurodivergent brains. It assumes every mother is a neurotypical, flexible, infinitely patient, perfectly resilient being who can bounce back from birth and get back to work like nothing happened.
And if you can’t? Well then that’s on you.
My Rage Wasn’t Random
I spent my early years of motherhood in fight or flight mode.I couldn’t figure out why this all felt so much harder for me than it seemed to be for everyone else. But when I started paying attention (way too late… I mean my kids were big before I put my finger on it), I noticed that my meltdowns weren’t random. They were responses to very real triggers that my brain just couldn’t handle:
Sensory overload: Baby crying, dogs nails on the wood floors, baby poop, background noise.
Routine disruption:My pre-baby routine was gone. No time alone, no uninterrupted meals, no predictable naps—everything out the window.
Perfectionism + ADHD: Every unchecked task on the to-do list, every mistake or unexpected speed bump spiraled into rage and despair.
Sleep deprivation + hormonal shifts: My emotional capacity was nonexistent, which left all of my weaknesses exposed.
This was pure cognitive, sensory, and emotional overwhelm—made worse by a postpartum I wasn’t prepared for and was figuring out alone.
Now that I know I am ADHD and autistic, everything makes sense. And I can forgive myself. A little.
I now see that I wasn’t just an ungrateful, uptight, demanding, angry b*tch — I was misunderstood and abandoned. My rage wasn’t me being an asshole. It wasn’t me being too weak to handle the stress of motherhood; it was proof that my needs were being ignored by everyone, including me.
Why Neurodivergent Moms Are Systematically Undiagnosed
ADHD and autism in women are massively misdiagnosed and underdiagnosed. Doctors, our teachers, our parents, even we ourselves, are trained to look for the way boys present—bouncing off walls, getting in trouble, obsession with trains, “classic” ADHD and autism stereotypes. But neurodivergent women usually present differently, and that difference is why we’ve been f*cked out of the support and understanding we deserve.
ADHD in women: Often internalized, invisible, comes out as perfectionism, people-pleasing, “type-A’, anxiety, or hyperfocus. Studies show women with ADHD are significantly more likely to experience postpartum anxiety and depression, sometimes 5x higher than neurotypical moms (Additude Magazine).
Autism in women: most of us learned to “mask” our traits to survive social expectations. Up to 80% of autistic women are undiagnosed (UCLA Health). Masking means spending decades pretending to be “normal”, until pregnancy and motherhood strip away coping mechanisms and it becomes impossible to keep pretending.
Sensory processing differences: Postpartum is a full-on a sensory assault. ‘Nuff said.
Societal pressure: You’re expected to look great, lose the baby weight, breastfeed, make your own organic baby food, keep your house Instagram worthy, have a great sex life, and be endlessly selfless — and don’t forget to smile and love every minute.
If you are a planner, control freak, perfectionist, slightly anxious mom, or anything of the sort listen up: your brain literally cannot follow society’s postpartum playbook without some sort of negative outcome, whether that’s burnout, depression, divorce, or worse.
My Rage Wasn’t Random—It Was Our Wiring
As I white-knuckled my own untethering in those early months and years, I knew my baby was intense. He’d lose his sh*t if we were in a place that was too loud, whenever he was strapped into anything, if lights were too bright—but I didn’t really think anything of it beyond labeling him as a high-needs baby (and then proceeding to read every book ever written about high-needs babies.)
It wasn’t until my baby asked to go to school after COVID (we’d always homeschooled), that the reality hit. He entered sixth grade and struggled in ways that I could never have predicted. His brother asked to go to school the following year, and that’s when I started to put the pieces together.
My postpartum rage, my anxiety, my overwhelm wasn’t just me. It was our brains reacting to a world built for someone else.
From Mindf*ck to Mercy
Understanding my neurodivergence has been a total mindf*ck—in the best possible way.
It’s reframed my explosions. Now, instead of replaying them in shame, I can see them as signals. It’s made me more patient when my kids or my ND partner do their own “weird” ND things that used to trigger me, because I get it now—our brains are wired for difference, not dysfunction.
It’s helped me build a life that works for us—a slower, more sensory-friendly, more connected, grounded, and joy-filled one. It’s taught me how to show my kids what unmanaged ADHD feels like, how masking drains the soul, and why it’s okay to drop the mask when you feel safe.
But mostly it’s taught me to be kinder to myself.
Kinder when I’m overstimulated. Kinder when I’m agitated. Kinder when I can’t get it all done. Kinder when my brain refuses to cooperate.
Signs You Might Be A Spicy Mom
If any of this is resonating, ask yourself:
Do changes in routine throw you into spirals of rage or anxiety? My nighttime routine—tea, a show, early to bed—was gone. My baby had thrown a wrench in it, and my new “routine” left no time for me. I didn’t recognize at the time how much this affected my mood.
Do textures, noises, or bright lights feel unbearable? As a new mom, I needed the lights down at a certain time. I thought I was just a control freak clinging to a “bedtime routine.”
Do you plan everything because unpredictability feels like danger? I was psycho-level obsessed with my baby’s sleep routine. Need I say more?
Are you secretly terrified of “losing it” in front of your baby or partner? Or have you already “lost it” in front of your mother-in-law? I yelled at my baby more times than I would like to admit.
Do people say you’re “quirky,” “too sensitive,” “too controlling,” or “too much” before motherhood—and now it’s super-sized? I go against the grain. I never do things the “normal” way, and in motherhood, this continued.
Do you excel pre-baby but now feel like a disaster? I was never late to anything. Never missed a bill payment. Never forgot an appointment. But once my baby entered my world, that all changed.
If any of this resonates, congratulations—you might be a neurodivergent mom. Sure, a spicy brain makes life messier, but I wouldn’t trade mine for a “typical” one, not for a million bucks.
Being neurodivergent just means your brain works differently than what colonialism, patriarchy, and capitalism call “normal.” That’s it.
If you’re struggling to do life, you’re not failing. You don’t suck. You’re not stupid, lazy, or a mess. Society might say that, but you deserve radical understanding—especially in postpartum.
The Cost of Not Understanding Your Brain
Ignoring your neurodivergence postpartum can be expensive. For me, it looked like:
Money wasted on “quick fixes” – impulsive purchases, programs, and books that promised answers.
Time lost – hours spent researching, worrying, and trying to “figure it out” instead of being present with my baby.
Relationship fallout – ended up divorced, constant conflict with people who didn’t understand.
Career disruption – couldn’t return to work because managing it all was impossible.
Mental health toll – therapy after therapy, meltdowns, emotional flooding, shame spirals.
Other common effects include:
Shame & guilt spirals – every meltdown feels like failure
Anxiety turning into rage – emotional flooding becomes unpredictable
Isolation – withdrawing because no one “gets it,” making postpartum a lonely battle
Ignoring your neurodivergence has real, tangible costs. Recognizing it early can save your sanity, relationships, and even your finances.
If you’re experiencing postpartum rage, your brain is letting you know that your environment, your expectations, and your support systems are misaligned. When you listen, you gain clarity, power, and the ability to take back your postpartum experience.
How I’m Reclaiming My Power
Here’s what’s helping me—and can help you too.
My kids are 16 and 11, and I didn’t learn about my neurodivergence until about two years ago. The impact of not knowing is real and obvious—for them and for me. I’m still learning, repairing, and working hard to heal myself and the damage I unknowingly caused.
This is what’s working for me now—and it’s what I wish I had known to start doing earlier. It’s not perfect, but it’s progress.
1. Learn Your Brain
Read books like Divergent Mind, Neurotribes, Neuroqueer Heresies, and Unmasking Autism.
If it’s accessible, you can consider seeking an official diagnosis. But for adults, self-diagnosis is valid too. There are plenty of online assessments that can give you a clearer picture. These aren’t the final word, but they can help you understand your brain better and start figuring out what support you might need. Here are a couple you can try:
2. Sensory Accommodations
Noise-canceling headphones or earplugs like Loops for crying, music, or chaos.
Dim lights and soft textures to reduce sensory assault.
Comfortable clothes to prevent physical irritation from triggering meltdowns.
3. Build Brain-Friendly Routines
Create predictable schedules for feeding, sleeping, and self-care.
Keep flexibility minimal—your brain needs scaffolding.
Use visual planners, alarms, and checklists to help with executive function.
4. Lower Perfectionist Standards
Outsource, delegate, and accept that some things will be messy, and remember that this is temporary. Life will be [more} manageable again someday. I promise.
Perfect is a myth; sustainable is revolutionary. Chasing perfection as a mom leads to burnout and it will steal your joy. Believe me. I speak from experience. Focus on what you can realistically maintain—and stop trying to meet society’s bullshi*t standards.
5. Postpartum Planning for Neurospicy Brains
Prepare for meltdowns by having safe spaces, backup plans, and sensory tools ready. You MUST prioritize self-care. And I’m talking about real self-care, like setting boundaries, saying no, and taking time alone. This is non-negotiable.
Include your partner in clear communication plans. Our partners, whether neurotypical or neurodivergent, rarely intuitively know what we need. We need to be very clear with ourselves and with them.
Normalize asking for help. Put your brain’s survival and mental well-being above societal expectations. Your baby benefits more from being held by a regulated, present mom than from a perfectly folded onesie or spotless house.
Rage Is Power, Not Shame
Your rage isn’t weakness. It isn’t proof you’re failing. It’s your spicy brain screaming for freedom in a world that doesn’t understand it. Every meltdown, every spike of anger, every moment you feel like you’re “losing it”—that’s your signal to claim your power.
So here’s what you do:
Listen to your brain, not society. You are not broken. Your brain is intense, powerful, and wired differently.
Prioritize your needs unapologetically. Protect your energy, your brain, and your sanity. If not for you, do it for your baby.
Plan for your chaos. Build routines, sensory tools, and systems that protect your energy. Design your postpartum life intentionally and on your terms.
Let go of perfection. Shred the mainstream motherhood playbook. Society’s scripts are designed to shame you and keep you feeling stressed and insecure. Reject them. And mom as you are.
Find (or build) your community. Connect with neurodivergent-friendly therapists, online groups, and other moms who get it. Speak up and you’ll find your people.
Rage, process, release—but never apologize for being neurodivergent. Your rage is real. It is a warning, a flare, a reminder that your needs matter.
Claim your motherhood on your terms. The world can adjust—or it can get the hell out of your way.
The postpartum world can be loud, unpredictable, exhausting, and lonely. But you are louder. You are fiercer. You are unstoppable.
And you are not alone.
If this hits you in the gut, I need you to hear this: you don’t have to do postpartum alone. You don’t have to collapse under exhaustion, rage, and chaos just because the world expects it. You can plan for it. You can protect your energy.
That’s what I do with my More Than Just the Pills package. Yes, you get placenta encapsulation—but that’s just the start. I help you build a postpartum plan that works for your brain, your family, and your life. We cover routines, sensory overload, communication with your partner, real self-care, and strategies to survive—and even enjoy—those first brutal months.
You have more control than you've been led to believe.
Book a call with me today, and let’s design your postpartum life on your terms. No scripts, no shame, no one-size-fits-all nonsense—just a plan that finally works for you.
