First Hand Stories
Welcome to a space of strength, resilience, and shared experiences. Here, we bring you stories from women and men whose lives have been transformed through Menucha. Each journey is unique—a reflection of courage, hope, and the power of support. We hope their voices inspire you, offering a glimpse into the healing, growth, and empowerment that Menucha strives to foster every day.
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All testimonials have been provided willingly and reflect the genuine experiences of those individuals. We are grateful for their openness in sharing their stories and for the opportunity to share them with you. Please note that all firsthand accounts and stories have had all names and any identifying details changed to protect client privacy.
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Click on a name to jump to each inspiring story;
My Trauma Journey
Hi, my name is Chaya and I have chosen to share my story to inspire others to access help when they need it. Six weeks after I got married, I found out I was pregnant, I was extremely shocked and had not expected it to happen so fast. In all honesty I was finding the transition from single to married extremely hard and this was a development that I did not welcome. However, I felt I had to keep my feelings to myself as I knew it was a bracha that it happened so easily.When we told our families everyone was so happy for us, but inside I could not feel happiness at all. I wish someone had told me then that it was ok not to be overjoyed.
The last few weeks of my pregnancy were hard, I could not walk because I had intense pelvic pain and Tova was born two weeks overdue. I had a long-drawn out induction and experienced 27 hours of agonizing labour and three hours of pushing. Eventually Tova was born using suction and I suffered a third-degree tear. During the entire process I felt out of control, totally violated and alone. I felt at no point did I understand what was happening to me and I felt totally, totallyinvisible.I spent the first night as a mother, in terrible pain in a room of six other new mothers and babies. Tova would not settle and was very clingy after her traumatic birth. She screamed on and off all night and I felt terrible for the other people in my room. When my husband came to check on me the following morning, I sobbed for hours. I could not explain what I was feeling. I felt my voice had been stolen. He was worried and called my mother who told him it was all normal after birth. Once more, someone was talking for me, this was not normal, but I could not say it.
We moved into my parents’ house for two weeks. It is a busy home with lots of people coming in and out and I struggled with the visitors. I wanted to be left alone, but again, I felt unable to speak, like I had no voice. I started experiencing nightmares about the birth, especially the pushing stage and would wake up in a cold sweat. Some of the visitors would tell me a little bit about their own births, in a jokey manner. There is nothing to joke about, I wanted to scream, but I did not. I started to have flashbacks which are like nightmares during the day. I felt haunted by them and fearful.Meanwhile little Tova was doing well, she was feeding well and putting on weight, the health visitor praised me I said I was doing an excellent job. I loved little Tova but was also scared of her. I was unable to voice my own feelings, how would I be able to look after her and understand her feelings?
At my six weeks check my GP asked me how I was feeling emotionally. I wanted to answer her, but was tongue tied. My husband spoke up, I was shocked because I had no idea, he was so worried about me. He told her about the nightmares, the crying and that I barely spoke, he asked if this was normal? My GP was very kind, she gently asked me to score some questions and told me that it sounded like I was experiencing PTSD. Finally, there was a name for what I was feeling. She spoke to me about medication to help me sleep and gave me a leaflet for Menucha. She suggested I contact them as she had sent religious women in the past and they had been extremely helpful. We filled in a referral form to send through to the clinical manager and she said that they would reach out to me.
I received a call from the clinical manager the next day. She understood straight away that talking about my birth story would be too hard for me and asked me about some of the symptoms I was experiencing. She suggested that I should undergo birth trauma resolution therapy as it was a very gentle way of processing trauma, and I would not have to repeat my story too many times. I met the birth trauma practitioner Tsippy the following week. In my first session Tsippy asked a little bit about my pregnancy and birth. She could see it was hard to talk about and reassured me that I did not need to share all the details. I found that encouraging and lightly spoke what aspects of birth triggered the most emotion in me and what the most traumatic parts were. She was not surprised that my feelings of being invisible and voiceless were so prevalent. She explained that most people think trauma occurring during birth is only linked to medical issues, although most women frequently report not being listened to, left alone, or out of control as triggers.I then filled in some forms, and we started to set goals, my goals were to share with my family my feelings about birth, to sleep through the night. We spent the rest of the session learning calm breathing techniques.
After the session Tsippy sent me a guided imagery recording which I listened to everyday before our next session. I listened to these before sleeping and it helped me calm down. I was already feeling much better by the next session. I told Tsippy that I felt silly for allowing myself to be so traumatized, after all little Tova was healthy and I had healed well physically. Tsippy explained to me that trauma does not make sense. She explained it in medical terms. She said I had experienced a terribly frightening event, and my brain stepped into action and was sending emergency signals to protect me in the form of adrenaline. In many cases after an event like that, people store the memory in the other side of the brain and the adrenaline levels start to go back to normal, in my case, because my situation was so out of control my brain had not processed my birth and continued to act as if I was in danger. This is PTSD and explained my symptoms.Tsippy asked me to rate my trauma on a scale of 1-10. I rated it 9. She then helped me relax to a calm state and guided me to visualize my experience on a big screen running forward and backwards. I was calm but could feel tears running down my cheeks. Tsippy said this as normal. I also experienced some memories that I had not remembered. I remembered the midwife saying I was doing an excellent job whilst pushing, a comment about bravery, I remembered a particularly rough Dr who told me briskly to stop shaking when trying to attach the suction, Tova grasping my finger as I lowered her blanket to see her face, and my husband making me laugh when he blew up a disposable glove when the midwife was writing notes. I continued to experience ‘forgotten’ memories throughout the week, some good some bad.I slept through the night and no longer had flashbacks. I could not believe how quickly things turned around for me.
At my next session I shared my progression with Tsippy. We went over my goals and symptoms, and I realised I was no longer experiencing PTSD symptoms. It felt amazing. Tsippy was smiling and I could see she noticed the change in me. I shared that I still felt angry at my mother and family for not validating and noticing what a state I was in after the birth and Tsippy suggested we spend some time doing positive rehearsal. We used deep relaxation and worked on confidence and tools for me to be able to share this with my mother. Which I did the next day. We also discussed how nervous I felt about having another child without a proper plan in place to ensure the same thing didn’t happen again. Tsippy and I discussed how I could speak with my husband about my shock at getting pregnant and to have open conversations about being ready to have another one. She also reassured me that Menucha helps women with previous traumatic births to plan subsequent births, including linking up with relevant services that would support me through it. When the time comes, I will be reaching out.
I really wanted to share my story as I know many women suffer the way I did. One friend I shared with said she still cried every time she thought about her birth four years earlier and could not face another birth. So, I say to those who are experiencing PTSD from birth, Menucha can help you.
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My Antenatal Anxiety Journey
My first pregnancy unfortunately ended in a miscarriage at 13 weeks. It was very unexpected as I had experienced all the early pregnancy symptoms during the first trimester, nausea, fatigue, and sensitivity to smells and I had been reassured by my sisters that the symptoms would fade once I reached my second trimester. I had been due for a scan at 12 weeks but since it was during covid, the hospital was short staffed and my scan was pushed off by a week. I attended the scan alone as due to covid restrictions my husband was unable to accompany me. I was excited and ready to see my baby that I already felt so attached to. The ultrasound technician seemed welcoming and chatty as I climbed onto the bed.
I knew something was wrong as soon as the probe touched my stomach. The technician was very quiet, and her face puzzled. After five minutes she said she wanted to leave the room to fetch one of her seniors. Together they spoke in hushed voices, ignoring my repeated pleas for explanation, one of them even raised a hand to shush me. They asked if they could change to an internal scan as something seemed off about my dates and it didn’t take long for one of them to turn to me in a deadpan tone and say, ‘there is no heartbeat’.
It was as if the world stopped, how could this be? I had been throwing up only one week before, this was our baby, I loved this baby, how could this happen? I felt cold and hot and felt everything spin around me. I questioned and protested that I was pregnant, I felt pregnant, they had it wrong. The technician tutted and sent me to wait alone outside for a midwife. It was at least an hour before someone came to see me. They explained that the baby had stopped developing at 9 weeks, however my body hadn’t recognised this and therefore continued to believe I was pregnant. I was given my options, to wait for my body to miscarriage naturally or to go for a D&C, I chose a D&C and was told to come back the following day. I took the bus home in a daze. I could feel my phone buzzing in my pocket, I assumed it was my husband, but I didn’t have the strength to pick it up. Breaking the news to my husband was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. I knew he’d be heartbroken, and he was. Still, he was extremely supportive over the next few days and weeks and somehow we pulled through this traumatic time together.
Fast forward 6 months and we found out we were pregnant once more. My husband was thrilled, he knew that miscarriage was common and felt strongly this time would be ok. I had a very different response compared to the first time. I could not feel excited, I just felt this overwhelming feeling of dread. I felt anxious about what was to come and was unable to think of the potential baby at all. The nausea was worse this time, and my husband kept saying in a way that was a good thing, it was a strong sign that things were going ok. I couldn’t hear it, I had been sick for 3 weeks whilst carrying a dead baby, who says the same hadn’t happened this time. I couldn’t trust my body. I would lay awake at night worrying, I couldn’t imagine that there was a baby developing inside me and I could only imagine the worst case scenario.
We booked for a private scan at 8 weeks, I saw the heartbeat and it all looked positive. I felt relieved and for the first time had affection towards the baby. However, later that night as I tried to fall asleep, the anxiety returned and worse. Last time the baby stopped developing at 9 weeks, the scan had helped me see the baby as a real thing, what was going to happen? was I going to lose this baby as well? I begged my husband for another scan at 9 weeks, but he insisted it was not necessary, the baby was fine and besides private scans were expensive, he said I had to have bitachon. I looked into scans under the NHS, but you needed a referral to be seen by the EPU and there was no plausible reason for a scan. I was feeling increasingly annoyed with my husband, why could he not see how worried I was? why was he not more supportive? I also felt angry, he hadn’t been at the terrible scan, nor did he go through or attend the D&C. I felt very alone.
Our scan at 12 weeks went well, my husband was allowed to join and for a minute everything seemed ok. Once again, as soon as night hit my anxieties returned, the more I saw my baby developing the more I worried about losing it. I was anxious, on edge, irritable and miserable. Part of me knew that I was being irrational, even crazy but the fears seemed so real, and I had no way to control them.
It was around the fifteen week mark when I saw a Menucha advert in the local advertiser highlighting the symptoms of perinatal anxiety. I identified with every one of the symptoms. I tore it out and put it on my bedside table. That night when I was overcome with anxiety, I pulled it out and read it over and over again. Could what I was experiencing be helped? maybe I wasn’t crazy. I promised myself I would call the next day. I’ll be honest it took a few days for me to call but when I did it I couldn’t stop talking. The person on the helpline was very reassuring, she kept telling me I had called the right place for help and that a case manager would call me the next day.
From the start I felt the case manager understood me, after all she explained, I had been through a huge trauma, what I was experiencing was actually a very normal response. She explained how Menucha worked, walked me through the confidentiality policies and made me feel that with the right help I could feel myself again. She set up an assessment with one of the therapists for two days’ time and told me to call if I had any questions. Although still anxious I felt hopeful and ready to confront my fears. The therapist was kind and very non-judgemental, I felt instantly safe to share everything, the miscarriage, my anxiety, and my anger at my husband. She validated it all and repeated what my case manager had told me, what I was feeling was normal for the trauma I had experienced.
In our first session we spoke about processing the trauma and using ACT tools, accepting the thoughts I was experiencing and understanding the link to the event that they stemmed from. Once I was able to do this we worked on tools to change the way I reacted to the thoughts. With each session I felt the burden lift little by little and I was able to deal with the thoughts rather than let them consume me. I would say I felt change after two or three sessions. My husband attended the fifth session where we explained what I was experiencing and discussed ways in which he could support my recovery. I felt so understood and supported.
At my 20 week scan, there was a tense moment when the technician queried whether the baby’s foot had formed properly. When I started to feel panic, I paused and implemented some of the strategies my therapist and I had worked on and calmed myself down instantly. I felt ready to leave therapy after 10 weeks. I felt in control of my thoughts and excited about giving birth. My case manager continued to keep in contact, checking in at regular intervals, even after I gave birth to a healthy baby boy. At six weeks postpartum we discussed closing my case as I was doing well.
I cannot express my gratitude to Menucha enough. Contacting them changed everything for me. I was able to enjoy the last stages of pregnancy, bond with my son and am thoroughly enjoying motherhood. I would say to anyone who is struggling: reach out to Menucha, their team really understands and knows how to help.
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My Journey to Peace
Hi, my name is Kayla, and I am a mum to eighteen-month-old Hadassa. I contacted Menucha when Hadassa was seven months old because I was feeling down, irritable and frustrated with myself.
A lot of my problems were triggered by feelings that I was not doing a good job as Hadassa’s mother,
and I was struggling to get through my daily tasks and to manage my online business.
I heard about Menucha through a friend, and I called their information and referral line. After speaking it
through with the case manager, she recommended I have a few sessions with one of their therapists to explore some of my feelings. I felt really validated after the assessment, the therapist was very
sweet, and I felt very comfortable sharing what was bothering me; she wasn’t judgemental at all.
In our first therapy session we explored my upbringing and how my parents always pushed me and
my siblings to do our best with no room for small errors. We discussed how, although this was positive in giving me a good work ethic in higher education and running a successful business, it left me with a
very negative, harsh inner critic.
In the following sessions we spoke about how babies do not come with an instruction manual. With so much of parenting being trial and error for everyone, I had to focus on my small successes and on how Hadassa was thriving. We also worked on my unrealistic need for perfection and how I wrongly viewed relaxation as a waste of otherwise productive time. We brainstormed some small selfcare acts to do every day and talked about small steps I could take to rediscover some of my hobbies.
I’m so glad I contacted Menucha. My therapist really helped me to be self-compassionate, less intense,
and to take time to enjoy Hadassa’s early years. Thank you!
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Journey with Postnatal OCD
(Trigger Warning – This article deals with issues of intrusive thoughts and thoughts of self-harm)
I can’t remember when I started having intrusive thoughts (maternal OCD). My earliest memory of thinking I wasn’t good enough was after my son had his six-week injections. He reacted badly to them and was inconsolable for hours. I tried everything to calm him down: I offered feeds, held him close, took him outside, and even got in the bath with him - but he wouldn’t calm down. This was new for me as I’d always been able to calm down my two-year-old daughter quickly. I remember sobbing in the bath and texting my husband to come home from work quickly. Meanwhile my daughter had woken up and was crying for me too. All I could think was ‘Why did I think I could manage this? I can’t calm my baby down – I’m not good enough to be a mother’.
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The second time I had a similar thought was at the soft play with my baby and my daughter. I turned round for five seconds to check on the baby, and when I turned back, I couldn’t see my daughter anywhere. After what felt like hours of panicked searching, my daughter calmy walked out from behind some tables by the play area. I was in such a panic, and everybody was staring at me. I was sure they were thinking I was a terrible mother. I felt like I wasn’t good or safe enough to be a mother.
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Safety became an obsession - I saw danger everywhere. Any sign of danger came with the thought loud and clear in my head ‘you are not good or safe enough to be a mother’. My whole life was affected. I no longer took both kids out together. I was a nervous wreck and became hysterical with anything that could be dangerous. The bathwater had to be low; we couldn’t use knives at the table when the kids ate with us; my heart would pound in my ears when I crossed the road. My husband kept asking why I was behaving this way, but I wasn’t able to tell him. ‘What if he sees I’m not a good enough mother and leaves me?’ On some level I knew I was a good mother, but the voice was too loud: ‘No, you cannot keep your children safe’. It was a daily battle and an internal conflict. I loved my children so much but this monster that had taken over my brain kept telling me I was going to cause them harm because I was ‘incapable of keeping them safe’.
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Then it turned darker. A thought popped into my mind: ‘Maybe someone else will keep them safer. My husband deserves a better mother for his children than me.’ When I voiced this thought to my husband he was really alarmed, so I laughed it off. But this dark intrusive thought persisted. I became terrified of the strings on our window blinds - I didn’t dare go near them. After a month I couldn’t take it any more and I asked my husband to take the blinds down. Very worried, he called his Rav who told him I seemed to be struggling with postnatal depression and needed professional help. He gave him the number of Menucha.
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The first thing they did after a phone assessment was link up with my GP who gave me an appointment that day. I felt I had nothing to lose, except my mind, and I accepted some beta blockers to lessen the thoughts, whilst Menucha referred me for specialist psychiatry for mothers. That was the first night I slept; a result of the medication combined with feeling that there was help. I might not have to live in fear. I was assigned a Menucha therapist with whom I felt very comfortable. She explained that intrusive thoughts are normal, but for someone suffering from OCD their mind takes hold of the thoughts and treats them as reality. Constantly battling the thoughts causes stress and anxiety that devastates a person’s psychological wellbeing. Your brain tortures you with movie-like images of the worst things imaginable. These are so real that it’s incredibly hard not to respond to them. She explained that maternal responsibility often triggers thought disorders simply because we are good mothers, primed to keep our children out of danger.
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The idea of my brain fighting me really resonated, and I appreciated how relaxed she seemed about it. She gave me hope that I would recover. In therapy I learnt strategies to let the thoughts pass over me, seeing them for what they were… just thoughts. These strategies helped the barrage of thoughts lessen, as if my brain knew it was losing the battle and got bored of torturing me.
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Recovery took time - a year later I still sometimes hear that voice in my head, but I know how to deal with it. I felt sad about the six months I lost because of the OCD and talking with my therapist about this helped me come to terms with it. I’m proud I’ve come so far and that I allowed myself to be helped which really is the first step to recovery. The relief that comes when starting to quieten the voices is huge. Those small improvements gave me the confidence to reach, one step at a time, where I am now.
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This hasn’t been easy to write but I hope it inspires someone suffering to pick up the phone and ask Menucha for help. That first step is hard, but they can help you win this battle.
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A Poetic Journey
I cradle my baby in the quiet of night,
While shadows creep in with a terrible might.
The world thinks I’m happy, they see me smile,
But inside I’ve been breaking for quite a while.
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A cloud hovers low, thick as the air,
I want to scream out, but I wouldn’t dare.
"You're supposed to be grateful, you’re blessed," they say,
So why does this darkness never go away?
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The days blur together, one long sleepless haze,
Trapped in a fog, I count down the days
To when I’ll feel “normal,” when I’ll feel free,
But that day has not come - it eludes me.
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My hands shake with worry, my mind's filled with fear,
I’m sinking, but drowning in silence here.
Too scared to ask, too scared to explain,
What if they think I’m broken or insane?
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The voices inside, they scold me with shame,
"You're a mother now—this is part of the game."
"Pull yourself together," they harshly declare,
But it’s not that easy - don’t they care?
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So I pretend, like everything’s fine,
Laugh in the daylight, cry after nine.
I hide behind filters, I post with a grin,
But this battle, my secret, is wearing me thin.
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I’m terrified someone will see through the lies,
Notice the tears I hide in my eyes.
But worse than their judgment, worse than their scorn,
Is the fear of admitting I’m utterly worn.
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"Good mothers don’t struggle like this," I’m told,
"They're strong, they cope, they’re always bold."
But strength isn’t silence, and I know deep inside,
I’m running from truths I can’t push aside.
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Yet each day I delay, the weight grows more,
And I feel further from who I was before.
The joy I imagined, the peace, the delight,
Replaced by the shadows that visit each night.
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I’m scared of the questions, scared of the looks,
Scared they’ll define me by what’s in the books.
I love my child more than words could ever say,
But this ache in my chest doesn’t go away.
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I whisper to myself, “You’ll get through this storm,”
But the path feels endless, with no sign of warm.
I’m too scared to speak, but too tired to fight,
Caught between guilt and the darkness of night.
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Yet somewhere inside, a voice softly pleads,
That maybe it’s okay to have these needs.
That reaching for help isn’t failure or shame,
And asking for aid doesn’t tarnish my name.
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But still, I stay silent, I bury it deep,
Hoping one day, I’ll awake from this sleep.
Until then, I’ll hide, though the weight is too much,
Praying for the courage to reach out and touch.
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Because maybe, just maybe, someone would hear,
And ease this burden, quiet my fear.
But for now, I’m too scared to let it all show,
Too afraid of the world and what they might know.
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So I keep my secret in whispers and tears,
Living this life through a lens of fears.
Hoping one day I’ll find the words to say,
"I’m not okay, but I will be—one day."