People always say, "Why didn't she ask for help?" The better question is "What happened after she asked?" This is not a funny column, and you need to stop reading now if talk of post-natal depression is triggering for you. But this is an important conversation, so if you have the strength to read on, I implore you to do so.

In June 2014, a year after my mother had died, I gave birth to a premature baby who screamed 22 hours a day. I almost died giving birth to her, and so the narrative was that I was "lucky". I was lucky she was born alive, and with very little health problems. I was lucky to have survived, and most of all we were lucky to have this precious gift of life after a terrible loss in our family.

I did not feel lucky. At the start, I felt scared. I was worried that we'd cheated death and so it would come for our baby. Even when she slept, I didn't. I had to watch her breathe. It was my job to protect her.

Then I felt guilty. I should have felt lucky. I should have had all of those joyful feelings that a new baby is meant to bring, and if I wasn't having those, then it was a failure on my part. I told my nurse about it, and she assured me it was just a delay. The love would come, I probably just needed rest.

Then I stopped feeling anything except exhaustion. My husband took time off work to help out with the night feeds, and I was told she was crying because she was hungry. I had to feed her for longer and then express milk. Something I've never told a soul, not even my husband, is that those bottles of "expressed milk" he fed to her at night were formula I'd made up. And while there is so much talk of "breast is best", I fully credit those bottles with saving my life. They got me through another night.

Then I knew I was a failure as a mother. I felt like I was drowning and I was dragging everyone down with me. My husband and children would be better off without me, and by the time my baby was three weeks old I had a plan to end it.

I knew, deep down, that I wasn't OK. So, I told my child health nurse everything. I got my husband to stay with the baby, and I went to see my GP. I ruined all of his appointments that morning because I sat in his office and I cried for almost three hours. The nurse made me fill out a post-natal questionnaire and I scored 28/30 on the depression scale.

But the hospital was overrun with mothers needing help, and a recent staffing change meant that there was no counselling available. I did everything I was meant to do in a mental health crisis, and I was placed on a waiting list. They sent me home with my baby.

And then, at exactly seven weeks old, she slept through the night. It was like a switch – her digestive system had caught up and feeding no longer caused her tremendous pain. I started to sleep.

I had help, so, so much help. My amazing husband took months off work. My friends stepped in. My eldest daughter's Kindy teacher had me stop in regularly, and she took the baby while teaching her class, and I sat in the staff room drinking coffee alone one hour per week.

And then my baby smiled. This little face that had spent seven weeks distorted in agony looked at me with happiness. That was when I felt lucky. My waiting list was up. I got counselling and slowly, day by day, I got better.

The woman who sat in that GP's office crying for three hours couldn't imagine this life, but I'm so grateful she stayed.

If you're reading this and you're where I was 12 years ago, you can't see it now, but there's a future version of you who is so glad you held on.

And if you're reading this as a partner, friend, parent or neighbour, please don't assume that because a woman has asked for help, she's now safe. Check in. Hold her baby while she has a shower or drinks a hot coffee. Sit with her while she cries. Sometimes asking for help is only the first step. What happens after she asks can make all the difference.

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If you or someone you know needs support, please call:

131114 – Lifeline, lifeline.org.au

1300 224636 – Beyond Blue, beyondblue.org.au/forums

1300 789978 – MensLine Australia, mensline.org.au

1800 551800 – Kids Helpline, kidshelpine.com.au

1800 184 527 – LGBTI, qlife.org.au