A gap in perinatal mental health care leaves millions of women struggling alone in the weeks and months after birth. Solomon’s cross-border investigation reveals a continent-wide failure to recognize and treat postpartum mental health conditions.
This story includes references to mental health conditions and self-harm.
Lisa Lynch*, 38, approached the prospect of motherhood pragmatically, aware of the hard work involved. In Northern Ireland, she and her husband had taken the parenting classes, read the books, assembled the bassinet and lined up the diapers in perfect rows.
But she soon realized nothing could prepare her for how “unrelenting” and “instantaneous” the change would be. “You go from zero to a hundred,” Lynch said. “One day there’s no child, and the next there’s this tiny person who depends on you for everything. It’s totally overwhelming.”
Right after giving birth, Lynch’s anxiety surged. The postnatal ward was noisy and crowded; visiting hours were short, and when her husband left, Lynch felt the weight of responsibility, and the loneliness, crash over her at once. “Small things became huge,” she recalled. “We packed the wrong size of nappies, her clothes were too big, and I just couldn’t figure out what to do next. My panic and anxiety were affecting my ability to parent. I felt like I wasn’t doing a good job. It was a disaster.”
Her distress escalated rapidly, driving her unease “off the charts.” Forty-eight hours after giving birth, Lynch, who had no prior history of mental health, was taken from the postnatal ward directly to a general psychiatric ward, where she was later diagnosed with adjustment panic and depressive disorder.
The separation from her newborn deepened her panic. The baby was brought in for short visits, but the ward was not baby-friendly, turning each visit into a stressful logistical ordeal for the entire family. “That doesn’t ease your anxiety,” she said. “It doesn’t help you learn how to parent. How do you adjust to being a mother if your child isn’t there?”
The ward was far from a place of recovery. There were no midwives, no baby-friendly spaces. “I’d just given birth and got an infection in my stitches,” she said. She was missing the basic things: breast pads, sanitary pads, or proper storage for pumped milk.
“You can’t learn to feed if your child isn’t there,” Lynch said. “Milk stimulation is linked to your baby – their scent, their crying, their touch.”
Experts warn this separation can cause lasting trauma, disrupt bonding, and in some cases lead to tragedy. “A general adult mental health ward is not an appropriate environment for a new mother,” said Dr. Julie Anderson, chair of the Royal College of Psychiatrists in Northern Ireland.
But the worst of it was that Lynch was missing all her daughter’s firsts — her first night at home, first bath, and her first smile.
When she returned home seven weeks later, her husband had built a routine alone. “I felt like I was stepping into a stranger’s world. Everyone else knew everything about my daughter, except me.”
“No new mother should ever be separated from her baby because of mental illness,” said Dr. Alain Gregoire, perinatal psychiatrist and founder of the Maternal Mental Health Alliance. “Becoming a parent is the most difficult thing any of us ever does in our lives. This is a time when human beings need as much support as it’s possible to get – and our current society simply does not provide that,” he added.
Lynch’s story is not an isolated case. Across Europe, public healthcare systems are often praised as universal, equitable, and accessible. But a cross-border investigation in the UK, Italy, Greece and Hungary reveals a systemic failure that leaves millions of new mothers across Europe isolated and dangerously unsupported. The result is a silent crisis in which millions of people face pregnancy and postpartum mental health struggles alone.
Our reporting found:
On paper, Europe’s universal health systems promise comprehensive maternity care. In practice, mental health is often treated as an afterthought.
Mental health issues are the most common complications of childbirth, ranging from mild anxiety and depression to severe disorders such as postpartum psychosis. According to the World Health Organisation (WHO), up to one in five women in the WHO European Region experience a significant mental health condition after giving birth. In many high-income countries, these conditions are now the leading cause of maternal death between six weeks and one year postpartum.
“It’s outrageous that maternity care is not both for physical health and for mental health,” said Dr. Gregoire. “If this were cardiology, it would be such a national scandal.” Instead, access to efficient perinatal mental health care across Europe remains “very hit and miss. It’s pure chance, and that’s completely unacceptable.”
Few countries have built the systems required to prevent, detect, or treat mental health disorders. A 2024 WHO scoping review found that while most European countries have general mental health policies, fewer than half have implemented strategies specifically addressing perinatal mental health. Only ten of the WHO European Region’s 53 countries offer routine perinatal mental health screening, and just 11 provide any type of specialized treatment services.
The disparities are stark.
The UK ranks among the most developed systems in Europe, with comprehensive policies, screening guidelines, and treatment pathways. But even there, access varies widely by region, and mother-baby units remain insufficient for population needs.
Italy has a national policy and some screening in place, but implementation is uneven. Whether a mother receives psychological support often depends on where she lives — or whether she knows where to look.
In Greece and Hungary, there are no dedicated national programs at all. In Greece, a single state-run facility in Athens focuses on maternal mental health, leaving the rest of the country with patchy or nonexistent services.
In Hungary, the burden falls largely on the “health visitor” system, a nationwide network of specially trained public health nurses who monitor pregnant women, new mothers, and young children through visits and clinical appointments. They provide health checks, developmental screenings, and basic psychological support, but they are not mental health specialists and often carry caseloads that far exceed capacity — leaving them overstretched, under-resourced, and tasked with responsibilities they cannot realistically meet.
For Dr. Gregoire, the uneven landscape is not a matter of resources but of political will. “We’ve seen it in the UK, and we’re starting to see it in France, which has invested in expanding specialist units. Any high-income country can do it, and should do it.”
He added that the cost of effective care is “absolutely minute” compared with the long-term social and economic impact of untreated maternal illness, which affects partners, infants and children. In the UK alone, the annual cost of failing to provide adequate perinatal mental health services is estimated at £8.1 billion (more than €9 billion).
“Compared to physical maternity care, it’s a tiny fraction of the cost,” he said. “Yet the consequences of neglect are devastating – for mothers, partners, and children alike. Society relies on parents to nurture the next generation; it’s time we invested in them.”
An international congress will convene at the European Parliament in Strasbourg on 10 December to spotlight the urgency of perinatal mental health and the often-overlooked forms of violence affecting mothers and babies. Delegates are expected to call for an International Observatory on Perinatal Mental Health and a new Parliamentary Sub-Commission to strengthen prevention, detection and intervention across Europe.
Across Europe, however, mothers continue to face the same experience again and again: feeling overwhelmed, unprepared and alone at a moment when, experts say, they should be surrounded by consistent, compassionate care.
This silent crisis is fuelled by universal pressures and entrenched gender inequality. The pervasive ideal of the “perfect mother”– calm, instinctively nurturing, effortlessly breastfeeding — breeds deep-seated guilt and shame, experts say. Women like Lisa Lynch internalizing every misstep as personal failure. Admitting vulnerability risks being labelled inadequate.
“The role of mother carries enormous weight for us, both emotionally and culturally,” said Alessandra Bramante, President of the Italian Branch of The Marcé Society for Perinatal Mental Health. As she put it, “we often [make] women feel wrong when they can’t breastfeed.”
Stigma compounds isolation: if you’re suffering at this vulnerable time, you receive even less support precisely when you need it most.
Our cross-border survey across the UK, Italy, Greece and Hungary, which included over 700 mothers, quantified the scale of this hidden struggle. More than half of respondents reported feeling anxious and overwhelmed in the weeks after birth. Forty-four percent reported feeling lonely or isolated, and two in five said they no longer recognized themselves. Yet many received no emotional check-in at all: 56 percent of mothers in Hungary, 70 percent in Italy and 76 percent in Greece said no healthcare professional had asked them about their mental well-being.
Where systems are fragmented, the cultural pressures intensify. In Hungary, the “health visitor” system has been stretched to its limits. It remains the only structured mechanism to detect postpartum depression, yet experts say it cannot meet the demand and provides inconsistent support across regions.
For Adél Kollányi*, a Budapest-based mother of a four-year-old girl, even a conscientious health visitor wasn’t enough to stop her from slipping through the cracks – between the months-long waits in the state system, conflicting advice from private professionals, family opinions, and the pressure to cope.
The consequences were serious. Kollányi had two major risk factors for postpartum mental illness, but was unaware of either. Her own mother had experienced postpartum depression, but spoke about it vaguely and rarely. “She said she went through some kind of depression, but she always quickly added that everything was beautiful and that things turned out fine,” Kollányi said. “Even as a child, I felt she did not want to talk about it. So I never asked.”
She was also unaware that her previous depressive episodes were early signs of a different diagnosis: bipolar disorder, which in some women first becomes apparent after childbirth.
“We do not want to frighten mothers, but it is important to know that after childbirth, the risk of hospitalization for a mental health problem increases significantly – by a factor of 22 – for women who already have a psychiatric condition,” said Professor Tamás Kurimay, head of Hungary’s only mother-baby unit and chair of the Women’s Mental Health Section of the European Psychiatric Association.
By the time her daughter was two, Kollányi had already been in therapy for more than a year and was on medication prescribed by a psychiatrist. She kept thinking that she “should be feeling better by now,” yet her condition worsened.
It was only after she checked into a psychiatric ward for a two-month stay, arranged through a professional friend, that she finally received the diagnosis that had eluded her for years: bipolar disorder.
While she was admitted, her husband and family cared for her daughter, allowing them to see each other on weekends. (In the mother-baby unit in Hungary, as well as in the ones in the UK, mothers can stay until their child turns one year old.)
In Greece, the gaps play out differently but with similar results. The country has only one state-run mental health facility dedicated to motherhood — based in the country’s capital, Athens. Dedicated mental health services for mothers are scarce in the rest of Greece, even in large urban areas. A perinatal health expert told Solomon that asking mothers how they’re feeling during pregnancy and postpartum has not yet been standardised as a practice by health practitioners in Greece.
“It was very difficult,” said one mother from Greece who participated in the survey. ‘There was no support whatsoever, neither psychological nor practical. My partner was working, so I was alone, essentially locked up in the house.”
In Hungary, 43 percent of the women who considered seeking help did not see a professional. The pattern was similar in the Aegean Islands: although 51 percent of mothers thought about seeking a mental health practitioner, only 30 percent did. Among those who never sought care, nearly 43 percent cited inaccessible mental health services.
For migrant and Black, Asian and minority ethnic women across Europe, the barriers multiply: language gaps, institutional bias and outright discrimination deepen isolation, according to WHO guidance. These barriers can heighten the risk of untreated perinatal mental health problems — complications that the WHO warns can lead to lasting trauma and disrupted bonding, yet are often highly treatable when the right care is given at the right time.
Across Europe, grassroots groups have stepped in to offer what health systems often do not: reassurance, community, and a space to speak openly about the darkest parts of new motherhood.
In Hungary, the Mamakör (Mom’s Circle) Foundation stands out for its structured approach and organized support network. Operating as a private service since 2013, it offers psychologist-led peer-support groups — rare safe spaces where mothers can acknowledge fear, anger, grief of ambivalence without judgment.
“When we share our stories, we lift each other up,” said Linda Roszik, a clinical psychologist and Mamakör co-founder. “Speaking out brings relief and ease.”
The benefits are real. Research from Eötvös Loránd University (ELTE) shows that participation in Mamakör can reduce anxiety, build maternal confidence and strengthen the bond between mother and infant. For many women, these groups also serve as a bridge to professional care, helping them recognize when symptoms require medical attention.
But experts caution that not all peer groups function well — and none can substitute for a proper national system.
“It can happen that a mother feels unwell and a group could be very helpful, but not everyone knows how to function well in a group,” said Alessandra Beltrame, Italian psychologist specializing in the perinatal period. “Sometimes situations arise that can be potentially harmful.”
And no matter how effective, peer groups remain a stopgap — one driven by volunteers, unevenly available and often inaccessible to the mothers who would benefit most.
Governments across Europe have been sounding the alarm over falling birthrates, urging women to have more children while offering little support to those who already have them.
Demographic growth has been a central priority for Prime Minister Viktor Orban’s pro-natalist government in Hungary, which in 2023 dedicated 5 percent of the GDP to increasing births through pro-natalist incentives. Yet in 2024, the number of births fell to 77,500, the lowest level recorded in Hungary since national statistics began in 1949. Greek Prime Minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis has called the demographic decline the most pressing national challenge. Italy’s prime minister Giorgia Meloni has described the issue as the country’s “most urgent national emergency.”
But even as governments promote childbirth, the support that mothers need after giving birth often remains limited or unevenly available. For many women, that gap defines the earliest weeks of parenthood.
What happens when the right care does exist offers a stark contrast.
Ruth Hanna, originally from Belfast, gave birth while living in Spain. Ruth slipped into a severe post-partum psychosis that went unrecognised by local healthcare professionals. “No one understood what I was going through,” she said.
After a suicide attempt, she and her husband travelled across Europe in search of specialized care, eventually reaching a mother-baby unit in Scotland.
There, Hanna stayed with her infant in a private room with round-the-clock psychiatric and midwifery support. “There was a beautiful garden where we could play, a bathing and feeding area, and a playroom with toys,” she said. Childcare nurses guided mothers through daily routines — nappies, feeding, dressing, playtime and naps — stepping in only when needed. That period allowed her to rebuild her relationship with her son. “It was about learning to be mothers while also recovering from our illness,” she recalled.
Today, she sees her experience as proof of the disparities in perinatal care across Europe. “I felt guilty thinking about those back home who didn’t have access to an MBU,” or mother-baby unit, she said. “I feel lucky I didn’t have to go through what they had been through.”
Despite decades of academic research documenting the need for effective perinatal mental health care, across much of Europe mother-baby units and specialized services remain limited. For women like Lynch and Hanna, that difference in care can shape not only the start of motherhood, but what comes next.
*Some names have been changed to protect the women’s identity.
*In Greece, survey responses were collected from women living in the Aegean Islands as part of a separate Solomon investigation into the unique challenges they face in accessing childbirth and maternal healthcare services.
This crossborder investigation was supported by Journalismfund Europe.
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