To The Mothers Who Keep Saying “I’m Fine”

I woke up to the news that Hayden Panettiere had died, and I was surprised by how deeply it affected me.

I wasn't someone who followed her career closely. I didn't watch everything she was in. But then I remembered her interview with Jay Shetty, and something about it came rushing back.

She was vulnerable. She was honest. She talked about postpartum depression, addiction, trauma, motherhood, and the years she spent trying to find her way back to herself. She talked about her daughter. She talked about the incredibly painful decision surrounding custody. And she talked about the parts of motherhood that are rarely spoken about honestly.

And now, knowing that she is gone, listening to those words feels different.

Hayden's death is heartbreaking. Her cause of death has not been publicly disclosed, and I don't want to pretend that we know something we don't. But her life—and especially the things she chose to speak openly about—has left me thinking about something much bigger than one person.

It has made me think about mothers.

It has made me think about how often we are expected to become someone new the moment we give birth while somehow remaining exactly who we were before.

Before the baby, we worked.

We managed the house.

We made appointments.

We took care of other people.

We solved problems.

We showed up.

And then we had a baby.

Suddenly, we were expected to do all of those things while recovering physically, sleeping in fragments, learning how to feed another human being, navigating hormones, trying to understand why we were crying, and somehow knowing exactly what this tiny person needed.

And the message underneath all of it can feel like:

You should be able to handle this.

Because you're a mom.

You're supposed to be able to do it.

You're supposed to love every minute.

You're supposed to be grateful.

You're supposed to put your baby first.

You're supposed to keep the house going, keep working, keep your relationships intact, keep your body together, keep everyone fed, keep everyone happy—and somehow not lose yourself in the process.

But what happens when you do lose yourself?

What happens when you aren't okay?

What happens when loving your child doesn't magically make you okay?

Hayden spoke about something that I think many mothers struggle to understand: sometimes taking care of yourself is part of taking care of your child.

Her decision to seek treatment and work on her mental health was not a failure as a mother.

It was an act of love.

The public often sees a mother who isn't physically with her child and makes an immediate judgment: She left.

She chose herself.

She wasn't a good mother.

But mental illness doesn't always look like someone who doesn't love their child.

Sometimes it looks like someone who loves their child so much that they finally admit, I cannot keep doing this the way I'm doing it.

Hayden spoke about the heartbreak surrounding her daughter and pushed back against the idea that she had simply abandoned her. She described seeking help because she desperately needed to get healthy, and later recognizing that her daughter had built a life with her father that she didn't want to disrupt simply to satisfy what other people thought motherhood was supposed to look like.

That distinction matters.

Because sometimes the most selfless thing a mother can do is admit that she needs help.

And that has stayed with me.

Because motherhood has a strange way of convincing women that asking for help means we aren't strong enough.

I know that feeling.

I've spent a lot of my own life trying to push through things.

Trying to be independent.

Trying to handle it myself.

Trying not to need anyone.

Trying to convince myself that if I could just work a little harder, organize a little better, sleep a little less, sacrifice a little more, I could somehow make everything work.

Because isn't that what we're taught as women?

Be strong.

Be capable.

Don't complain.

Don't ask for too much.

Take care of everyone else.

And if you're struggling, try harder.

I wish I had understood sooner that independence and isolation are not the same thing.

There is nothing wrong with being capable.

There is nothing wrong with being strong.

But strength does not mean doing everything alone.

Sometimes strength is saying, I need help.

Sometimes strength is letting someone bring you dinner.

Sometimes it is telling your partner, your friend, your doctor, your therapist, your mother, your sister, your neighbor, I'm not okay.

Sometimes it is admitting that the thing you've been trying to manage by yourself has become too heavy.

And sometimes it is accepting help before you reach the point where you are completely broken.

I wish more women knew this.

I wish someone had told me sooner.

Because the truth is, there are people who want to help us.

People who would answer the phone.

People who would sit on the floor with us while we cry.

People who would hold the baby so we could shower.

People who would bring us food.

People who would listen without judging.

People who would help us find a therapist.

People who would say, You don't have to figure this out tonight.

But sometimes we have to be brave enough to let them in.

And I think we need to change the way we talk about mothers who need that kind of help.

A mother who needs treatment isn't weak.

A mother who needs medication isn't weak.

A mother who needs therapy isn't weak.

A mother who needs someone else to take the baby for an afternoon isn't weak.

A mother who says, I can't do this alone anymore, isn't failing.

She is human.

And maybe the greatest gift we can give mothers is to stop waiting until they are falling apart before we offer them a hand.

Don't just ask a new mom, How's the baby?

Ask her, How are YOU?

And then actually wait for the answer.

Don't tell her she's lucky and assume that means she's okay.

Don't tell her to enjoy every moment.

Don't tell her that everyone is tired.

Don't compare her experience to someone else's.

Listen.

Notice.

Show up.

And if you're the mom who is reading this and thinking, But I should be able to handle this, I want you to hear something:

You don't have to.

You don't have to earn help by reaching a breaking point.

You don't have to prove that you're struggling enough.

You don't have to carry everything simply because you're capable of carrying it.

And you don't have to disappear inside motherhood to be a good mother.

You are still a person.

You still matter.

Your mental health matters.

Your identity matters.

Your dreams matter.

Your body matters.

Your life matters.

And asking someone to help you hold some of it does not make you less of a mother.

It might be one of the most loving things you ever do—for yourself and for your child.

So if you are reading this and you're struggling, please tell someone.

Tell your partner.

Tell your friend.

Tell your doctor.

Tell your therapist.

Tell your mom.

Tell someone you trust.

And if you don't know who to tell, tell me. Call me, text me, email me.

I'm serious.

You don't have to know exactly what you need. You don't have to have the right words. You don't have to apologize for needing someone.

Reach out.

I will help however I can.

Maybe I can't fix what's hurting. Maybe I can't make the exhaustion disappear or solve every problem you're carrying. But I can listen. I can help you find resources. I can sit with you in the messy middle. And I can remind you that needing help doesn't make you weak.

You don't have to do this alone.

I wish I had realized that sooner.

And I hope more women do.

If you haven't watched Hayden's conversation with Jay Shetty, I encourage you to listen to it—not because it gives us answers about her death, but because it gives us a glimpse into a woman who was trying to find her way through some incredibly difficult chapters of her life. The episode includes a particularly relevant section titled “Finding the Courage to Ask for Help” at approximately 1:35:36.

Watch Hayden Panettiere's full interview with Jay Shetty — “Anxiety, Addiction & Losing Her Brother”

Her words about motherhood, postpartum depression, addiction, healing, and asking for help are worth hearing in her own voice.

And perhaps that's one of the things we can carry forward from her story:

Be a little kinder to the mother who says she's fine.

She might be carrying much more than you know.

*This post is a personal reflection on motherhood and maternal mental health. Hayden Panettiere's cause of death has not been publicly disclosed, and nothing in this article should be interpreted as suggesting a connection between her death and the mental health or postpartum experiences she discussed publicly.