Motherhood is often framed as a new chapter, a deepening of identity, and the arrival of a love unlike any other. For two women, Anjellica Davis and Erin Adelekun, childbirth did not usher in a gentle transition into motherhood. It opened the door to medical crises they never imagined. Within days of delivering their babies, both found themselves fighting for their lives.
Their stories reveal how easily postpartum symptoms are dismissed and how fiercely Black women must trust their intuition to survive.
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The Clue Hidden in Anjellica’s Breathing
Shortly after giving birth, Anjellica Davis began noticing changes she could not explain. Walking across a room left her breathless. Climbing stairs felt impossible. Even talking took effort. She was exhausted in a way that rest did not touch, and her chest carried a heaviness she could not shake. Her body felt unfamiliar.
She tried to fold it into the story of new motherhood. New mothers are tired. New mothers swell. New mothers push through. She kept pushing because she did not want to seem dramatic or ungrateful for motherhood. But her body kept insisting that something was wrong.
“I kept telling myself it was normal postpartum exhaustion, but deep down I knew something was off.”
Postpartum cardiomyopathy is often mistaken for the fatigue of new motherhood. It is a form of heart failure that disproportionately affects Black women and can be deadly when overlooked. Anjellica spent weeks questioning herself before someone close to her finally said what she had been afraid to admit. This is not normal, and you need help.
Motherhood in Survival Mode
When doctors told Anjellica that her heart was failing, her world shifted. Medication was not enough, and a transplant was becoming the best option.
She had just become a mother, and suddenly she fought to stay alive. Grief threaded through every part of her life, grief for the postpartum experience she imagined, the body she trusted, and fear of a future she might never reach.
“I did not have the luxury of processing it,” she says. “I was in survival mode. I was trying to be present for my baby while facing the possibility that I might not be here to raise him.”
Her son became her anchor, giving her something to hold onto on the hardest days.
A New Understanding of Maternal Health
Anjellica’s experience reshaped her understanding of maternal health and the inequities Black women face. “Black women are often not heard quickly enough,” she says.
“Symptoms are minimized. Pain is normalized. Exhaustion is dismissed. If I had not pushed and questioned, my outcome could have been very different.”
She now sees maternal health not just as a medical issue but as an equity issue, and she speaks openly about listening to your body, advocating for yourself, and trusting the intuition so many new mothers are taught to ignore. If something feels wrong, it probably is.
Erin’s Mysterious Headache
Erin Adelekun’s story begins with a headache she rated a six or seven out of ten. She blamed it on exhaustion. She had just given birth, was up every two hours feeding her daughter, and was barely sleeping. Her pregnancy had been healthy. She had no high blood pressure and no complications.
A stroke was not even a possibility in her mind.
“I didn’t know a stroke could happen to someone like me.”
When she mentioned the headache at discharge, the doctor told her to take Tylenol. COVID protocols pushed hospitals to send patients home quickly, and staff believed going home posed less risk than staying. She trusted that if something were wrong, someone would say so.
The next day, her arm dropped and her words tangled. Something inside her went still. And then she remembered a stress ball she had been given, the one printed with four letters she barely noticed at the time: F.A.S.T.
Face. Arm. Speech. Time.
She had glanced at it once and moved on. Now those letters snapped into place. They told her exactly what was happening. She was having a stroke.
That moment of recognition is what saved her life.
Relearning Life While Raising a Newborn
Erin’s stroke left her with aphasia, a condition that kept her mind sharp while her words slipped out of reach. She knew exactly what she wanted to say, yet the connection between thought and speech felt broken. So, she learned to communicate in new ways, relying on gestures, communication charts, long pauses, and a patience she never expected to need.
Conversations became slower, heavier, something she had to work her way through rather than speak.
“I was a born communicator who could not communicate,” she says. “It was frustrating and humbling.”
She needed full-time care for two years. The loss of independence cut deep, and even though she had survived something many do not, she still felt like she had failed.
“I went from giving birth to needing full-time care myself.”
Her village carried her through. Her husband, family, and friends cared for her daughter while her therapists helped her relearn how to walk and talk.
Finding Her Voice Again
Aphasia reshaped Erin’s relationship with communication. She learned to speak up in medical settings and to trust her body. She also learned that being quiet can be dangerous.
“I do not minimize my symptoms anymore,” she says.
“If something feels off, I say it clearly. I do not sugarcoat it.”
She now teaches others the signs of stroke. She teaches her children and her community because she knows firsthand that knowledge is survival.
What Survival Looks Like Now
For both women, survival is not a single moment but a daily practice that lives in their bodies, their spirits, and the choices they make to keep going.
Anjellica protects her heart with rest, boundaries, and a long view of her health. “Surviving changed everything,” she says. “Motherhood now includes boundaries, grace, and listening to my body without guilt.”
Erin stays anchored through her appointments, her medication, her movement, and her peace. “Taking care of myself is part of taking care of my daughter,” she says.
Their stories are both warnings and reminders. They show how urgently the world must listen to Black women when they speak about their health, how deeply postpartum care must reach beyond delivery, and how community and medicine together shape survival.
And they show, without question, that when Black women say something feels off, the world must not ignore them.
