There are some news stories that we cannot forget. Not because of what they say, but because of what we cannot explain.
Mothers who kill their own children. And love is broken.
A gesture that crosses every barrier, shattering the most deeply rooted belief: that maternal love is instinct, certainty, absolute protection. Yet it happens. In silence. Sometimes without a clear sign, without a previous diagnosis, without anyone around noticing the fracture. It is an invisible collapse in the seemingly ordinary daily lives of women who carry within themselves a pain that has never been heard.
Motherhood is a profound and complex transition. It is not just a life choice, it is not just a social condition. It is a biological process that radically changes the brain. Neuroscience shows how, during pregnancy and postpartum, the areas of the brain associated with empathy, vigilance, and care are restructured. The maternal brain becomes more sensitive, more permeable. Oxytocin, the hormone that promotes bonding, intensifies the connection with the newborn. But it also amplifies every emotion: joy, fear, insecurity. It is a window of maximum openness, extraordinary plasticity, and great vulnerability.
However, the brain is not a closed system. It is deeply relational: its balance depends on contact with others. Without a support network, without a community capable of containing emotional fluctuations, the neurobiological transformations of motherhood can become instability. What could be a resource becomes a risk.
Many women who resort to extreme measures have a past marked by unresolved trauma. Difficult childhoods, inconsistent parents, frightening environments. Disorganized attachment styles, in which love was perceived as a vital need and as a threat. When a child is born, that wound reopens. The newborn calls for absolute intimacy, which can be unbearable for those who have experienced closeness as dangerous. It is a short circuit: the desire for protection coexists with the terror of fusion.
In these situations, emotional language breaks down. Some mothers are unable to name what they feel. They feel inadequate, out of place, and guilty, without knowing why. This condition is known in psychology as alexithymia: the inability to recognize and communicate one’s emotions.
But emotions do not disappear just because they cannot be put into words. They remain trapped. They accumulate, becoming raw and primitive. They can turn into psychological symptoms, alter thinking, and distort perception of reality.
Pain does not remain confined to the mind. The body is always involved. The stress system is activated and never switches off. The hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis produces excess cortisol. The brain becomes inflamed. The immune system releases cytokines that interfere with emotional regulation. It is biology that records psychological suffering: insomnia, irritability, loss of concentration, exhaustion. It is the body that cries out when the mind cannot speak.
And then there is loneliness. The absence of another person with whom to connect. Human beings do not regulate their emotional states on their own: they do so through relationships. This is known as limbic resonance, an invisible dialogue between brains that mirror and modulate each other. When this connection is missing, when a mother remains closed off in her own internal chaos, the shared reality crumbles.
Loneliness becomes a trigger.
Every tragedy has a long history. No mother arrives at an irreparable act overnight. First, she was a woman asking for help. Perhaps in a confused, subtle way. With sudden tears. With unexplained silences. With bodies that stop feeding themselves. These were unrecognized signs.
This is why prevention cannot be limited to healthcare. A late diagnosis is not enough. A cultural change is needed. This means creating spaces where a woman can say “I can’t do it” without fear of being judged or labeled. It means having accessible counseling centers, involved fathers, and professionals who are prepared to listen, not just catalog symptoms. It means restoring dignity to fragility as a natural part of the human condition.
We need to free ourselves from the idea that a mother must be perfect, always smiling, always strong. There is no such thing as heroic motherhood. There is real motherhood: made up of tired bodies, sleepless nights, fears, and ambivalence. A mother who asks for help is no less a mother. She is a mother who recognizes her own limits. She is a living, human mother.
Every time a woman is supported in time, a whole life is put back together. A child is saved, a family is saved, a story is saved. Sometimes it takes very little. A voice that stays on the phone longer than it should. Someone who stops for a minute longer. A worker who is not in a hurry to label. A man who decides to really be there.
Hope is not a vague idea. It is concrete. It is presence. It is closeness. It is a changing culture. It is a different way of experiencing the pain of others. We cannot prevent every tragedy. But we can be there.
And every time we are there, something is saved.
