Everyone needs to back up.

That's how it starts. Not with the baby. Not even with your partner. For me it was the dogs.

End of a long day. I finally made it downstairs. And the second they jumped up on the sofa for a cuddle - the dogs, who I love, who have done nothing wrong I felt it. This immediate, visceral, full-body reaction. Everyone. Back. Up.

If you know, you know. If you don't, welcome to being touched out. The postpartum experience nobody puts on the list.

What being touched out actually feels like.

It's hard to describe if you haven't felt it. But try this: completely overstimulated, skin crawling, on the verge of exploding - all at once.

When you have a baby attached to your hip or your breast for the better part of twelve hours, your nervous system reaches a point where it simply cannot process any more physical contact. It doesn't matter how much you love the person trying to touch you. Your body has used up every last reserve it had.

And then your partner slaps your ass. And it is game over.

My husband usually gets the brunt of it. Which isn't fair. But it's honest. By the time the baby is down and I'm standing in the kitchen for the first time all day without someone attached to me, I need to say - gently, lovingly, with my whole heart - back the f**k off. Just for a minute. Just while I remember what it feels like to exist in my own body.

Why it happens.

Being touched out isn't a relationship problem. It's a neurological one.

Your nervous system has a finite capacity for sensory input. When you spend hours responding to a baby - feeding, holding, rocking, soothing you are in a constant state of physical attunement to another human being. Your brain is working hard. Your body is working harder. And by the end of the day, the tank is empty.

Add postpartum hormone fluctuations particularly low oestrogen while breastfeeding, which can cause heightened skin sensitivity and the physical aversion to touch becomes even more pronounced. It's not in your head. It's in your biology.

There's also something worth naming here: your body has not felt like your own for a long time. Pregnancy. Birth. Recovery. Feeding. For months, your body has been in service of someone else. Being touched out is, in part, your body asking - quietly, then loudly - to just be yours again for a moment.

The guilt is real. So is the logic.

Of course there's guilt. You love your baby. You love your partner. And yet here you are, flinching at a cuddle from the dogs.

But think about it this way. We give pregnant women space. We don't pressure them into physical contact they're not ready for. We understand that their body is going through something enormous and deserves autonomy.

Why do we stop doing that the second the baby arrives? Postpartum bodies are still going through something enormous. New mothers are still healing, still recalibrating, still figuring out where they end and the baby begins. The need for bodily autonomy doesn't disappear at the six-week check.

Saying "I need some space" is not rejection. It's self-preservation. And it makes you a better parent, a better partner, and a better version of yourself.

On putting the baby down and walking away.

In the very early days, there was a moment. All her needs were met. She just wasn't having it - another bad day, more crying, no end in sight. So I placed her safely in her bassinet, stepped outside for some air, and left a glass door between us.

She was there for sixty seconds. Maybe less. I just needed to reset. To stop the crying reaching the part of my brain that had nothing left to give. I felt terrible. And also: she was completely safe, and I came back a better mother than I would have been if I'd stayed.

Babies communicate by crying. It is quite literally the only tool they have. It does not always mean something is wrong. And a mother who steps away for sixty seconds to breathe is not failing her baby. She's making sure she has something left to give.

Put the baby down. Step outside. Take the breath. Come back.

What actually helps.

• Name it to your partner - before you're already in it. "By the end of the day I sometimes feel overstimulated and need physical space" is so much easier to hear than a flinch at 9pm. It's not about them. Saying so in advance helps.
• Build in a transition. Even five minutes between the baby going down and the rest of the evening - a shower, sitting outside, lying on the floor in silence can reset your nervous system enough to come back to yourself.
• Remember it's temporary. Being touched out is most acute in the early months, particularly while breastfeeding. As feeding changes and sleep improves, it usually eases. You will want to be touched again. Promise.
• Stop apologising for it. You are not broken. You are overstimulated. Those are different things.

The bit worth saying out loud.

You're needed from 6am until bedtime. Every day. Your body is someone else's comfort, someone else's food source, someone else's safe place. You are doing an enormous physical and emotional job and doing it on no sleep, in a body you're still getting to know.

Needing everyone to back up for a minute doesn't make you a bad mother. It makes you a human one.

Even the dogs will understand. Eventually.

If you're finding the postpartum period difficult, please speak to your GP or midwife. PANDAS Foundation offer free support on 0808 1961 776 or at pandasfoundation.org.uk