Wrestling with anxiety during witching hour with my 2-month-old

When my baby was just two months old, I had no idea how much I’d struggle with the witching hour. That time of day—between 5 p.m. and 1 a.m. for us—was supposed to be winding down, sleeping, but instead, it felt like everything fell apart. The constant crying, my inconsolable baby, and the overwhelming anxiety that accompanied it all. I never expected that this time of day would be as much about managing my own feelings as it was about caring for my baby.

With my husband working until 11 p.m., I had to manage most of the witching hour alone. And while I know it’s a normal part of early motherhood, there were days when it felt like too much.

For those who don’t know, the witching hour typically happens between 5 and 8 p.m. It’s a time when your baby, who’s been calm all day, suddenly becomes inconsolable. You try everything—feeding, burping, rocking, swaddling—but nothing works. The crying doesn’t stop, and all you can do is ride the wave of frustration and exhaustion. And for us, this happened from about 5 p.m. to 1 a.m. most nights. 

At two months old, my baby was still figuring out sleep patterns, and I was still figuring out how to survive the emotional rollercoaster. Every evening felt like a countdown to that moment. I would dread the clock ticking closer to that time because I knew what was coming.

But what I didn’t expect was how my anxiety would spike during the witching hour.

As the clock hit that magic hour, my heart would start racing. The crying would begin, and instantly my mind would spiral. Is something wrong with her? Is it my fault? I’d question everything I was doing. Was I feeding her enough? Was I holding her in the right way? Was she overtired? What if she doesn’t stop? 

The anxiety didn’t just feel like a nervous flutter in my chest—it felt suffocating. Every time the crying reached a peak, I would feel the pressure building in my chest, my breaths becoming shallow. I was overwhelmed by the weight of not knowing what to do, by my own sense of powerlessness.

One of the hardest parts of the witching hour was being alone during it. With my husband working until 11 p.m., I was the one holding down the fort. I would often find myself in the thick of it—baby crying, my own heart racing, trying to comfort her and wondering why nothing seemed to work, my dogs begging for some dinner, needing to make myself dinner at some point.

The silence from my husband’s absence made the noise feel louder. I would’ve given anything for a moment to pass the baby off, to just get a few minutes of reprieve. But in those moments, I had to be both mom and calm, even when the anxiety was roaring in my chest.

When I couldn’t calm her, when I couldn’t fix the situation, guilt would rush in. The worst part? That overwhelming feeling that I wasn’t doing enough, that I was failing her. I remember thinking, How could I not soothe my baby? How could I get to a point where I need to leave the room for a few minutes? What kind of mom am I?

And then there was the guilt about my anxiety itself. As a mom, I felt I was supposed to be calm, collected, and present for my baby. But the anxiety only grew worse when I felt like I couldn’t control the situation. I was trapped in a cycle of guilt, doubt, and fear.

The physical exhaustion during the witching hour is one thing, but the emotional toll it takes is something else entirely. When your baby is crying and nothing seems to help, it can feel isolating. You’re alone with your thoughts, your worries, and the relentless sound of your baby’s distress. That combination is not just draining—it’s exhausting in a way that lingers long after the crying stops.

It wasn’t just about the witching hour; it was about the anticipation of it. I started to dread every evening, knowing the anxiety would kick in as soon as I realized it was that time of day. And that anxiety would linger long after my baby had settled, leaving me feeling spent and emotionally drained.

Over time, I began to understand that I couldn’t control everything. I couldn’t stop the witching hour from coming, but I could change how I responded to it. Here’s what helped:

• Accepting that I couldn’t calm her all the time: Some nights, no matter how much I tried, she just needed to cry. That was hard to accept, but I had to let go of the need for perfection.

• Taking breaks: It was okay to walk away for a minute, put her in a safe place, and take a breath. I had to remind myself that caring for myself was just as important as caring for her

• Getting support: Reaching out to my partner or family members for help during the witching hour made a big difference. Even if I just needed a moment to collect myself, it gave me the space to recharge.

• Self-compassion: I learned to be kinder to myself. It wasn’t easy, but reminding myself that I was doing the best I could and that this is just a phase helped ease some of the pressure.

As I reflect on those first months with my baby, I see how much I’ve grown. Although the witching hour no longer exists as my baby has grown older, schedules don’t go according to plan sometimes and overtired situations do occur. In those times, I’ve learned when to expect it, to accept it and pivot plans if necessary, and to manage the anxiety that accompanies it.

I still struggle some days, and there are still moments when I feel overwhelmed. But I’ve also learned that it’s okay to not have everything figured out. I’m learning to embrace the chaos, to ride the waves, and be malleable when schedules don’t align.

And most importantly, I’ve learned that I am enough, even when everything feels out of control.

If you’re struggling with anxiety during the witching hour—or anytime in your motherhood journey—I want you to know that you are not alone. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. It’s okay to take a step back. Your baby’s needs may feel like a mountain to climb, but you are doing the best you can.

And that is enough.