What “Die, My Love” gets right, and wrong, about maternal mental health
- Maddy Kirkpatrick
- 34 minutes ago
- 5 min read
In an era where we are often bombarded with seemingly glamorous and smooth transitions into parenthood, the movie Die, my love shows viewers the other end of the spectrum.
Based on the novel of the same name by Ariana Harwicz, Die, my love follows aspiring novelist Grace, played by Jennifer Lawrence, and her boyfriend Jackson, played by Robert Pattinson, as they leave their life in New York City for a small farmhouse in rural Montana. We first meet the couple while they are touring the house prior to the move. Grace is pregnant, and the pair appear carefree, excited by the prospect of starting over and discussing plans for Grace to write the next “great American novel.”
After the baby is born, Grace begins to rapidly unravel, losing her grip on reality and descending into what the viewer assumes to be ‘madness’, but what those of us in psychiatry would recognize likely as a portrayal of postpartum psychosis. Through a series of dark and unsettling scenes, the audience is positioned inside Grace’s experience as she throws herself through a window, attempts to jump from a moving car, and tears paper from the walls until her nails bleed.
As a researcher focused on mental health during and after pregnancy, I was immediately drawn to Die, My Love. Maternal mental health is rarely portrayed on screen, and when it is, motherhood is often filtered through an idealised lens that leaves little room for struggle or complexity.
There is much to unpack about the film’s psychological meaning and whether it accurately represents postpartum psychosis. But what stayed with me most was its broader cultural role: how media portrayals of maternal mental health can validate women’s experiences and reduce stigma when handled with care, yet risk reinforcing fear, shame, or misunderstanding when done poorly.
Importance of representation
Society expects mothers to be perfect. As a result, many women conceal how they are truly feeling, through fear of being deemed an unfit mother. This is a serious issue, because untreated perinatal mental health disorders can have long term impacts on both the mother and the infant. As the film illustrates, mental health difficulties do not occur in isolation; they place strain on relationships, disrupt daily functioning, and can gradually erode the stability of the home.
Analyses of television and drama narratives about mental illness suggest that accurate, empathetic portrayals can increase public understanding and encourage help-seeking, while reducing stigma. Additionally, emerging research on social media content related to postpartum depression indicates that mothers engage strongly with shared personal experiences. As I have written previously in my discussion of Inside Out 2 and its portrayal of puberty, when media representations take emotional experiences seriously rather than simplifying them, they can help audiences feel understood and less alone in navigating psychological change.
Importantly, Die, My Love resists a narrative that questions Grace’s fitness as a mother. Grace’s distress is never framed as a rejection of her child; she is shown loving her baby, holding him, responding to him, and remaining emotionally connected even as she unravels. This distinction matters. While maternal mental health difficulties can affect the mother–infant bond, they do not automatically erase love or attachment. Too often, cultural narratives collapse these complexities into a single, damaging stereotype of the “bad mother.” By separating Grace’s love for her child from her psychological deterioration, the film offers a more nuanced portrayal; one that is especially important within a wider media landscape that frequently equates maternal struggle with maternal failure.
In this way, Die, My Love contributes to a growing body of media representation that allows mothers to feel seen in their struggle, and may help give them the courage to seek support rather than suffer in silence.
The risk of conflating maternal mental health with madness
For the majority of Die, My Love, viewers are confronted with unanswered questions. The film never explicitly states that Grace is experiencing postpartum psychosis; instead, we are asked to follow her fragmented and often disorienting perspective. Personally, I see this as a deliberate and effective artistic choice by the director: Grace and Jackson live in near-total isolation, cut off from both community and support. As Grace begins to navigate motherhood, the challenges she faces, and the extreme toll they take on both her mental health and the couple’s relationship, are as confusing to them as they are to the audience. The couple attempt to ignore what is happening, largely due to a lack of awareness that such experiences are possible. By placing us inside that same uncertainty, the film not only mirrors their isolation but also highlights how easily maternal mental illness can go unrecognised when there is no support or understanding to name it.
However, this absence of diagnostic clarity is not without risk. While ambiguity can foster immersion, it can also invite moral judgment rather than empathy, potentially replacing uncertainty with spectacle. Representation matters, but without sufficient context, even radical portrayals of mental illness can unintentionally reinforce stigma.
An ending portraying no way out
At the film’s conclusion, we watch carefully as Grace returns home after time in a psychiatric facility. In her absence, the once chaotic farmhouse, previously a reflection of her unravelling, has been completely transformed by Jackson. The walls are painted, the bathrooms she destroyed are repaired, flowers are placed neatly on every surface, and even the cracks in the foundations have been filled. On the surface, it is an act of care. Jackson is trying to build a peaceful, welcoming home for her return. Yet the transformation also feels unsettling, as though every trace of Grace’s distress, every visible sign of what she went through, has been wiped away. Grace tries to step into this new version of her life. She bakes a cake for her own homecoming, with “welcome home” piped carefully across the top, performing the role expected of her.
However, soon after the party begins, Grace quickly begins to spiral and leaves for the woods. Jackson finds her and turns to her once again and promises he will “try harder,” a refrain he has repeated throughout the film. This time, Grace simply responds, “enough.”, before disappearing into the forest and starting a dramatic forest fire, in which she disappears before the film cuts to black.
While the ending of Grace walking into the flames is metaphorical and open to interpretation, it does suggest a bleak kind of inevitability; Grace receives treatment, yet nothing seems to shift. While real-world treatment for maternal mental illness is far from perfect, there is meaningful and effective support available. By presenting recovery as impossible, the film risks reinforcing a sense of hopelessness. For mothers who may already feel afraid to speak up, the message could be damaging. For those in at risk of perinatal mental illness or in recovery, it could be troubling.
In sum, Die, My Love occupies a complicated but important space in the representation of maternal mental health. While its ambiguity and dramatic intensity risk reinforcing fear or hopelessness, its refusal to idealise motherhood and its insistence on showing maternal struggle offer a rare and validating portrayal. Ultimately, the conversation it sparks may be its greatest strength; reminding us that support exists, and that seeking help is not a failure of motherhood, but an act of care for both mother and child.