Whybe a Mother - Postpartum

Postpartum depression is a word that’s probably floated in everyone’s periphery at one point or another. Maybe your cousin had it shortly after she had her first baby, or your mom had it in some capacity while you were growing up. But did you know there’s such a thing as postpartum rage? Postpartum anxiety. Postpartum OCD. There’s a whole world of all of these disorders mixed together. I had no idea until it became my world after havaing my son in May 2022. It didn’t just hit me one day. It slowly crept in, barely recognizable until it was just a part of me - everywhere I looked.

“How are you?”

It’s a question I got a lot - A LOT, newly postpartum. It’s a question I got less and less frequently as the weeks went on. It’s a question I didn’t know how to accurately answer no matter when it was asked of me.

I always answered in some general world of “fine,” or “I’m good,” but if I had answered truthfully, I would’ve said “I have no f&$@ing idea what I’m doing and I feel frazzled AF. Some days I’m challenged so intensely that I question whether my human mind and body can endure it and if so, how will I ever? I’m surviving off little sleep and some days I feel like I’m thriving off my few hours, and other days I feel crushed and getting out of bed feels like the biggest task on this earth. I can’t accurately put into words the weight of motherhood, so I let my body do the talking for me - the dark circles under my eyes, the deep aches in my neck and low back, my hair falling out, the tired slouch of my shoulders, the creases on my skin from smiling so much, the sweat I  work up dancing in the kitchen keeping a smile on his face before bedtime.”

But I didn’t say that. I just said “I’m alright.”

After the first 12 weeks postpartum, I was supposed to be “back to myself,” right? My son and I were both supposed to be adjusted to the real world and living our best lives. We were given our grace period, but we overstayed our welcome and it was time to get back to our lives.

But it’s not that easy. My vagina is still healing almost 7+ months after a very traumatic - physically and mentally - birth. Each new developmental leap my son hits brings with it a whole new set of worries and concerns.

Is he okay? Is he developing correctly? Is he safe? What if I miss out on a pivotal point of my son’s life? The list goes on and on - believe me, I’ve made said list and it is never ending.

So how am I? I don’t know. And I think that’s OK right now. Each day is different. Each hour is different. I am different. I’m still figuring it out.