A well known figure on Instagram recently welcomed her first daughter into the world. As she briefly shared an update on postpartum life with a 3 day old, all she could exude was pure joy. She explained that everything was absolutely wonderful and perfect and everything she had ever dreamed of.
I was so happy for her and those feelings. Everyone wants those feelings and that type of experience. But, my heart broke and ached for another woman watching the story. A woman I’ll probably never meet. My heart broke and tears welled in my eyes for a woman like me, someone who did not automatically and magically feel that gushy, lovey dovey joy in the early days after their child was born.
As I walk down memory lane, the tears well in my eyes again as they are not feelings I’m proud of or really wish to relive, but I refuse to believe I am the only woman who has ever experienced it. And, I wish in those early days someone would have shared their honest feelings so I didn’t feel so alone, inadequate and guilty.
We were beyond surprised to find out we were becoming parents.
The 37 weeks that followed were definitely a season of preparation and transformation within our hearts. Our thoughts shifted from all the things we wouldn’t be able to do… to being sooo darned excited to meet our little man. I thought that preparation and excitement was all I needed to be ready to take on the mom role.
I thought I’d be a “natural mom.” I thought that motherly instinct would come the moment they placed him in my arms.
Oh how quickly things change…
After an extended stay in the hospital due to jaundice, we were given the all clear to take our little guy home. After dressing myself, I was able to stand a bit longer to dress Emery in the sweet little outfit my mom and I had picked out months before. Matt loaded up the car while I waited anxiously in the room. I saw another family leaving – the mom being pushed in a wheelchair wearing a bright Lilly Pulitzer dress and beaming as she held her newborn daughter in matching attire.
Matt returned with my chariot. I hesitantly sat down in loose black pajama pants and a purple maternity t-shirt as he handed me our precious miracle baby.
It was all I could do to hold back the tears and fake a smile.
“I don’t want to do this. I can’t do this. I don’t know what I’m doing. How will I know what to do? I don’t want to do this,” I thought to myself as we rolled past the nurses station.
After we made it to the car and successfully figured out the car seat, I sat in the back as I had seen new moms do for the ride home. As soon as he put the car into drive, the tears started to flow. We met eyes in the rearview mirror as we drove down Mathis Ferry Road. “You’re doing great, Mom. You’re doing great,” my sweet husband assured me.
We snapped a picture of the three of us at home to announce our homecoming – but quickly decided against posting it… There was NO baby bliss on that face!
When I look back on that picture, I want to reach in and give that woman a big hug with the assurance that she really was doing great — and that the love would come.
The Newborn Trenches
The days and weeks that followed were long and loud. There were continued blood tests due to jaundice and we met two new friends who’d be staying with us awhile: colic and reflux.
I cared for this baby we had been blessed with and thought he was the most handsome little guy I had ever seen. I wanted to want to be a mom. I wanted to feel so enamored that I didn’t care how tired I was or think twice about the adjustment to our new routine. I wanted to feel swept up in baby bliss and excitement for the memories to come. I wanted to feel proud of the new title I’d just been bestowed.
But I didn’t. I felt like my passion for life and “always a silver lining” attitude had been washed out of me.
I was in a constant state of anxiousness and fear. “Am I doing it right?” “Is this what the book says?” “Why can’t I help him stop crying?”
I’d wake up in the morning and think “so, what do I want to do today?” then remember that my day was very much already scheduled out with a little 7lb poop machine. I’d awkwardly roll myself over still recovering from surgery and savor those few minutes before the next feeding.
“Ugh, I don’t want to do this today.”
The guilt was real and intense.
I had been labeled a high risk pregnancy at our 8 week appointment due to a preexisting condition. We had a couple scares and an appointment with a specialist, but always received good marks. We shocked our doctors and made it full term!
I was the mother to a precious miracle baby.
So many women yearned to be in my place so badly. What was wrong with me that I couldn’t accept and embrace this role? So wrong with my faith that I couldn’t get past these feelings and soak in this time with gratefulness?
I had several connections on social media welcome their first baby within weeks of Emery. “These days are pure bliss!” “One month already? It has FLOWN by!” “I’ve never felt a love like this before!”
I remember messaging a friend in regards to Emery’s first month: “This parenting thing is definitely no cake walk. And I’m calling BS on anyone who says the first month is “pure bliss” or “i just don’t know where the time went”. I’ll tell you where it went… sleepless nights, lots of crying and having no idea why (baby and mom), doctors visits, being a human drinking fountain every 3 hours, lots of pictures, lots of casseroles and being so busy you forget you need to pee.”
I knew it would be hard and trying and tiring and include most of the things I joked about above, but I did not expect the utter despair.
I cried every day for 6 weeks, and most days after that.
Sometimes I didn’t really know why I was crying. It was just the natural response.
Other times I knew exactly why:
- It was 3am and I just wanted to go to sleep.
- It was 7am and I just wanted to lay in bed until I wanted to get up.
- I missed “us”.
- I didn’t want to do it anymore.
- He was crying so I thought it would be rude not to cry.
- He was crying and wouldn’t stop crying.
- I wanted to do something for me.
- I felt like I was to blame for… everything.
- I felt hopeless and alone and certain that I would never enjoy my life again.
Another friend texted to check in and I responded honestly that we were experiencing the colic-reflux double whammy. I’ll never forget the next few seconds as she replied “Oh the newborn days are hard, but isn’t the love just incredible?”
“What love?” I thought.
I responded with a smiley face emoji.
That’s what I was missing in all this. Love!
Love is what gets you up four times in the middle of the night while recovering from surgery. Love is what propels you to offer up your boobs like a soda fountain. Love is what allows you to laugh as you wear a pad for the third week in a row.
I realized that I didn’t really love my son, yet.
And it broke my heart. How can a mom not love her baby? Surely God made a mistake in choosing me to be his mom.
I thought motherhood was a love at first sight experience? What was wrong with me!?
I let myself believe a slew of lies all leading to the conclusion that I was a terrible mother. I gave up on myself and any prospect of happiness in this new role.
But here is where this story starts looking up.
God didn’t give up on me.
Every night I sat in the rocker and cried while Emery cried. Eventually my cries turned into prayers. Really small, simple prayers: “Please, God.” “God, please help me.” “God, I can’t do this alone.”
And eventually the postpartum fog was lifted. I realized that all of those feelings and fears and doubts were not an indication of me and my worth. They weren’t a reflection of my ability as a mom. Those feelings most certainly weren’t a new normal.
I started talking and sharing the feelings I’d been experiencing. I started telling my husband why I was crying instead of trying to hide it. I went to a women’s bible study and said the words “postpartum anxiety” out loud for the first time – to a room full of strangers nonetheless. I stopped blaming myself. I dove in to rediscovering who I was in addition to “wife” and “mom”. I did the things that brought me joy, wore the clothes I really liked, and stopped trying to fit this “new mom” mold I saw plastered across Instagram. I stopped comparing my journey to all the other moms around me.
I finally decided to love myself. And when I did, I was swept away in an all consuming love for my precious son.
I didn’t believe it in those dark days, but let me assure you – the love will come.
The love will come when you drop a middle of the night feeding and find yourself missing your baby until they wake up.
The love will come when you’re rushing to get dinner ready, but your little guy tugs at your shirt and wraps his arms and legs around you in a hug that makes you forget to put the food in the oven.
The love will come when you’re exhausted and can’t wait to crawl into bed for the next Netflix episode – but with a sleeping toddler in your arms, you decide to rock and stare just a little bit longer.
The love will come when all you want is some time alone, but find yourself crying as you pull out of the driveway after leaving your little one with a babysitter for the first time.
I can’t tell you how or when, but the love will come and knock you off your feet. You’ll look back and wonder why you ever felt the way you did. Some moms experience love at first sight. Others, like me, experience love over time.
So why the difference?
I am not a medical expert, nor did I receive a professional diagnosis. With reading, research and {finally} talking with other moms, my eyes were opened to an entirely different side of postpartum I never knew existed. Being on the other side of the season, I am fully confident that hormones were the root of my experience.
Leading up to Emery’s arrival I was aware of postpartum depression. I signed the papers at the hospital and at my six week follow-up answering “no” to both questions: 1. Have you ever considered harming yourself? 2. Have you ever considered harming your baby?
As a first time mom, I thought those were the only indicators of postpartum anything.
After realizing other parts of postpartum that explained the anxiety, fear and sadness, I felt an incredible weight lifted from my shoulders.
It wasn’t my fault.
I know it sounds crazy, but understanding that the months of crying and worry and constant fear were due to hormones and not my capability as a mom was freeing.
So why didn’t I talk about it sooner?
I think I tried to, but I always added a funny spin to it, making the topic unapproachable or appearing to have it under control.
I assumed the feelings were due to something I had done or hadn’t done. I thought anxiety was a choice and all that worry was my own fault.
I was afraid my struggle would spread to all areas of my life and make me look weak.
I didn’t talk about it because I didn’t know it was a thing to talk about.
We talk about the diapers and the butt paste and the pumping and the nipple shields – thinking that we’re bringing up the taboo topics because they’re awkward. But I think we’re just using it to cover up the ache in our hearts.
It’s time to talk about the real stuff. The real feelings. How are hearts are handling transition.
You are not alone.
I looked for resources when I was struggling. I wanted to know someone was having a similar experience. Sure there are postpartum support groups and medications – but I honestly didn’t think that was what I needed. I needed to hear the words above from someone I knew and trusted. I needed to know I was not the first (or only) person who felt that way. And I needed to hear that it wasn’t my fault when I felt like I couldn’t do anything right.
I share all of this to bring awareness to the seemingly taboo “postpartum” topic in hopes that you will share it with women in your sphere of influence.
There is a momma out there right now experiencing these same feelings. My prayer is for these words find their way into her heart.
If you have felt this way or are going through a similar experience now – please confide in someone. Your spouse, a best friend, pastor or counselor, your mom or your doctor.
Don’t think you are alone. This is much more common than we think. Social media highlight reels do a really good job at hiding it. Don’t compare your motherhood journey to those around you. We all evolve so differently.
Be kind to yourself. You are working around the clock shifts without any on-the-job training. You are strong and capable and you will grow into this new role!
Most importantly, please don’t believe you’re a terrible mother. Out of the billions of women on this planet, God chose you to raise that precious soul.
No one is more suited for the job than you.
We celebrated our little man’s 2nd birthday on Mother’s Day. As our village surrounded us to sing him “Happy Birthday”, Momma got a little choked up! While of course I’m shocked that it’s already been two years, the getting bigger part wasn’t the cause of the tears.
My mind flashed back to every step along our journey as I saw my sweet boy smiling and hiding his face from the attention.
I remembered the fear and worry during pregnancy. I remembered the constant crying and exhaustion in the newborn days when I thought God made a mistake in making me a mom. And I remembered the uncertainty of how I would ever find “me” again with a baby on my hip.
So as we celebrated Mother’s Day by celebrating the one who made me a mom, my heart experienced a joy I haven’t known in a long time. A joy of knowing I am right where I belong. It took awhile to feel this way, but man does it feel good.
Even in those early days, God knew Emery would need me to be his voice while he discovers his and find ways to make speech therapy fun. And He knew I was the one who would throw a Curious George themed birthday party for our Curious Emery. God knew who Emery needed in a mom and He chose me. Me!
God continually put the people and words in my path that encouraged me to keep going. And He’ll continue to do just that. For me and for you.
Motherhood is not a series of moments ending in “I have arrived!”, but a constantly evolving story in our hearts that grows with our children. It’s a love that evolves over time.
I am so proud of you and your doing this!
Thanks, Sally!