I sit here on the couch, coffee in hand, fireplace on, soft glow of the Christmas tree off to my right. This is the first time all week I’ve been able to do this—sit. No babies running around needing attention. Danny is at school after almost four weeks off due to sickness and a holiday. Elliett is napping. Yesterday we ran to the store, Elle and I, after dropping him off at preschool, but today nothing was pressing. So, I get to finally just sit…during the day…with no kids around. This can be a rare thing in parenthood, especially motherhood. If you’re a parent, you know what I’m talking about. Regardless of if you work outside the home, or inside the home, you are always going. So, when rare unicorn moments like these happen, I’ve learned to slow down and take the moment.
I’m about to put on a show and realize I never responded back to my Mother-in-law’s text from two days prior. Letting me know she’s been thinking and praying for me daily. Asking how I’ve been doing? And as soon as I think about that question, emotions come pouring in. Clearly, I’m not doing as well as I have hoped and as well as I’ve been telling myself. When I think about everything that happened during my most recent postpartum, I feel it all over again. The pain, exhaustion, sadness, anger and loneliness are so intense. At first, I had been blocking it out not wanting to talk or think about it at all. A habit of my past, I was hoping suppression would heal the wounds. Then, as the holidays approached, it was clear I was struggling quite a bit still. The weight of breastfeeding was relieved back in October, but December was met with lingering feelings of anger and sadness. I came across this quote by Alex Elle, NYT Bestselling Author and Restorative Writing Teacher, “I stopped trying to force myself to ‘get over’ things. I don’t have to bypass my feelings because it’s been ‘long enough’. I am honoring myself and process by healing at my own pace, revisiting things when needed and not rushing to get to the other side.” What I took from this is that it’s okay to have seasons of pain and grief. That it’s okay to not be okay and to take time to sit with it. I decided to allow myself the space and time to do just that, however long that may be. With a heavy heart, we decided it was best for me and our family to spend the holidays with just the four of us. It was a season of grief for sure but was filled with joy as well. So many special memories were made with the uninterrupted time with the children.
During this time of reflection, I went through a period of metamorphosis. I was able to acknowledge and affirm what I have experienced since becoming a mother and also what I was no longer willing to tolerate in my relationships. I’ve never been capable of this before mainly because I was never taught those skills. For as long as I can remember my mother has always said to me, “Sydney, it could be much worse.” With a dismissive tone and eye roll, these were her words of comfort whenever I went to her seeking solace. I grew up feeling like I had a problem because I couldn’t always see the silver lining in things. Emotions invalidated and repressed. Then, this beautiful thing happened, where I stopped listening to that little voice in my head. The toxic positivity and negative self-talk that was gifted to me as a child. I started saying, instead, “This is hard: postpartum, thrush, motherhood.” All the things. Everything I was feeling, I gave myself permission to feel them for the very first time in my life. Amazingly, I felt very at peace. I learned something really important for myself: that I had to stop seeking validation from others who would not give it. I’ve done this my entire life and it’s made me subconsciously very unhappy.
All of this to say that I have accepted and validated what I’ve been through, but the pain and anger weren’t going away. The question always running through my mind–how do I eventually heal? How do I happily move forward in my life? For my children, so that I may be the best mother I can be for them. For me, so that I may live a life that is a true reflection of myself.
I was waiting at an airport bar with my husband for our flight to NYC when I came across an old friend’s blog.
Me: “Wow, I didn’t know [she] had a blog! Did you?”
Jack: “Yeah…I did.”
Me: “What?”
Jack: “She writes about something awful that happened to her when she was younger.”
I won’t disclose what that blog post was about. Only that she said it was her therapist who advised that she “release it”. She felt like her entire life she was held back because of this thing that had happened to her. She felt like in order to move forward with the life that she wanted for herself, she needed to write about what happened in order to hopefully let go of its hold on her. It didn’t come at first, but at the end of our trip, I told Jack that her story really resonated with me, “I think I want to write about my postpartum experience. I feel a deep calling to do this. By staying silent, I’m holding myself back.”
After much thought, and going back and forth countless times, I came to the realization that I couldn’t really tell my story…my true story without talking about my childhood. Part of my intention for writing is to explore my past in an effort to break generational cycles of trauma. Even if my voice shakes, it’s a part of me and very much still a part of my present life and current struggles. Although it will be painful, I will travel back through my looking glass in an attempt to heal my inner child by the process of reparenting…because just as I was deserving, my children deserve a gentle, kind, patient, present, composed and loving mother more often than not.
I believe my children were born to fly. My hope is that they’ll be prepared as possible to be kind, confident, self-sufficient, respectful and fulfilled young children and then adults. That when my children are older and they think back on their childhood, they will be met with happy memories. That they felt safe, seen and heard. More importantly, that they felt and knew they were loved. There’s this beautiful quote that was written down and given to me by my mother-in-law that goes, “Pain has a way of clipping our wings and keeping us from being able to fly. And if left unresolved for very long, you can almost forget that you were ever created to fly.” If I have any hope of teaching my children how to fly one day, I must mend my wings and learn to fly first.
It’s said that when flamingos are raising their young, they lose their pink coloring due to the intensive process. Much of their food and energy goes to their children, but that eventually…they get it back.
I’ve struggled, since becoming a mother, to make space for me in our life. It’s learned at a young age that a “good” mother ought to be selfless. If you look close enough, society still puts this expectation upon the modern mother. Once I had my children, I wanted to fully immerse myself into this new role and identity. I had little help or support system, so I found that outside of all the work that it requires I had little time or energy for hobbies or a social life. Quickly I found myself depleted, unhappy at times and unrecognizable. Where had my color gone? It went to my children–being their primary caretaker, making time for my husband and his professional, leisure and social life, organizing and planning our calendar, appointment scheduling, errand and grocery runs, laundry, cleaning/tidying the house and cooking/preparing meals. I had completely stopped taking care of myself. My ambitions. Things that used to spark joy and excitement in my life. My husband noticed this too. He felt he had lost his wife, or a part of her, and was grieving her. I missed her too.
We had a long conversation one night, and we both agreed I don’t take any time for myself or explore things that I’m interested in anymore. It became our goal to get my “pink back”. Both of us making an effort to find and carve out time dedicated to me. Whatever that may be. This happens to be one of them. Normally I would have an idea such as this, but wave it away because of the lack of time, how others would perceive it, or imposter syndrome would kick in–goading me.
Steady, as she goes.
I’m sharing my story so other mothers who may be experiencing the same struggles know that you are not alone.
To the mother who had childhood trauma re-emerge once she became a parent whilst also trying to navigate the adjustment into motherhood.
To the mother who feels uncomfortable and has mixed emotions about her new body.
To the mother who is sleep deprived, exhausted and has little or no support.
To the mother who is physically healing and emotionally fragile.
To the mother who is overwhelmed and overstimulated.
To the mother who feels overworked and underappreciated.
To the mother who has experienced crippling guilt and intrusive thoughts.
To the mother who feels like she’s lost herself.
To the mother who developed postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety and anger–you are so not alone because I have been there.
I have felt it all.
Through My Looking Glass 