Postpartum Woes

When I first gave birth, I was on an emotional high I didn’t know existed. It was the first time I felt a love so consuming it quieted everything, and for the first time in my life, gave me real hope for the future.

Before becoming a mother, I knew there were chains on me. Ones placed long before I had the awareness to name them. And when I saw my son for the first time, it felt like those chains disappeared, like they buried themselves beneath the surface. I stepped into a joy I didn’t even know I was capable of holding.

But the truth is, they didn’t disappear. They just went quiet.

Holding my son only made me more aware of them. It made me question everything. Because when I felt that kind of love, I couldn’t understand how the things that happened to me as a child ever could have. Why wasn’t I protected? Why didn’t anyone save me? So I parented from that place. From that pain. From that determination. I was going to do everything perfectly. I became hyper-aware, hyper-vigilant. What people would call a “helicopter mom.” And with a colicky baby who wouldn’t take a bottle, who cried the moment he left my arms, my body turned into a constant alarm system. I was always on. Always scanning. Always trying to save, soothe, & fix. And because my son was advanced- climbing at six months, running by nine- I told myself I must be doing it right. That this intensity, this pressure, this constant state of alert was what good motherhood looked like.

But I was alone. No family nearby. A fiancé battling addiction. So I did what I’ve always done and I adapted. I held it together. I focused on being the best mother I could be while maintaining the image that I was breaking cycles I had spent my entire life trying to outrun. I wanted to believe I was free, but the truth is, I wasn’t. Instead of moving forward, I was slowly digging myself deeper into something I didn’t yet have the words for. My pregnancy alone had already taken everything out of me. I was severely sick, diagnosed with HG, hospitalized more than I was home, all while still trying to work and survive. But I told myself it was worth it. Because that kind of suffering led to a love I had never known. And in my mind, that meant I was already doing better than what I came from.

Then postpartum came, and I was not prepared. At my 6 week appointment, I was asked the standard questions. “Are you okay?” “You don’t want to hurt your baby, do you?” And of course, I didn’t. I never would.

But no one tells you that needing help doesn’t always look like that.

It can look like anxiety sitting heavy in your chest, making it impossible to sleep even when your body is begging for it. It can sound like a voice in your head telling you you’re failing with every single decision you make. It can feel like grieving a life you never had while trying to show up fully for the one you just created. It can be brain fog so thick you lose the version of yourself that once felt capable, organized, & clear.

No one tells you that.

Instead, they tell you to sleep more. Eat better. Do better. As if you’re not already spending every spare second trying to become the best version of yourself for your child. “It takes a village,” they say. So you try to build one. And still feel completely alone. Because what you needed wasn’t just people around you; You needed real, tangible help. Honest conversations. Support that saw YOU, not just the baby. And somewhere in all of it, you realize, you will never be who you once were again. You become someone new. But finding her takes time. Years, sometimes.

My daughter turned four this past December and my son six in August, and I can finally say I am walking out from under the postpartum fog. And coming out of it, I’ve learned this:

Authenticity is where growth begins. Real healing starts with honesty but with yourself first. Postpartum is so much more than the extremes we’re warned about. If you feel even a flicker of anxiety, disconnection, or overwhelm, please talk about it. Say it out loud. Don’t hide your truth. It doesn’t disappear. It finds other ways to surface, and it will hold you back from the life you’re trying so hard to build. This system we live in isn’t built to fully support mothers, and no amount of personal strength alone can outwork that truth.

But most importantly, the problem was never me, and if I had been less ashamed, less quiet, or more honest about what I needed, I could have saved myself years of internal turmoil.

So check on your mom friends. Show up for them in real ways. We are all just trying to survive, and somehow still flourish, in a world that asks everything of mothers and gives so little in return.

I stayed silent for too long.

Don’t let it silence you.