Postpartum is a b*tch, but she helped me feel

Author: Anonymous

I don’t paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality - Frida Kahlo 

I am currently sitting on my bed. A glass of wine sitting beside me and I hear the noises of an awesome husband and excited little one filing up each room of our house. 

As I sit here, I think of Frida. How she paints. How her vibrant colors merge together so effortlessly. Nothing is forced. Her self-portraits are honest portrayals of how she feels. Every brush stroke has meaning. 

She has an honesty about herself and she allows herself to… feel. 

“She has an honesty about herself and she allows herself to…feel.”

- Anonymous

Tonight, my little one only wanted blueberries and sweet potato fries for dinner. Of course, that is not the most well-rounded but hey, he filled his tummy. I had to tell myself that this is normal. He isn’t starving. He isn’t going to bed with an empty tummy. This is something I have had to tell myself over and over again over the last few years. 

When I found out I was going to become a mom I heard all the stories. I read (some) of the books. I asked questions. I had a rather easy pregnancy so I was cautiously optimistic about how things were going to go once the baby was here. Little did I know how my body was not going to respond. I had a really hard time breastfeeding. I ate the cookies, drank the juice, pumped around the clock to increase supply, and nothing helped. 

I felt so much outside pressure to breastfeed and that formula was the worst thing you could do for your child (FYI. IT’S NOT!) I was guilted by lactation consultants, doctors, nurses, friends, co-workers. I felt judgment for even asking questions about the taboo F word. In the midst of all of this my little one was not sleeping.  This went on for months. I was exhausted. Frustrated. Defeated. 

“I felt so much outside pressure to breastfeed and that formula was the worst thing you could do for your child.”

(FYI. IT’S NOT!)

Finally around the 9-month mark I made the official switch. I put away the breast pump for good and marched down to Target to buy the biggest jug of formula I could find. I felt this strange sense of liberation. This was my version of burning my bra. I get home and proudly make a bottle. And to our surprise, our little slept that night. The entire night. 

Our little one started napping better, sleeping better and we all started feeling better. However, deep down had this feeling that was starting to emerge. There was a darkness that started to creep in with every hour our little slept. Every time I filled up his bottle which before provided me this sense of liberation, now was a sting on my heart. 

Then it hit me. All those months of no sleep. He was hungry. I had been starving my little one. He had gone to bed all those nights with an empty tummy. 

The guilt and shame I felt when that finally emerged from the depths fell over me like a weighted blanket that I couldn’t crawl out of. Everything was affected. My relationships, my jobs, my own body. I had days that I didn’t want to get out of bed. I didn’t want to be a mom. I had horrible dreams that made me question reality. I took myself out of social situations. This went on for months. I put on brave faces as much as I could but inside I was crumbling. 

“The guilt and shame I felt when that finally emerged from the depths fell over me like a weighted blanket that I couldn’t crawl out of.”

Sidenote - our little was not starving. He was healthy and growing and our new doctors always assured me. 

One appointment our pediatrician did say that she thought it would be good for me to go talk to someone. This was the first time I had heard the word postpartum out loud.  She got me in touch with someone and I reluctantly made an appointment. 1 week later I found myself sitting in her office having to say out loud that I felt I had been starving my child. Having to admit that was and continues to be one of the hardest moments of being a mom. She helped me work through the stigma of what formula represented in my world and the feelings of inadequacy when it came to providing for my little. She allowed me to be mad, sad, angry, pissed off, confused. As the weeks went by, and the conversations continued, I felt that her office was the one place that I could be 100% me. Free from judgment. Free from trying. Free from comparison. 

What did all of this REALLY shed light on? My issues with my relationship to food. I grew up in a house where food was delicious and plentiful. However, I have always had a skewed relationship with it. I have used it to make it feel better. I have NOT used it to make me feel better. I remember in early high school I was with some friends and we all wanted to buy the same shirt to wear to school (oh, those days!) and I didn't get one because the store didn’t have my size. I remember going a whole summer in college not eating because of being at the apartment complex pool with college boys. I remember trying to my wedding dress for a fitting and it being too small. What turned out to be a mistake by the seamstress sent me into a month-long binge of water and apples. I remember not going on a girls’ trip because I didn’t want to eat in front of them - I blamed it on work.

“What did all of this REALLY shed light on? My issues with my relationship to food.”

I had never been honest with myself. I had put bandaids over every feeling or emotion I had and tucked it deeper and deeper until my favorite little human entered the world. He forced me to FEEL. He made me confront all of these habits I had developed over years of avoidance and confront them head-on. No matter how heavy or dark of a place they put me. For years, the comparison game I was playing was a single-player game. Me. And I was loosing. Once I allowed myself to be honest and see myself for who I REALLY am parts of my world got a little brighter. The brushstrokes started to come together. The colors started to merge into this beautiful portrait of a woman who refuses to live life under the weight of a blanket. 

Here I am now, years later and I still struggle. I struggle with eating. Self-perception. Postpartum. I have good days and bad days. I have bad habits I am still trying to overcome. I have feelings that are still so overwhelming some days are hard to breathe. But. If it wasn’t for those sleepless nights. Those feelings of inadequacies. I would never have allowed myself to go to the place where all of these emotions emerge from. 

This little human that I get to call mine put color back into my world and I am eternally thankful.