"It comes in waves." A friend of mine said this when I let her know I was experiencing Postpartum Depression. It took me a while to finally speak up about it to anyone to even take the scale with our midwife team in the first place. I think I knew something was going on, but as my mean inner critic told me I should “shut up and get over it.” I don’t usually speak to myself that way anymore. Many sessions of therapy helped me almost completely silence that mean inner critic. Her return was a big enough sign that I was not doing okay. Admitting I wasn't okay felt like admitting that I was a failure. That I'm not the gold star mom who does it all that people praise me to be.

“It comes in waves.” This echoes in my mind a lot. Whenever I find myself riding a high feeling like I can finally see myself again…and that’s quickly followed by the anxiety that the wave will soon come crashing down, as waves do. Then eventually I find myself pinned under the water. Gasping for air, sure I won’t make it. Clinging to the hope that I’ll find myself above water soon enough. 

I wish someone told me that postpartum depression could feel like a subtle undercurrent that makes everything feel heavier and further away. That it would feel like I was always on the other side of the glass from my life experience. Disconnected from myself. From my joy. From my spark.

As I write this I’m being tumbled around in a wave of anguish that’s passed over me today. My period returned soon after delivery even though I’ve been breastfeeding. So now once a month (like now) my hormones get an extra juicy shake up and I never know what it might look like. Sometimes it’s anger. Other times it’s confusion. Today it’s heartache.

I’ve said before that pregnancy and postpartum in all its challenges has also been a gift. It’s offered the refinement and clarity that only a storm can bring. It’s allowed me to process things that I haven’t had the space or capacity to process before. 

Today I’m processing the trauma of pregnancy and child birth. The isolation I felt. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as lonely as I have when I’m pregnant. I don’t know if that’s just the nature of pregnancy - being in a chrysalis type state where only you can travel. Maybe it's more a reflection of an underdeveloped village and oppressive society. Maybe it’s a little bit of each. 

Then there's the fear. I’ve never felt as afraid as I have when I’ve been pregnant. Afraid in the sense that I might not make it. Between the health issues of my second pregnancy and a labor and delivery from hell, I was terrified. A fear amplified by my eldest daughter tendency to shove my feelings aside in favor of performance. In favor of holding it all together because if I didn't, who would?

I tried my best for a pregnancy that was ethereal, peaceful, glowing as everyone says. There were moments of that. Mostly I was just in pain almost all the time and I’m still in pain now. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally.

I was pregnant amidst an overwhelming amount of life shifts: friendship cleanses, marriage, moving. I was constantly anxious that my blood sugar and iron deficiencies were going to hurt me or my baby. I got COVID and then my water broke a day later. I entered labor terrified, congested, and aware that I was about to go through hell. And I did. 31 hours of being delirious from lack of sleep, having phlegm stuck in my nose and throat, and the excruciating pain of contractions and pitocin. In my both of my pregnancies my epidural traveled to mostly my right side so I was half numbness and half agony. Eventually on hour 31 it was time to push and he finally arrived. With him a liter of my blood. When I heard the midwife say she didn’t like how much blood I was losing I had to disassociate to keep from panicking. 

All that fear was waiting for me postpartum. Waiting to be witnessed. Waiting to be felt. 

So that brings us to today. I took the day off to sit with my grief. To mourn, yet again, for the experience I desired and the experience I got instead. To hold myself as I fall apart in a way I’ve never had the privilege to. To connect the dots between the loneliness and fear I felt in the delivery room and the loneliness and fear I think I’ve felt my whole life. 

As I've gone through this journey I've gained insight into why my business has been framed around rebirth. I relate to the journey of the phoenix. Dying and being born again. Burning, falling apart, then rising and coming back together. This has defined my life when I think about it.

Postpartum depression is a part of this cycle. It's the pause between the ashes and the ascendance. The lingering darkness before the light touches you again. The space where you release what was and prepare to step into what will be. And today it feels like heartbreak. So I will sit with today taking it moment by moment until it is time to step out into the sun again. 

If you are feeling anxiety, grief, or loneliness in your motherhood journey you’re not alone. Below are some helpful resources to navigate this very complex season. I love you! 

Mingo Mamas - Perinatal Therapy

Multi-Dimensional Mama Peer Support Group

Mad Bad Tea