MY first postpartum story
My Postpartum story and Journey to Becoming a Postpartum Doula
Trigger warning: This essay contains discussion about parental loss and emotional trauma
I had always wanted to be a mom, it was my life's purpose. I read books, I took the classes, I researched and curated the perfect registry, I made my birth plan and was “so ready”. My pregnancy went smoothly, my birth did not go exactly as I had hoped, but I was very happy with it, breastfeeding went great from the start, I had a supportive husband, and a healthy baby boy. I was happy. My amazing mother was able to come for 5 days to help out, arriving the day after the birth. All but 1 member of my family live in MN, where I am from. We brought our baby home on day 2 and I proudly facetimed my dad with my new bundle of joy.
This was the beginning of my world crashing in on me, and what would turn into a 2 1/2 year bout of self diagnosed postpartum depression. On that call my father told me he had gone to the doctor 2 days ago (the day my son was born) and learned he had advanced cancer, he didn't have long. I told him, we'd be there as soon as we could. Did I mention, my son was born March 10th, 2020? Did I also mention, I live in NYC? As the week moved on, I realized I had grossly underestimated my need for rest and recovery after birthing a child. Silly me thought, I'd be right back up on my feet within days. I tried going grocery shopping 3 days after giving birth, excited to show off my new baby and push my new stroller. I made it the 4 blocks to the store before my knees started buckling and I felt like my vagina may fall out! I made a quick turn around and barely made it back to my courtyard where I collapsed on a bench. I was totally unprepared for how much my vagina would hurt post birth! I had a tear in a non-ideal spot and cried out loud every time I peed! I refused to take the hints my body was sending me and stay down, rest up. As blood and milk leaked from my body, I pushed on with trying to keep house, feeling proud of myself while I pushed through to vacuum and do the laundry. My body ached, as all my flabby muscles were unprepared to properly support my body upright.
As the week progressed, COVID became more and more scary, especially in NYC, like REALLY scary. The day my mom left was also the same day NYC went into lockdown and my husband and I lost our jobs, both in the restaurant industry. It was really nice to have my mom there with me for those first few days with the baby and really nice to have her to hug after we both learned the news about my dad. They had divorced when I was 13 or so but always maintained a friendly supportive relationship with each other. That was the only time I had family to hug until months after my father's passing. My dad and I had always had a special relationship. He straight up told me I was his favorite of his 4 children. His only girl, the apple of his eye. And to this day I can think of no more cozy, loving, safe place than in his embrace, as if with every hug he poured all of his love into me.
Within the first few weeks postpartum, my husband threw his back out really bad and wasn't able to move from the sofa for weeks, which of course left all the family, household, and baby care to me. We had no help, and we saw no one for months indoors. My son cried a LOT. And ate a LOT. I kept thinking we'd be able to somehow get to MN to be with my dad before he passed but eventually I had to come to accept that it wasn't going to happen. He was declining really quickly and by the time I came to terms, I couldn't even tell him, my mom volunteered, but every day when we talked on the phone, as his brain function was declining, he would ask when I was coming. I had to tell him again and again that I wasn't coming, and again and again he forgot. He was trying to hold on as long as he could until I could get there. Eventually I stopped telling him I wasn't coming, and instead that I'd be there just as soon as I could. He died May 1st, in his home, surrounded by my mom and brothers. My brother called to tell me when he had passed. I said “okay”, then went and made lunch for my family. That was it, no closure, no comfort.
I cried a lot in my first couple months postpartum. Like I never had before, loud gulping sobs. My husband was scared for me. He tried going online to find some help for me. He didn't know where to look. I didn't know where to look either but when my eyes weren't blurry with tears I tried to look for help too. Eventually, I found a therapist to talk to. It gave me an outlet to speak, but I didn't feel like she was much help. I think maybe because I come off as if I have a lot of self awareness about what my feelings are, where they come from, and about how to properly deal with them. But, she didn't ask the right questions. My son's pediatrician and my doctor, at my 6 week visit, both asked the basic mental health check questions. But no one asked the right questions. No one asked the questions that would reveal I felt disconnected from everything. I felt empty and lost. A constant feeling of boredom and sadness. Discontentedness. No one asked if I was thinking scary thoughts of danger coming to my baby or to me. The thoughts that would scare me as we walked down the street, as if anyone might jump us from behind and act out a terrible act of violence on us. I would just suppress the thoughts and keep walking. It's normal right, to be concerned about my baby's safety? No one ever asked the right questions, I never had any help, never prioritized any self care, alone time, or connection. I was never diagnosed, or treated. Yes, my husband could have done more but he didn't know how I was feeling either, and he didn't know how to help or what I needed. He was busy dealing with his own physical pain, fears, frustrations, and limitations.
The one thing that finally helped me most was when I was meeting virtually with my therapist, she told me that her daughter had started a zoom support group meeting for people to talk about how they're dealing with COVID and maybe I'd want to join. (Totally not what kind of support I needed but thought I'd give it a try) In the meeting people talked about being lonely and trying virtual dating etc. I spoke about what I had been going through with my dad and completely fell apart. I think I scared everyone, and probably made them all self conscious to talk about what they had been going through after that. One person, though, messaged me that she had also just lost her mom to cancer recently and gave me her email. I emailed her and we became pen pals of sorts, really opening up and telling each other our truest feelings about losing our parents to cancer, about motherhood, about our stresses and trauma. This person helped me more than anything. She helped to pull me out of the acute pain that I was feeling, the emergency situation dealing with the trauma I had just gone through.
The other feelings remained. They stayed for two and a half years. I was blessed to be home with my baby, to raise him myself, as was my dream come true, but I was not happy. Sure, I had happy moments, I loved my son and husband, but deep down I was sad and lost and disconnected. I didn’t know who I was anymore, like I had totally lost my individual identity. I remember standing in the shower one particular time, as the water fell over me I sang, “Row row row your boat, gently down the shore, merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is such a bore.” Another time, a group of moms and babies from my neighborhood had gotten together and I listened to the conversation but felt withdrawn and disconnected. As one friend was about to leave, she said to me, “How are you?”. I gave the standard, “ I’m fine.”. But she looked at me and said, “Are you sure?”. I burst out into tears.
Finally, in August 2022, while on a month long visit home to MN (the 3rd extended visit we had managed since 2020) something changed. It was as if I had finally emerged from the sadness. I finally felt myself again, I had a pep in my step again and I finally felt a deep fulfilling connection to my life as a mother and an even deeper love for my son. I can't explain why or what happened, only that I was happy to have found my light again. Thinking about it just now, I had stopped breastfeeding just a few months earlier, maybe the hormone shift? Maybe.
It's hard to know if I would have experienced all those nasty feelings that are often associated with postpartum depression if I hadn't experienced the trauma of loss and all that went along with it, or the isolation and fear caused by COVID. The fact is, though, that 1 in 5 women experience feelings just like mine everyday. So much more can be done to help prevent this, or to help the women and the families who are going through it. Awareness about the need for self care and time for recovery during the postpartum period can be more widespread. Awareness to friends and loved ones about ways to offer support and aid in recovery can be made more available. Resources can be made more available and more widely known. Those who see and speak to new mothers can learn the warning signs and the right questions to ask, so that they don't slip through the cracks and end up suffering alone as I did for far too long. My postpartum story is what makes me so passionate about postpartum care. The fact that I was suffering alone, inside my head, this didn't need to be the case.
And now, as I am pregnant again and looking forward to the birth of my second child in the spring of 2024 (infact my due date is May 1st, exactly 4 years from my fathers passing), I hope that I may have a whole different experience, but at least this time I will know that there is help, and how to find it.
I am starting my postpartum care journey now, as I finalize the certification process as a postpartum doula. I want to be there with these women and families to help lift some of the burden of household tasks, baby care, sleep deprivation, lack of self care, all of which can cause stress and prevent healing. To give information and resources, and to provide emotional support and companionship. I am not a therapist but I am a sympathetic and non-judgmental ear and if they need, I can connect them with one. I am not a lactation consultant but I can ease some stress with tips and techniques and if that doesn't work I can connect them with one. I can try to identify and educate these women and their partners about warning signs for postpartum mood and anxiety disorders and tell them where they can go for help. I don't feel like that is where my journey with postpartum care will end however. I can help one woman at a time or I can find a way to make a bigger impact. I am still open and searching for that path, in the meantime I look forward to hopefully making an impact on the postpartum experiences of new mamas woman by woman.
