My friend had a baby two weeks ago and holy shit, seeing her with her newborn has brought some clarity to my own postpartum experience.
The reactionary feelings run the gamut. Joy for this woman who has longed to be a mother; realization of just how bad it was for me; grief over what I missed out on; heartache for myself as a first-time mother; pain over having to navigate it by myself; and if I’m being totally honest, a wee bit of jealousy.
The eight months I spent undiagnosed with postpartum depression and anxiety were even more brutal than I thought they were. I didn’t realize I’d be processing that time of life all over again, but in a way I’m grateful for the opportunity. I’m holding 37yo me gently as I navigate these complex feelings.
A silver lining of not being able to put your newborn daughter down: Eight years later, she still pulls the collar of my shirt down to rest her cheek against my decolletage when she needs connection. And it sends a rush of oxytocin through my heart every time.
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