Shadowy Figures: Postpartum Fog

This entry might seem like its only for the mamas, but listen here, fellas: please read on. 

At almost eight months postpartum, I say with all the love in my heart that the first year of a baby’s life is a bit of a show. Not for the baby, mind you, but for the Mama. Nothing can really prepare women for the months that follow childbirth, and I imagine it’s different and unique for each and every birth.

It seems like the mom plate grows ever smaller, but continues to be stacked ever higher. Recently, as I sat drinking my coffee and reading during my normal o’dark hundred routine, I found myself repeatedly asking, “What is the matter with me?” For the last eight months, I struggled with ups and downs. I felt emotionally drained, overworked, under appreciated, and like I was constantly coming up short in every way. Try as I might to be Supermom, whatever that means, I went to bed every night overwhelmed by my thoughts of all the things I didn’t do right that day. My temper was too short or I was too lenient or I didn’t work out or something didn’t go right at work. I began each morning feeling like I couldn’t breathe and I was about to embark on another marathon day, which would only conclude with me having further knowledge that I wasn’t good enough. 

Being a fitness lover and someone who is constantly exploring the worlds of nutrition and working out, I found myself lacking in those arenas, too (I write that like the feelings are past tense. They aren't). I wasn’t pushing myself hard enough at the gym, or I was pushing too hard, or I wasn’t even making it to the gym at all. The world of fit moms is a norm to me, and here I was, falling dramatically short of the goals. While I sat and researched postpartum workouts and the best ways to fuel breastfeeding moms, I bombarded myself with pictures of these incredible women who managed to drop weight and run marathons within three months of giving birth. Meanwhile, I sat there on my couch feeling like a deflated mess of a woman; lost, sensitive, and exhausted. In this world of fitness and goals and rebounding, I wasn’t even fit to read the articles. 

It wasn’t until last week when I found a crucial moment of grace. Being eight months postpartum, it never entered my mind that hormonal fluctuations are still very real for my body.  It never entered my mind that broken sleep takes its toll over time. It never entered my mind that the world of incredible fit moms is not a reality for the vast majority of women. It never occurred to me that being a mom of three very different little ladies can be just as draining as joyful. I needed these reality checks.

This fog that I live in seems to be The Fog. The Big Fog. The Fog from which many women never rebound. The Fog that rests on us as we desperately try to be everything to everyone.

 
The Fog that none of us really talk about because either we are ashamed or we don’t understand or, like me, we didn’t see. I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. I couldn’t see that there is actually a legit reason for my sadness on some days and my delight on others. Hormones!! They don’t magically regulate themselves within the first three months postpartum. They can sometimes take a year or even longer. As mothers, we are not only contending with smaller, yet ridiculously overloaded plates, but we are contending with hormonal changes over which we have zero control. We are up against nature. As if nature and responsibility weren’t enough, it becomes more interesting: we add the pressures of dropping weight within a few months, breastfeeding, working, play dates, a clean home, Baby’s First Everything, pictures, and “me time,” “him time,” “their time,” and and and and....

Fast forwarded five years, and as mama sends her little ones off to kindergarten, her heart and mind have been so worn out over time that the new normal is exhausted and “not enough.” They say that some women never recover from postpartum depression or postpartum blues, and I believe it. The drastic shifts in hormones paired with the pressures we undertake is a recipe for disaster if it’s left unacknowledged and unchecked. 

I know that a lot of woman read this blog and I hope that, as you read it, you will embrace with every ounce of your being that you are a warrior. You are battling both outside and inside forces and you are winning each day. Enjoy your great days and understand the darker ones. Chances are that the dark days--the sad, foggy ones--are not even your fault. Nature stacked the deck against us when it comes to hormones and the only way to really “deal” with them is to see them for what they are: large, shadowy figures that come and go without warning. They are powerful and they can suck the air out of a room. However, they are not a reflection of who we are or the reality of the lives we lead. They take something small, like missing a workout or losing your temper one day, and magnify it to something much bigger than it needs to be. They are like those long, summer shadows we get at sunset. Huge and daunting, but nothing like the real person standing there. We can’t beat them and we can’t minimize them. But we can watch them from a different place. I learned a visual for guided meditation that can help here. These moments, these shadows, are like passing traffic as we sit on the sidelines. The ideal is that we see them, we acknowledge them, and we allow them to continue and pass, just like watching traffic. They are a presence and they are real, but with focus and discipline we can let them pass by. We don’t have to wrestle them (losing battle). We don’t have to pretend they don’t exist (losing battle). Their presence does not make us weak (reality check). 

And for the men out there: yes, you can help. No, I am not about to tell you that your woman needs a spa day or a massage. Not that she’d say No to the offer, however, the answer is much more simple. Gratitude and encouragement go a long way. Please, please, please take the time to acknowledge. Say Thank You. Tell her you see what a rock star she is. Pay attention to how hard she’s working and TELL HER you appreciate it. TELL HER when she looks beautiful to you. Seriously, the kind words and encouragement can ease an aching mind more than you can imagine.

These are my eight-months-later thoughts. Lest anyone believe I totally have my shit together, nothing could be farther from the truth. I stand connected with moms of yesterday, today, and forever, battling the hormones, the exhaustion, and the expectations. I say that the shadowy figures will do what they do, but we are mothers and we soldier on.