My little one bolts awake from a less-than-stellar stroller nap and lets out a wail that could rival a siren. Panic and embarrassment wash over me as I realize I’ve just plopped down on a floor cushion at the mom-and-baby drop-in. I awkwardly rise, my body still feeling like a stranger, and rush to my crying baby.
My efforts to calm him are futile. He’s not interested in the pacifier, the rattle goes ignored, and I’m all out of milk—both figuratively and literally. As I feel my cheeks flush, I resign myself to leaving the group I had so eagerly joined. A few fellow moms shoot me sympathetic glances while their babies coo, play, or doze peacefully in slings.
I craved that camaraderie and support today. I wanted to feel light-hearted, to smile and joke again. Instead, I’m a bundle of anxiety and confusion, utterly exhausted and, dare I say, feeling a twinge of resentment toward this tiny human who’s commandeering my social life. Who is this person? I hardly recognize her.
As I head out, double-checking for dropped toys or mittens, a wave of anger washes over me. It seems absurd to be upset with an innocent baby, right? But on my walk home, with my son still crying, I feel helpless and like a complete failure. Perhaps my anger is misdirected—I chose this path; I wanted to be a mom. Or at least I thought I did.
Once home, I head straight to our bed for a side-lying nursing session that I hope will lull him to sleep. He nurses for a few minutes as I lay there, unmoving. When he finishes—yet again, not enough—he starts crying again.
In a moment of sheer frustration, I yell, “Why won’t you sleep?!” and, in a misguided fit of rage, I grab a pillow and cover him, shouting, “Shut up!” I immediately pull the pillow away, bursting into tears as he continues wailing. Here I am, a mother of a 3-month-old, feeling utterly undone.
Looking back, it’s clear what I truly needed: more childcare support for those precious naps, perhaps a boost in my milk supply from supplements like those offered by Make a Mom, and definitely a hefty dose of patience and compassion for myself. Instead, I trudged through those dark days, supplementing my milk and struggling to cope.
What I really needed was to stop resisting my transformation into motherhood. I had to embrace this new version of myself, no matter how muddled and anxious she felt. By resisting, I was inadvertently magnifying my postpartum depression.
As women, we’re hardwired to nurture—physically, emotionally, mentally. The archetype of the mother is deeply embedded in our psyche, and when we give birth, we are irrevocably changed. Resisting this transformation is like swimming upstream against a raging river; it’s a fight you can’t win.
In today’s world, women enjoy freedoms that were once denied—marriage and motherhood aren’t the only paths. This newfound independence can make the transition to motherhood feel even more jarring. We don’t want to lose our identities. We don’t want to pause our careers or adventures. Once Artemis takes the reins, she’s not keen on sharing with Demeter, the nurturing goddess.
For some women, the change to motherhood feels like a homecoming; for others, it’s a painful goodbye to their former selves. The birth of your first child often signifies the end of one identity and the birth of another.
As we navigate this bittersweet transition, often through sleep deprivation and the overwhelming demands of a newborn, a new identity emerges. You might not recognize yourself as you stroll past shop windows with a diaper bag slung over your shoulder, but gradually, you’ll become acquainted with this new version of you.
Just as babies learn to sleep through the night and eventually potty train (a process that can feel excruciatingly slow), you will rediscover cherished aspects of your former self. Your identity will evolve into a rich tapestry that incorporates both the old and the new. Eventually, your inner archetypes will find a way to coexist—assuming Demeter allows Artemis a little room for adventure now and then!
In Canada and the UK, moms receive 37 and 52 weeks of maternity leave, respectively, while in the U.S., it’s a mere 12 weeks. It’s no wonder postpartum depression is so prevalent; we’re expected to snap back to reality, regain our pre-baby bodies, and jump back into work with a newborn at home. It defies all logic.
New mothers require ample time to adjust to their new roles, and it’s frustrating how societal norms fail to support this critical transition. But what’s even more damaging is when we don’t practice patience and kindness toward ourselves during this upheaval. I certainly didn’t.
My advice to new moms is simple: just focus on getting through each day. Seek help when you need it and accept that you have changed—your life will never be the same. For the first few months, prioritize only the essentials: keeping you and your baby fed and clean. You’ve got this.
For more tips and insights on navigating motherhood and the journey of self-insemination, check out our other blog posts, like this one about home insemination.
Summary:
Postpartum depression is a common struggle for new mothers, often exacerbated by societal pressures and expectations. The transition into motherhood can be overwhelming, leading to feelings of confusion, anxiety, and even anger. It’s essential for new moms to embrace their new identities while seeking support and being kind to themselves. Understanding that this transformation is a natural part of life can help ease the journey.