You’re going to be such a great mom!
You are a natural!
You grew up mothering your brothers, motherhood will come so easily to you!
You were always so good with kids, you’re going to love being a mom!

On New Year’s Day 1988, my parents welcomed their first born son, and my own introduction to motherhood was born. I was 18 months old when my first of two brothers joined the ranks of our family, and I wasted no time in mothering and smothering him. Despite the bottle-drinking and diaper-wearing, no one bothered to tell me I was a baby myself! Or maybe I just tuned them out…?

Growing up, I was drawn to the role of a stay-at-home mom so I’d get to be the primary influence in my children’s lives before they went to school.

It just seemed like the natural fit for me to be home with my children. I mean, I was always told I’d be a natural, and don’t we all want to work in our natural strengths?

Well after my first miscarriage, which you can read about here, my mind was made up: I’d take the necessary steps to be home with any babies the Lord would bless us with.

So, twenty-four years after my first introduction to motherhood (when my brother was born on New Year’s Day), I had the privilege of welcoming my first born son on New Year’s Eve 2012. I was elated. And felt every positive emotion you can imagine.

Within a few days of returning home with our precious rainbow baby. Every positive emotion turned on me, and darkness enveloped my dream-come-true.

I was in terrible pain from birthing my son. Despite an epidural and smooth delivery, I was not healing as well as expected. Actually, nothing was going as well as expected. There were so many things I didn’t know. So many things nobody told me.

You see, when you’re told your entire life that you’re going to be a natural, you don’t bother doing the research, and learning the things, and actually preparing yourself!

So really, I blame no one but myself. I knew motherhood would be an adjustment.

But I hadn’t a clue what I was in for after the baby bump selfies were over and the fourth trimester started. I hadn’t even heard of a fourth trimester!

No one told me…

• that birthing the placenta would be so painful
• the very real level of exhaustion I would feel when it’s all done
• what a huge effect hormonal changes could have on me
• nursing would hurt as much as it did
• about tongue ties
• my baby would never sleep ever
• about jaundice
• I could stop nursing if it’s too hard
• it’s ok to get help
• it’s ok if you need a break
• it’s ok to cry
• my mind would play tricks on me in the darkness
• No one told me. Because no one knew.

I kept all the dark, hurt, pain, shame, and fears to myself. I was supposed to be a natural. I was supposed to love this. I was supposed to know what to do, and do it all so effortlessly well.

I was ashamed of letting down all the people who expected me to thrive as a mother. All the while the opposite was happening. And I was so confused.

I am a total amateur when it comes to this, but humour me with some details I knew NOTHING about when it really mattered…. And had I known then what I know now, I’m sure I wouldn’t have felt so…. messed up?

#Science
and words like that

A mother’s body produces hormones that help her and baby through the birthing process. Here are some important ones:

• Oxytocin – hormone of love
• Endorphins – hormone of pain relief
• Adrenaline – hormone of survival
• Prolactin – hormone of mothering

These all work together to give the body what it needs to birth baby, bond with baby, and eventually breastfeed baby.

After baby is born, mom still rides high on that wave of hormones (not to mention estrogen, progesterone, and more… but let’s keep things simple). Then, once milk comes in, IF milk comes in, all the hormones start to change, level out, and can often, crash.

I’m still fuzzy about some of this, but after all these years, I finally have a clearer understanding of what I was going through on a purely physical level.

I didn’t understand that my struggle wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t a reflection of my love, or desire, for my child. I wasn’t being selfish. I was literally unable to control how I felt.

This is how it all unfolded:

Within a day or two of coming home with our newborn son, the highs of birthing him came crashing down.

Like I said, I was in more physical pain from birth than I could have EVER anticipated. But my own recovery took an immediate backseat to the needs of my son.

He was jaundice at birth, but not enough to warrant treatment at the hospital. Well, when a baby is only mildly jaundice, it’s recommended that the toxin is flushed out of his system the most natural way possible: wet diapers.

Enter: Mom’s milk.

For a newborn who’s exclusively breastfed, getting those diapers wet is exclusively mama’s responsibility.

The pressure to help my son get over his jaundice was unbearable. I mean literally I could not bear this load of responsibility.

Because of the lethargy brought on by jaundice, we’d wake our son every two hours, around the clock to feed. His lethargic state also meant it took him about an hour to eat enough. I’d try to sleep for the hour before the process started all over again.

Maybe this wouldn’t have been so bad if the following factors were not contributing to this living hell.
(a term I don’t use lightly, as this was the darkest season of my life.)

Darkness, literally.

When your baby’s born in the middle of winter (December 31), you’re in the very depths of the shortest days of the year. Daylight hours are precious and few; and the bitter cold and snow of Montreal winters didn’t do me much good either. January and February are statistically the most depressing months of the year, and boy did I ever learn why.

Because I was spending so many hours awake to nurse my son, it felt like it was always the middle of the night.

I have memories nursing him in a rocking chair by my bedroom window. Around 4pm every day, my heart would start racing, my arms would begin to shake uncontrollably… I was having panic attacks each day as the sun would set. Dreading another very long, dark night of nursing. Feeling like I was the only person awake on the entire planet.

And I should have sought help for that.

I’d rather give birth

Does anyone use that as an expression when you don’t want to do something difficult? Well either way, I remember repeating it in my head over and over and over and over every time I had to nurse my son.

I’d rather give birth than nurse this baby…

You may be asking yourself, why?

The truth is, I hadn’t experienced anything as painful as nursing my son. It felt like daggers were being stabbed into me for an hour straight. I’m sorry for the TMI, but like, it’s the internet. I’m sure you’ll see worse today.

The excruciating pain I felt in nursing was mostly attributed to my son’s tongue tie. Because of my experience, I now urge anyone who’ll listen to please get a professional to check your baby’s tongue at birth! This was not done for my son, because like I said, I just didn’t know!

A nurse doing house calls came to check on us when my son was a week old. She had the sense to assess him and sure enough, he needed minor surgery to correct the tongue tie.

In retrospect, I should have stopped. For my own mental health, I should have pumped to bottle feed, or fed him formula, or something. The mental strain of seasonal depression with excruciating pain in nursing, and hormones out of whack was all just too much.

My days felt like an out-of-body experience. It’s like I was outside my own body just watching it all unfold in slow motion. Weeping through every nursing session in the dark. Trying desperately to get some sleep. It was just so hard.

And I should have sought help for that.

A wave of shame

I have a memory that still haunts me to this day. My son was weeks old. We had some family over, I can’t remember more details than that, but I remember my mother holding my son. She was sitting across the table from me and looking at me with a look of apprehension and curiosity.

She then asked me if I wanted to hold my baby.

I remember staring blankly, void of emotion, and simply saying, “Not right now.”

I then excused myself to my bedroom where I just stared at my reflection in the mirror. Silent tears streaming down my face, wondering who that stranger was staring back at me.

I couldn’t recognize myself to save my life. Who was this girl? Where was that natural mother? That maternal instinct? That woman who was great with kids and always knew what to do? Where was she?

I felt nothing but shame. And I buried that deep, deep inside.

You see, the truth is that I didn’t want to hold my son. I had no desire to even touch him unless I had to nurse him. Because when you spend 12 out of 24 hours of your day in excruciating pain just to feed your baby, you literally have nothing left to give.

And I should have sought help for that.

Postpartum, months later

A few months had passed, and though nursing was less painful, I was not yet thriving. In fact, I was barely surviving. Normal, mundane tasks were monumental feats that I had to prepare for mentally. Things like family gatherings and attending church only served to trigger my anxiety and I was usually tense in any social setting.

I remember being approached by a woman at our church in Montreal who asked me if I wanted to attend a weekday women’s Bible study now that I was on maternity leave.

My son was about three months old at the time, so according to the baby textbooks:

Baby should be on a well-established routine, but still sleep relatively easily in a carseat or carrier. This makes it easy, and almost fun, to tote baby around for errands and social gatherings!

Well if this were true of me and my baby, I would surely have delighted in the opportunity of attending a women’s Bible study. I freakin’ love women. I freakin’ love the Bible. I freakin’ love to study! You get the picture… literally my favourite things. It was a recipe for success!

Instead, I burst out crying in the middle of the foyer and had to excuse myself. But not before blubbering out, “Perhaps some other time.”

Even three months later, my postpartum anxiety and depression were as real as ever. The thought of getting myself out of the house on a regular basis for a specific time each week sent me spiralling. I was just so overwhelmed.

Crawling out of the pit

When my son was about six months old, he was no longer interested in nursing and began to wean himself. It took about four months before nursing him was no longer painful, so it was a little disappointing that our journey together was ending when we were just getting the hang of it.

He also started sleeping through the night at six months old which was a huge game changer for my mental state.

Postpartum depression vs. Sleep deprivation

When our eldest was 18 months old, we welcomed a second son into our family. This little one was born at the end of June which is worth noting as the time of year with the most daylight hours. Trust me, we definitely planned and prayed for that.

It’s hard to believe, but our second son was an even worse sleeper than our first. Although, he thankfully had no issues with nursing, he had absolutely no interest in sleeping.

Looking back, I can attest to the fact that sleep deprivation is just not the same as postpartum blues or depression. Although my mind does go to dark places when I’m sleep deprived for long periods of time, the experience is vastly different.

With my second son, I was beyond exhausted, but still functional. Chasing an 18 month old while caring for a newborn was a pretty hard, I won’t lie. But I did it. And I could still go out and make plans and do life. I was just a dead tired while doing it. For example, when our second was 7 weeks old, I stood as maid of honour at my best friend’s wedding. And not to brag, but it went pretty damn well. Exhausting, but still amazing.

Nothing compares to the dark, overwhelmed feeling I had the first time around. When I didn’t recognize myself. When months went by before I wanted to be around my baby. When I couldn’t carry on a conversation without unravelling in tears.

I wish I knew it was ok to get help.

Third Time’s a Charm

When our third baby was born nearly three years ago, I’m relieved to say that I didn’t struggle with any of the same postpartum issues I had previously faced. Though healing from a C-section brought its own challenges, the pure joy of motherhood that I longed for in those early days, yet always eluded me, was finalized realized in my daughter. It was redemptive. And I’m really grateful.

So I dedicate this post to all new mamas, moms-to-be, those considering motherhood…. please, PLEASE reach out to someone if you’re struggling in postpartum. It can hit any one of us. And not even with just your first! I think we’re past the stigma of seeing a shrink, or going on medication, or crying in public. So please just do the thing and get the help! I wish someone told me that. But I just didn’t know. And I didn’t know what I didn’t know.

If you’re still here and I haven’t scared you off, tell me, does this resonate with you? If you’re a mother, would you care to share about your own postpartum experience? I’d love to hear from you!

As always, thanks for reading along!