KARA MARIELA

I never anticipated that my postpartum period would lead to such a sense of depression and trigger distressing memories. 

As my baby turned two, I had hoped that by this time, I would have healed. However, it still feels like there’s no end in sight.

The constant feelings of fear and anxiety, the overwhelming sense of hopelessness in my inability to escape this troubled state of mind, the anger stemming from my lack of courage to protect myself, and the guilt for not being able to fully appreciate the life I have—they all persist, gnawing at me from within.

At times, I catch myself wondering, ‘Was it truly that terrible?’ And shortly thereafter, I burden myself with guilt as I invalidate my own emotions.

How can I doubt myself when my body retains the memory? I feel a sudden punch in the heart at any sound that harkens back to those postpartum days. I instinctively grab my baby whenever my body feels threatened, seeking safety for both of us in the bathroom, even when I am secure at home, as the battle rages inside my mind.

The whirlwind of emotions I experienced during the fourth trimester was significant and intense, they remain a constant presence that I feel all the time, even today.

When will these feelings fade away? I thought I had passed the postpartum period.

For others, it might seem like nothing out of the ordinary happened. We had a baby, and things changed accordingly. That’s it.

But beneath the surface of family visits, the newborn care phase, and the adjustment to life with a new family member in the house, my reality was far from ordinary.

Despite my body being broken and slow to heal, my experience was a world apart from what met the eye.

My Postpartum Reality: The Unseen Baby Blues and Traumatic Events

In the first month after giving birth, my body certainly didn’t feel like the one I had known all my life. In the process of nurturing a new love for another human, I found myself falling out of love with myself. My mind was filled with an uproar of intrusive thoughts, and my body swirled with conflicting emotions—it felt as if my whole being was in turmoil.

With family members surrounding me continuously during this crucial period, an underlying pressure mounted for me to appear a certain way. I felt compelled to look steady or secure despite the waves of baby blues crashing at me. I had to wait until I was left alone to let my tears flow. 

Whenever the baby slept, my husband, my parents and my husband’s parents would take turns watching the baby so I could eat or shower. Yet, every time I found myself alone, my body would immediately break down into tears. As I cried, I would often hear the baby cry, and rush to see her, only to discover that she wasn’t crying. It was tricky to distinguish which reality was true, as it felt like my mind conjured an alternate world.

I remember one night, I suddenly burst into tears while breastfeeding my newborn. My husband immediately held the baby and soothed her as I sobbed in bed, not even knowing what had caused it. 

During these fragile moments, my husband acted as my shield, the rock that kept me from falling apart. I relied on him to help me assert my boundaries, only for others to unfortunately cross them easily.

I still recall a time when someone voiced their frustration with me after I discovered them breaking the rules I had set regarding my newborn. As my heart and body shattered, I held my baby tightly in my arms. With my trembling voice filled with fear, I sang to my baby to make her feel safe and distract her from their shouting. I tried my best to tune out the noise, but the person was determined to be the loudest, ensuring I heard it all. I focused my attention on my baby, continuously glancing at her tiny and bewildered face, unaware of what was happening. Unfortunately, I could still hear the person making disparaging remarks about me and my baby.

Why would someone feel it’s their place to conduct themselves in a manner that doesn’t align with my choices for my baby and belittle me for making those choices? Did they feel their hearts sink and their guts churn, or anxieties crawl inside their bodies when something didn’t feel right with my baby? These maternal instincts belonged solely to me.

I can’t forget the moment someone took my crying baby while I stood right beside her. Knowing that her cries were a plea for her mother’s touch, I longed to hold her desperately. How could anyone believe they are entitled to comfort my baby, while I was present, as if they had a greater claim than the baby’s own mother? 

There was another time when I was spending quality time alone with my baby, making her laugh and taking pictures of her. Suddenly, someone walked into the room, and in a loud voice, uttered their disappointment with me, because I hadn’t brought my baby to see them as they had been waiting. To make matters worse, the person proceeded to take my baby and left me alone in the room, feeling lonely and unseen as my baby’s mother. They didn’t ask if it was alright with me for them to hold my baby, or even invite me to come with them as they took my baby away.

In another event, someone insensitively stating that the cloth that I used underneath my baby looked poor and resembled something a peasant might use. Despite the fact that I genuinely cared for my baby as I watched over her while she peacefully fell asleep under my care, someone decided to overlook all that and made me feel like I was far from being a good mother.

I also remember when someone criticized my baby’s swaddling after spotting it in my room, saying, ‘Why is it so ugly?’ as I was breastfeeding my baby. Having slept only 1.5 hours that day, all I wanted was silence. I didn’t even want the person’s presence in the room at that moment, nor had I invited them in. Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be the person’s swaddling, not mine. I realized that the interaction was purely intended to make me feel bad. With my shuddering voice, I tried to speak out, saying ‘That’s not mine’ in a hushed tone, as I was taken aback. To which the person swiftly changed the subject and began talking to someone else upon realizing the swaddling was theirs. 

All these interactions took place within the first two months after I gave birth, during the most fragile moment of my life, and I’ve kept them inside of me all this time.

While the individuals I’ve described may have likely moved on and forgotten, these moments are etched in my memory and remain as vivid to me today as they were back then. These interactions might seem ’small’ or insignificant to others, but for me, they became an inseparable part of my earliest memories with my baby.

I wish I could delve deeper as these experiences were merely the surface of it all, but some remain indescribable.

In the process of writing this, I’ve cried until my hands trembled, and I’ve found that my voice couldn’t stop shaking when I tried to re-read this post.

I realize that following those events, I’ve used parts of my wounded self to maintain a relationship with them, extending my forgiveness without receiving an apology. As I’ve tried my hardest to ensure that everyone around me received compassion from me, I kept forgetting that I was the one who desperately needed it. 

For two years, I’ve relied on the remaining fragments of my shattered body to keep things in place, ensuring there would be no further conflicts, as the internal battle within me continues. 

The hardest part was not the fact that I didn’t receive remorse from them, but giving myself one—as I had failed to protect myself. Writing this has been a long-overdue effort of extending kindness to myself.

So, if I were to ask myself that question again—’Was it truly that terrible?’—I can now be certain that it was indeed, and I didn’t deserve it.