Afterbirth and Rebirth
I stumbled across a post yesterday that I can not get out of my, sometimes pretty, head. Quiet frankly, I think it is haunting me. Lurking in the shadows of my postpartum memory, stirring up emotions I had long buried, but not forgotten.
This post, Afterbirth, by Angie Kinghorn, gives you a glimpse into the monstrosity of postpartum depression and anxiety. She bares her soul and leaves nothing to spare. It is so raw, so poignant and so “real” that I am sure every mother can relate on some level, or at least understand how she got there. I know I did and she forced me to remember why….
While reading her post, I could not help but to relive my own experience with afterbirth. I kept going back to those lonely nights after I brought my daughter home. I would be up all hours of the night, rocking and nursing, rocking and nursing, wondering if this would ever end and praying that it wouldn’t. Every time she cried and I couldn’t console her, my heart would break into tiny little shards like broken glass. My thoughts were hijacked by a continuous stream of worries. Is she getting enough to eat? Is she gaining enough weight? Why does she cry so much? Is she in pain? Is this normal? Should I call the doctor? I was so consumed with her that I had forgotten all about me, but who was me now?
In a few short weeks after I brought my bundle of joy home, I was certain I had laid the old me to rest forever. I shed layers of my old life like a snake shedding its skin before winter. Spontaneity, Exuberance,and Effervescence had fallen away and were replaced with structure, restraint, panic, and melancholy. I mourned my old life with a thirst that could not be quenched. I felt like a foreigner in my own country. Everything had changed and I knew it would never be the same from the moment I heard my daughter’s first cry. I had morphed into something new, something different. A mom. A mom that would forever worry, forever want the very best, and forever love her children. A truth that would never change in life nor in death.
As mother’s, I think we all have stories of survival. I can not honestly say I can totally relate to Angie’s story, but I do know where she’s coming from. She has her story, I have mine, and you have yours. I do admire Angie for being so honest and so real. PLEASE read her post and share: