Words by Anwesha // illustration by Qiyue
I vividly remember how I felt during the last days of my pregnancy. I remember feeling impatient for the arrival of my son, and anxious to know what it would feel like to have him earthside. And while I wanted to be prepared, I felt this sense of stubborn aversion towards any advice. I politely declined offers to hear about other people’s “postpartum survival kit”. I had felt sufficiently bombarded by (often contradictory) advice in the lead-up to the birth, and I felt saturated with other people’s opinions.
Still, I yearned to know what it would be like for me. I felt impatient for the abstract concepts I had formed over the course of 10 months to materialise into real experience. I wanted to be prepared.
I heard mothers saying ‘nothing can really prepare you for motherhood’, but I didn’t know how that could be possible. Planning was my thing. The planner within me took great pride in getting the house prepared for the baby during the nesting phase. If chaos was to be expected, she was determined to die trying to organise it. What she perhaps failed to comprehend is that the uninitiated only have the dimensions available to them that they have already been exposed to.
In life, there are always known unknowns and unknown unknowns. And while my internal planner knew how to organise my life around the former, she was quite hopeless at knowing how to psychologically prepare me for the latter.
My usual practice of being ultra-prepared to the point of feeling burnt out was never going to cut the mustard when it came to preparing for the emotional side of my postpartum journey. No amount of planning and organisation was going to guarantee me a smooth, breakdown-free motherhood.
I’m sitting here, six months into motherhood, and I realise how much these unrealistic expectations set us up for disappointment. Where do these delusional standards come from?
Why is the portrayal of motherhood in our broader society so warped? Perhaps, despite all the talk of acceptance and awareness of the emotional rollercoaster of early motherhood, there lies a fear of judgement and ostracisation if we were to express anything but eternal gratitude for our little bundles of joy. Perhaps, despite parenting being a universal experience, it is also a deeply personal one, which can make it quite hard to talk about.
Whatever it may be, while the logistics and practicalities of parenting were talked about abundantly, there seemed to be a lack of discourse around the emotional experiences interwoven within it. Looking back, what I needed far more than any advice I got, was to hear from mothers about the very real and normal emotional challenges of early parenthood.
So here is my attempt at capturing the emotional themes and challenges of my experience of early parenthood, with the hope that this resonates with some others.
On how motherhood challenges productivity culture
During my pregnancy, I often found myself wondering whether I had what it took to be a “good mother”. I thought of all that I’ve accomplished in my life – If I could do those things and come out in one piece, surely I could “do” this too. I learnt the hard way that motherhood renders your accomplishments irrelevant. It has very few sh*ts to give about your capabilities as a “modern woman”. Literally, everything you are taught to be proud of can go in the bin when you start taking care of an adorable little screaming human. I’ve found that the learnt independence can be quite a barrier to asking for the help you need to raise them.
Hustle culture can be particularly hard to break out of even in the throes of early parenthood. Although we might recognise, on a spiritual level, that the easiest way forward is to give in to the chaos of it all and let go of any expectations of “productivity” (whatever that might mean in the early days of learning how to be a mother) – it is a much harder process in practice. This can be especially hard if, as in my case, staying on top of your tasks at work and home gives you a sense of control and security in your life. It can seem strange to prioritise a clean home at this time, and it’s easy to dole out advice to a new mother to just “lower her expectations” towards herself and her home. However, at a time when those feelings of safety can be elusive due to the constant state of fight-or-flight that comes with the nature of postpartum struggles, it makes sense that we yearn for a semblance of stability in those early days. The lack of control in our external world seems to mimic our internal mayhem, and perhaps getting a load of laundry done is the only remaining token of control we have in a life that is otherwise in disarray.
On building the “village”
“It takes a village,” they say. But the difference today is that you need to, amongst the utter chaos of early postpartum, also find a way to build this village they’re talking about. In my case (as one of the first to have a baby in my friendship group) the village wasn’t just there to be reached out to because the village didn’t exist yet. And I didn’t quite know what I needed until I was in the thick of it. Amongst the myriad of tasks on my to-do list as a first-time mother (building my body back to relative health, juggling multiple crucial and fundamental tasks all at once, while operating on the least sleep and least strength I’d had in forever) I felt compelled to maintain a connection with the outside world so I’m not forgotten, and so I can ask for the help I need.
Anyone who goes through a major life event (pregnancies, birth, death, breakups) can see that people don’t stop living their busy lives just because your life is at a standstill. You might get a friendly offer of help from time to time, or a check-in via text messages from people who want to lend their support. But when the time comes, “Just let me know what you need” is the hardest text to reply to when you need help with literally everything you used to do easily before you had a baby.
On the loss of independence
I found myself struggling with how much I needed to lean on my partner while being the primary carer on mat leave. Perhaps it’s because I’m not used to asking for help. Or perhaps due to certain childhood experiences, I associate asking for help with weakness. Whatever it may be, one thing’s for sure – we cannot get through this time in our newfound life as a mother without putting ourselves in the awkward and vulnerable position of asking for support, repeatedly and often, from partners, friends and family.
Financially, logistically and emotionally, I felt more vulnerable than I’d ever felt. Despite having had the big, boring conversations about family finances with my partner way in advance, the reality of living a life where he goes to work and I stay home, jarred. The internal learnt sexism/misogyny came in strong – and I found that while I could easily talk the new-age feminism talk, I struggled to truly walk the walk without doubting my self-worth.
On the emotional rollercoaster of navigating your own childhood
I was amazed at how much history got dredged up in the process of growing this tiny human. I was naive enough to believe that I had dealt with all my childhood experiences sufficiently through my 20s and early 30s, and that this meant that everything from now on would be untainted by my trauma. I would be this perfect mum, and it would be easy to show up exactly how I intend to show up.
I came into motherhood with this preconceived idea of what a good mother thinks, says and does. More importantly, I had my beliefs about what a good mother doesn’t think, doesn’t say and doesn’t do.
Motherhood is quick to teach you that you can fantasize about your postpartum plans all you want, the reality is that putting up these barriers and structures to resist the very real, justified and uncomfortable feelings that we are quick to dismiss as “bad” and that this time tends to evoke, only makes the process of matrescence harder. I noticed how much of my need to show up as perfect came from a warped philosophy that served my ego and sense of self-worth rather than a need to learn how to nurture myself and my family during this sacred time.
If I were to wrap a pretty bow around what I’ve shared – motherhood is hard and messy. It teaches you very quickly to relinquish any rigid standards you may have. But everything takes time, everything is non-linear. The kind of self-care that helps get you through postpartum can be a slow and unglamorous process. It doesn’t lie in baths or buying yourself flowers but rather learning how to allow yourself to do things to a “good enough” standard rather than perfect. Or to truly learn how to accept help, and to believe that you deserve it.
One day I may be able to leave the dirty dishes in the sink overnight without the internal guilt, but for now it’s a work in progress.
