Pregnancy is a beautiful part of being a woman. The miracle of growing a human being starting with just two cells is incredible. Though, we all know it's not my favorite thing to go through! But I have a renewed appreciation for the process. I have grown four brains! Four functioning, whole, perfect tiny bodies. I am always really quick to complain about the physical burdens of pregnancy. Who isn't? Being nauseous so often, in pain, tired, it's not fun. But what about the other side? What about the side of pregnancy that isn't as widely talked about? The emotional toll it takes on the mom and really the whole family? There is no physical waddle or breathless huffs when it comes to emotional turmoil. And you cannot endure something so trying physically without emotional ramifications. Postpartum mood disorders have become a hot topic lately. They are more widely accepted now than ever before and doors are opening for those who suffer with them. Care providers are becoming more aware and families are being educated. There is definitely a long way to go there but progress is never bad. But what if the answer lies in the past? What if they key to treating and even preventing postpartum struggles lies within the months of pregnancy? When a woman is pregnant, all eyes are on her. Suddenly, so much revolves around her and her growing baby. She is most important. She is constantly complimented from total strangers! Asked questions about how much longer she has left, boy or girl, is this her first, when is she due... Towards the end, her phone rings off the hook; endless inquiries on how she's feeling, if baby is coming yet, if she needs anything, if she's ready. But once baby is born, it all shifts. Suddenly, that baby is #1. The calls come for the first several days still but instead of questions about her health and well-being, all attention is given to her sweet new bundle. The one that cries a lot. Sucks hard. Poops endlessly. Refuses to let anyone sleep. Sure, every mom is so proud of that baby! But as the days turn to weeks and the inquiries trickle to a stop, her world continues to shrink. The visits suddenly cease with the provider she gets to know so well during the pregnancy, and they are often replaced with visits to the pediatrician where she feels like a train wreck; since she likely hasn't showered in a week. Newer babies are born around her world and she gets brushed to the side. Alone. I have often sat with my perfect new baby and felt so much resentment. I had waited for this little person for so long! And it becomes a vicious circle of blame, guilt, resentment, and the loneliest of tears. After my third child was born, I hit a low of lows. I had severe postpartum depression and it went undiagnosed for many months. I reached out for help, finally, and had a paradoxical reaction to the medication I was given. Which is basically a fancy way of saying, it didn't work. It did just the opposite. It was then that I turned to the one thing I SWORE I would never face again: THERAPY. I went in with walls up and fury spewing from my throat. But slowly, I came unraveled. Week by week, the layers peeled back and I learned more about myself than I ever thought I would be ready for. I came to many profound realizations about my life and what kind of mother I was. One day as I sat on that little couch, I thought about the term "it takes a village to raise a child". Children are hard, sure, but a whole village? Seems a little extreme. Then it hit me. The village isn't FOR the child. It's for the mother. It takes a village to SUPPORT A MOTHER. I truly believe therein lies the answer for postpartum difficulties. We submerse mothers in love, attention, and care for nine months then throw them out the doors to care for a helpless human and then we STOP CARING. Life moves on. Days float on by. But who is more vulnerable? The helpless newborn or the caretaker in a silent crisis? Compliments turn into harsh expectations. How much weight is there left to lose? Should she be eating that? Is her baby sleeping through the night yet?
Unsolicited advice flies at her like a game of darts. Six weeks go by, OH YOU NEED TO KEEP HOUSE NOW! Dinner on the table every night by six! Floors swept, hair washed, makeup on, laundry done, take that baby for a jog! The cruelest of expectations. What better way to fuel the anxieties of a new mom than to make her feel like she is doing everything wrong? No wonder mothers are falling apart. Where did the villages go?
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