I’m sharing below four blog posts that I wrote in my phone in the middle of the night, over the first couple of months of my second baby’s life. I haven’t felt brave enough prior to this. I thought I’d look melodramatic and (certainly at the time of writing) my postnatal anxiety was absolutely horrendous. I was so sure that something awful would happen to my children that I was barely able to get ready in the morning, let alone share something so honest. I want just one person out there to feel heard, and for just one person to take away some understanding of the absolute rollercoaster that new motherhood can be.
I’ve since returned to anti-anxiety medication. I sleep better. My son is older. My daughter is settled into school. The lockdowns of the last couple of years feel a little further away. However, reading these back makes me want to cry. To gather up 2021 Hilary and envelop her in the biggest, most supportive hug. To take the weight of the worries, the responsibilities and the tears and remove it. To tell her that one day, she’ll be strong enough to talk, to accept support, to manage the huge feelings. Instead, I’m sharing these newborn midnight ramblings because it isn’t very useful when someone says “it’ll get better”, “it won’t last forever”. When you’re in the trenches, even one more hour of new motherhood can feel too much. Instead, let me tell you my top three tips, based the way I felt in these blogs, and the way I feel now, one year on:
- Ask for help
- Accept the help
- Put yourself first at least once a day.
It will get better but that doesn’t mean you have to accept how hard it is right now. You are not alone and you are not expected to be superhuman – just tell one person that you love that you’re struggling and I guarantee, it’s the beginning of an upward curve.
7 July 2021 (Baby #2 is 4 weeks old, baby #1 is 3 years and 364 days old):
Being brutally honest? Some days I want to wander off. Find a reading nook somewhere on my own and just quietly slip out of my house and my responsibilities and the drama and the tiredness and the anxiety.
But I won’t.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my husband. I love my children. But despite doing this before, nothing prepared me for the absolute loss of identity. All I do is feed, change nappies, answer questions about the kids and Oscar’s birth and my maternity leave. Plaster on a smile as the gap in my sense of self gapes wider. It literally feels like I can feel my heart breaking some days. The phrase ” my heart sank” has never felt so physically accurate. Like a part of me gives up waiting and gives in to the relentlessness of newborn motherhood, right as I offer cups of tea and answer calls to accompany Ada to the toilet, and prepare yet another bottle for Oscar. Despite the support and constant company, it is so fucking lonely.
Socialising is agony. Between hormones and exhaustion, anxiety and the madness of navigating a post lockdown world; is it any wonder that I’d like to slip out and hide away by myself in quiet (non covid) isolation? (And yes, I appreciate the irony of being lonely but wanting to be alone).
But then tonight, or this morning, or whatever bloody time it is; my heart rose back up a little. Like a re-inflated party balloon with a tiny bit of life left. There was no epic, noteworthy moment of revelation, but the drowning feeling abated as I thought about what I could do to provide some routine to my maternity leave. How I could take back control of what felt like a spiralling lack of control, instead of gazing into the unplanned abyss and feeling lost. There’s nothing groundbreaking in it – I plan some daily walks; some monthly/weekly local meet-ups with other new parents; a parent and baby Pilates or Yoga class to feel physically strong again. Some regular structure to my weeks. I also plan to be more mindful about booze. After 9 months off, I thought I’d enjoy a drink with friends but truth be told, it’s amplifying the bad stuff and I need to keep an eye on how I’m feeling.
And so here I am, writing my ramblings into my phone at 2am while my baby son slowly (so slowly…) falls properly to sleep after a feed, so I can put him in his crib and get another hour or two of sleep myself.
I don’t write this as a cry for help, I’m self aware enough (and experienced enough in my own, diagnosed, anxious brain) to know that if the routine and exercise and increased sobriety don’t help, I’ll need something more substantial, some external, official, medical and/or therapeutic help.
But for now, I wanted to share that, cliché or not, it’s ok not to be ok. It’s OK not to be a constantly beaming ball of traditional maternal joy. It’s ok to say no to events, gatherings, socialising – regardless of whether it’s friends, family or the Queen – without justifying your choices. Just be kind and polite and if they don’t get it, let it be and frankly, let them go.
I’m not sure why I’m putting this out there (and I may not even share this with anyone), but writing it down has helped. So thanks brain and words and my phone and this time to chuck down all of my thoughts. Here’s to routine and fresh air and learning to be me again.
20 July 2021 (Baby #2 is 6 weeks old. Baby #1 is 4 years old):
That can’t be me, can it? I’m looking in the mirror and while she has my hair, my eyes, my mouth and nose; she’s a weird shape – out of proportion and lumpy. Her stomach is sagging like an old sofa that lost its stuffing, and her hips are less muffin-top, more home-made, skin-and-fat panniers.
Some days I can gee myself up and out of this mindset. “You’ve grown two humans, had 2 abdominal surgeries to evict those humans and you’ve lived a happy and (relatively) healthy 30-odd years. That body deserves a medal!”. Other days, like today, I get out of the shower, onto the scales (WHY?!) and I find myself losing time staring at the mirror. The only word for my feelings on those days is desperation – I am the sucker who would fall for the ‘get skinny quick” schemes at that point. I know I can get stronger, more toned, be healthier and that this doesn’t have to be me forever, but I can’t stand to watch this alien version of myself in the meantime. And in turn, I feel horribly guilty for the self-loathing I feel, when I feel so strongly about body positivity, about all bodies being worthy of love and beauty, about lifting other women up.
I’m writing this before going to sleep in the hope that getting it out of my head will avoid the tears I can feel creeping in. I don’t want to be sad about this. About the challenges of motherhood? Fine – have a cry. About the lack of sleep? The temporary pause on any kind of grown up relationships? Absolutely – weep away. But about my body? No. My body deserves better. OK, I’ve got a sweet tooth and an aversion to most organised exercise (!) but my body is worthy of love, it is keeping me alive, it lets me hug and laugh and feel and move and dance and sing and so much more. It’ll take more than just affirmations, but I will get back to a place of acceptance and strength. I will be me again.
1 August 2021 (Baby #2 is 7 weeks old. Baby #1 is 4 years old):
I’m too big. Too tired. Too unsociable. Too anxious. But…
I want chocolate biscuits. I want that one hour with you in silence as we stare at a TV. I want to stay home. Worrying is my comfort zone.
I’m a walking, talking, tug of war. Up is down and good is bad and – did I mention I’m tired?
This wasn’t this hard before. Or maybe it was? Do you remember? Do we want to remember? Perhaps we remembered to forget. I’m overwhelmed and underwhelmed and just a little bit lost.
Let’s find each other together like we did before. We’ve got time, we can do this.
14 August 2021 (Baby #2 is 9 weeks old. Baby #1 is 4 years old):
I can’t do it. I can’t be the wife you want and the mother you expect and the lover you need. I can’t be your friend and your shoulder and your partner. The stuff that needs doing just isn’t getting done. Or, it is, but at the price of my health and our relationship and our home life.
I want us in a bubble but I want to be sociable when it feels safe. I want to get out and be me again but I’m scared to be away from home. I want to talk about anything except the kids but they’re all I want to talk about. I’m a hypocrite of the highest order. I’m everything I’ve judged but trust that I am judge, jury and executioner when it comes to my sentence.
I’m difficult to anticipate. You don’t get it. I smile then explode. I cry then I smile. I tell you I don’t want to go, then smooth on the lipstick and no-one else would know.
Sometimes I don’t want to be here, with you, with them, with us. I want to be isolated and alone and silent and untouched. It’s what I want but also what I deserve for being so shit. How can I feel so self righteous and yet so guilty?
Why are you still here?!
#MaternalMentalHealthMonth
Family, feminism and frustrations 