Hi There,
This email was not an easy one for me to write, but I feel ready to share some pieces of my journey here that I haven't previously shared before. So, here it goes.
As many of you know, since having babies I have grown to become very passionate about advocating for new moms, and very vocal about the misalignment and disconnect that exists between our current culture and the mother baby dyad, both in my own personal experience and for mothers and women in general.
So passionate, in fact, that leading this community and supporting and empowering new moms has literally become my job! And it's the greatest honor in the world to feel like through this work and through this community and all we offer and stand for, we are making difference in the world for mothers and babies.
And on behalf of my own family, this entire community, and mothers everywhere, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for being a part of it.
As you also may know, though, I recently took a step back from being as involved in this work in order to prioritize my own well being, which has been such a positive change of pace for me and for my family.
And the good news is, taking a step back to nourish my own soul for the past few months has me feeling like I'm almost ready to step back in in an even bigger way (yay!), which I am super excited about.
But the tougher part that I wanted to share here today is about what actually lead me to take this big “break” in the first place. Because I will be honest - I have been resisting invitations to “slow down” for a very long time, until I was basically forced to, by my own doing. Which now looking back is the best thing that could have happened, though four-months-ago-me may not have agreed.
Here's the gist:
When my daughter Leona was born in November, I was very excited to lean into all that the Sacred Portal of Postpartum was about to give me access to, and that's exactly what I did for six entire months. And it was both magical and so so painful. And it looked like…
Me prioritizing my own postpartum healing and nourishment post-birth, giving my intuition and my newborn baby full permission to take the lead in guiding our entire journey and all decisions, allowing myself to experience profound, cellular healing in my body and soul, and all the while, gaining access to bigger, darker feelings of grief, pain, and sadness than I could have ever imagined.
In the first couple months, I expected the waves of emotion and sadness. And I leaned into it (and you no doubt heard about it on Centerline's Instagram). And the constant tears and weepiness actually felt very cathartic.
But then the next couple months crept in, and I still felt like a giant puddle, every single day. It was almost like I even started to crave those intense, deep waves of sadness. Crying and deep emotions were just continuing to be part of my daily routine home with my baby, and I thought it was normal.
I even thought it was a good thing, because it fueled me to continue to be vocal with other women about what I was experiencing, and most of the moms I talked to about all the grief I was experiencing about the way the world was failing moms and babies said me, too. And it felt good to know I wasn't alone and that I was helping them feel like they weren't either.
But as months five and six came along, and nothing changed, I started to grow so, so tired of just feeling so much all of the fucking time. It had become my new baseline, feeling weepy and ragey and straight up sad. It was exhausting. And affecting every area of my life.
And I thought it was ok because I was using that emotion to fuel my advocacy for myself and other moms, and also because I knew it was justified - because I knew then and still know that moms and babies deserve so much better than our current culture will allow in terms of support, perceived value, and acknowledgment.
Even so, I knew I wanted to feel better, but it felt like taking a break from accessing those emotions and, instead, allowing myself to enjoy motherhood a little bit more was me giving up on fighting this important fight.
Like if I sought out help or tried to make a change, that I was giving permission to the systems that continue to fail us to do just that. Like I would be throwing in the towel on what had become the most important fight of my life.
Then, in May, I had a rock bottom couple of weeks. My partner was out of town for work for two long stretches, I was stressed and crying multiple times a day, spread super thin, not fueling my body, and one morning I looked up and saw my exhausted, weepy face in the mirror and thought: it's been six months. How much longer can I carry on this way?
I was so, so tired of feeling so much all the time, but it felt like since I had been so open about it for so long that taking a break from it all would make me a hypocrite. A quitter.
It happened to be World Maternal Health Week, too, which made everything feel all the more difficult. But it also made me think: how can I keep fighting for a better world for moms if I'm not even willing to try to take care of myself?
A local provider and friend could tell I was struggling and reached out suggesting I make an appointment.
I didn't.
A few days went by. She nudged, and nudged again, and I finally called her office. The moment I walked in a week later, I broke down.
Through our conversation and my heaving sobs I realized how much I had been struggling, and for how long. I felt words and tears and emotions leaving my body that had been held in for months and months, maybe even years, maybe even since having my first baby.
It was both so freeing, and so devastating at the same time, to finally come to terms with what I had been experiencing.
By the end of the appointment, we talked about what I feared the most: medication.
I was written a prescription and had no intention of picking it up. I left the office feeling lighter, like now that I knew what was going on I could better handle it. But I still thought I didn't need the medication. I didn't have judgement for anyone who did choose to take it, but, I thought, “It's unnecessary. I'll be fine."
A day went by. A nudge from provider. Another day. Another nudge. More resistance from me. When I finally did consider taking it, I felt all the waves of defeat all over again.
Like if I agreed to take medication, I was letting the flawed system win. Like I was allowing big pharma or “the man” to numb my fire and my passion and make me forget all that was wrong with the world which would keep me from fighting the good fight. I was scared if I couldn't access that sadness that I would lose my fire and ability to fight, and all would be lost.
But then I remembered: I was already losing my ability to fight. My fire was already burning out. And if I kept going on this way, it would burn out for good - which is exactly what those broken systems want. They want moms like us to burn out and lose fuel and exhaust our voices and be forced to quit fighting, till there's nothing left.
So I chose preservation.
Because, I have decided, and now feel in my bones, that that is the biggest rebellion of all.
Because I now know preserving my strength and seeking support is the only way to keep going.
Because I deserve more, and so do all moms - we deserve to enjoy our motherhood experience despite all the pain and grief that comes with it.
And because me seeking out treatment, therapy, or medication doesn't mean I'm taking the easy way out or letting them win.
It means that my kids will get to witness me, for years to come, hopefully for their entire lives, standing for myself and for moms and babies and fighting that good fight instead of saying, “here's what I once did, but then I couldn't anymore."
And they'll feel the strength I've gained during this crucial time in their own bones and in their hearts, and we'll all be better for it.
And so, for now, I will continue to say yes to slowing down, yes to support, yes to therapy, yes to medication. Because all those things have given me access to more peace, more light, and more ENJOYING motherhood, and that is beautiful thing.
And I'll know in the days to come that with every peaceful nap my daughter takes on my chest and every scraped knee I kiss for my son, I know I'm not only nurturing them, but I'm nurturing myself, too, and ultimately, the world.
