Motherhood sh*t no one talks about

// Part One: Postpartum Depression

PPD feels like a bit of a mind fck.

Because I had this idea of what depression meant, looked like, was. Yet, what I am experiencing does not fit inside that box.

I always assumed that depression was a darkness, a sadness, a life lived without color. That it was consistent, constant, all consuming & you could spot it from a mile away. That the heart may still be pumping blood to the body, but it was no longer in contact with the soul. & that those who suffered with depression were broken until they were able to be fixed.

When in reality — depression (at least in my experience) is not a fixed state of being. It is not a constant, but more like a not so welcome visitor. One you never know how long will stay, who doesn’t bother to knock or announce their arrival & the more I think of it the more I imagine that depression may very well ignore the front door altogether. & instead, sneak in through the back. As if their goal is to make your house their home without you ever even realizing it.

& they take. & take. & take.

It is a slow burn. A slow takeover. & you don’t see it coming from a mile way.

You don’t really see it at all.

But somehow, before you know it, your energy starts to dip, your mind feels uneasy, your sleep turns to sh*t, your exhaustion is bone deep & the idea of getting out of bed makes your stomach drop.

There is this weight. This dread. This thickness & closing to what once felt open, loving & free.

You want to care but can’t care.
You want to move but can’t move.
You want to hope but cannot for the life of you find any. Not even a morsel.

& it feels never ending. You find yourself forgetting what it feels like to be okay? To be content? So much so, that you begin to question whether anyone is actually happy or if we are all just faking it.

The infamous ~light at the end of the tunnel~ ceases to exist & you’re not sure there will ever be a day you don’t feel this way.

But then… you see your baby smile.
Or watch the sunrise.
& have a really good cup of coffee.
Or hear a good joke.
&& for a moment everything is okay.

I am starting to think depression has a soft spot for the things we love most in life. It’s as if in the moments we witness, experience or embrace what our heart holds closest we become so whole that even depression cannot ignore the power of said love.

But those moments, while fleeting, are proof that two feelings can co-exist.

Gratitude & apathy.
Peace & frustration.
Love & fear.

I have to admit I am having a good day today. I have had a few good days actually. Even last week was a good week. So good, that it is really easy to convince myself I never struggled with PPD in the first place. Because I keep looking for that unwanted visitor, I’ve checked the basement, the attic & even under the beds but they are gone — for now.

I guess that is what has surprised me the most about depression. Is how final how concrete how real it feels when you are in it, & how weird & unfamiliar & unrelatable it feels when you are out of it.

Maybe that is why there is such a stigma around it? Especially with PPD? & why so many women try to battle it alone, never seek help, & struggle silently?

Because unless you are in the thick of it — you can’t really remember how bad it can be. You can’t find the right words to explain what you were feeling & you feel dramatic trying.

So we just kinda… gaslight ourselves into thinking maybe, just maybe… it never happened in the first place?

It wasn’t depression, it was just a bad day!
It wasn’t depression, I was just tired!
It wasn’t depression, it’s just motherhood!

After nearly 5 months of experiencing these waves of PPD, I am finally in a place where I can accept it for what it is without feeling weird about it. Or guilty. Or ashamed. Because let’s be real — that is the true hard part in all of this.

It’s feeling alone in the suffering & then feeling guilty for suffering.

Because according to the world we live in — Mothers should be grateful! Happy! Blissed out! Twirling their baby around in a meadow full of wildflowers wearing their shaggy chic boho free people dress they bought for a measly $298! Mothers should be making sourdough! & washing their linens by hand! Line drying them in their luscious back yard where they sit eating the grapes they meticulously cut into quarters so the baby won’t choke.

But the world doesn’t know, do they?

That motherhood comes with growing pains that you never really grow out of.

That the process of growing human life, birthing said life & then nourishing & sustaining that life requires your own life as sacrifice.

& no I don’t mean you literally die. Not physically at least.

But there is a death.
The death of who you once were.
The death of what you once knew.
The death of the old you.

As someone who’s career is built upon truth, vulnerability & ~realness~ I always thought that when I became a mom I would share every detail.

That I would be the same Emma, letting her honesty & desire for expression lead the way.

But instead I found myself feeling a bit scared. Hesitant.

Almost like I didn’t trust that the truth — that my truth — would be safe in the hands of the collective.

There was this feeling like people weren’t ready for the harsh reality of it all. That if I myself was shocked at how deep the depths of motherhood brought me, the world would be shocked, too. & that’s not very sexy. Not very fun. Not very ~scroll~ friendly.

& so the truth, my truth began to feel like a burden. Because contrary to what we see depicted in the movies & on social media — motherhood can be one of the messiest, most painful & confusing times in a woman’s life… while also being one of the most beautiful, satisfying & magical times.

& that’s it right there.
The duality. The contrast.
That is motherhood.

It cannot be defined & that makes anyone who is not a mother feel uncomfy.

Because they prefer to imagine motherhood as simple, neat, easy.

Or maybe, just maybe they do imagine it as hard — but it is the kind of hard they acknowledge but do not dare investigate further.

Because if motherhood stays in a cute little box that remains to be opened & explored then the world can keep on keeping on. Stepping on the backs of mothers without a second thought.

I know it sounds bad when put that way, but I don’t think I am wrong.

& it is not only the lack of women sharing their honest & truest experience that allows this unfortunate reality to remain present, but also the lack of reaction, response & *excuse my language* fucks given when mothers DO speak up that keeps us stuck, suppressed + silently suffering.

*exhale*

Anyways, as a new mom who is struggling with postpartum depression, postpartum anxiety, postpartum rage &&& all the other battles that come with motherhood (like lack of freedom, lack of support, & lack of said village we are all supposed to have but can’t fucking find anywhere) — I am trying my best to move past the fear of sharing my experience, my journey & my truth.

Because this deserves to be talked about!
Because mothers are the foundation of this universe!
Because without women bearing children there would be no one & nothing!

& interestingly enough, I have found that whenever I am in the throws of a depressive episode & choose not to hide, shame myself or pretend I am “okay” & instead, choose to share how I am doing — I almost always come back into a more harmonious place. A peaceful place. A loving place.

& going back to my little analogy from before — maybe when we talk about our shit, it’s as if we are grabbing a flash light, seeking out that unwanted visitor, naming them for what they are & then… they have no where else to hide?

& maybe, depression only thrives when you keep it hidden?
& judge yourself, shame yourself & make yourself wrong for having it?

Either way, out of all the things I have done to support myself & ~heal~ this god forsaken PPD — talking about it & shining a light on the darkness that is it, has helped the most.

So if you are a fellow mama dealing with PP Depression, PP Anxiety, PP Rage or any other postpartum sh*t — this is your permission slip, invitation & gentle push to activate that throat chakra, let your truth be told & let it be heard.

Even if you only share it with someone like me :)

Seriously, do not hesitate to comment, message or email me. I love you, see you & am here for you.

I plan to either write or record a podcast episode discussing PPD a bit more & to share some of the other things I have done to support myself mentally, physically & spiritually — so, if you have any specific questions please let me know!

Love to love you.

Xx, Emma