Back to Work After Baby

The Chaos, the Crying, the Comeback

So you just popped out a baby, you're running on fumes for sleep, and now you're expected to waltz back to work, as if it's just another Monday. Hilarious, right? Except it's not actually that funny when you're sitting in your car outside the office in a shirt that's inside out and you've got a bottle of pumped milk that might be leaking somewhere and your brain is screeching, "Who gave you permission to be ready for this?"

Let me tell you — I was not prepped. I figured I'd get back on track the next day with a messy bun and a tote bag full of resolve. Instead, I was teetering between deadlines and diaper blowouts, wondering if anyone at work had noticed the scent of the spit-up that I was confident had dripped into my bra. No one told me that postpartum anxiety wouldn't only arrive at 3 a.m. when my baby refused to fall back asleep, but would rear its head at 11 a.m., too, during Zoom meetings in which I faked as though I knew what was happening on the screen but actually just recounted my baby's nap times in my head.

For many of us, the logistics of going back to work after having a baby aren't the half of it — it's a mental, emotional and physical realignment. You're not juggling tasks; you're juggling identities. You were a woman who worked. Then you became a mom. Now you are trying to appear to be both — streaming live, in real clothes, with very real under-eye bags.

The Parking Lot Cry Moment (It's a Rite of Passage)

Because if you have never cried in your car in a Target parking lot while trying to choose between three nearly identical brands of diapers, congrats, but you're probably doing something wrong as a mother. For me, that came on my first day back at work: 7:42 a.m., baby wailing at home, pump parts leaking in my tote, and me, completely losing it.

I did not cry because I didn't feel like working. I wanted to cry, but I didn't know how I could be O.K. if I did. I didn't know how to leave this little person who still needed me, even just for a few hours. I felt like I was betraying everyone, my child and myself.

That morning it dawned on me: this wasn't all work. It was about identity. About boundaries. About pressure. And it was about learning how to keep breathing when it seemed like the world expected me to be "back to normal" when normal didn't even exist anymore.

The Postpartum Stress Hits Differently

There is a reason that moms talk about the fourth trimester as if it were a battlefield. Because it is. And when that struggle follows you into boardrooms or barista shifts, it can feel like it is crushing you.

Here's what no one had prepared me for:

• That I'd feel like a bad mom and a bad employee within the same hour
• That I'd second-guess every decision, every time I stopped to pump, every email I didn't get to
• That I would miss my baby so much it hurt in a physical way — but that I would also miss the person I used to be

And if you're breastfeeding? Top it with the circus act of pumping at work: finding a private space (good luck), keeping parts clean (in a shared sink, no less), and storing milk without anyone side eyeing your labeled bags in the office fridge.

This is not your everyday stress. It's postpartum stress with a twist of performance pressure and a jigger of guilt. Cute.

How I Began to Find a Balance (AKA: Not Lose My Mind)

I won't pretend I discovered some kind of magic fix — unless you count weeping in a storage closet and munching on peanut butter cups as "balance." But I found some things that made me feel more like a human and less like a milk-stained android.

Lower the bar. Then lower it again.
Seriously. You don't have to "do it all." I stopped meal-prepping gourmet quinoa bowls and knew that some dinners would end up being "whatever the toddler didn't finish." Survival > aesthetics.

Converse with your boss as you would others.
Yes, you're still a professional. But you're a human with needs now, too — like time to pump or maybe even a half-decent lunch break. Don't be shy about what you want. Set boundaries like your emotional well-being depends on it (because it does).

Add "breathe" to your list of things to do.
I'm serious. I have previously put "bathroom cry break" in my Google Calendar, just so I could get five minutes of self-care. Whether it's a walk, a stretch or hiding in the supply closet for a deep breath — do it.

Create a "done" list.
Forget the endless to-do's. Begin keeping track of what you did that day, even if it's "kept tiny human alive" and "answered one email without crying." That counts. All of it counts.

Call a meme friend (or meme your friend).
That one mom friend who responds with "Girl, SAME"? Text her. Vent. Laugh. Cry-laugh. Keep that lifeline open. You're not supposed to have to do this by yourself.

You're Not Wildly F*ing It Up—You're Evolving Like a Bad Ass!

You're not returning to the old you. That's the truth. And that's not all bad, perhaps. You are turning into a new you — stronger, messier, more powerful and more super without limit.

You are learning to hold space for both: the mom who can't stop checking the day-care cam, and the boss who just owned a presentation on three hours of sleep. You are learning how to juggle, to drop balls, and to forgive yourself when you do.

So if it feels hard today, if you're doubting every move, if you're sitting in a bathroom stall sobbing with your shirt on inside out and your heart cleaved clean open — know this:

You're not alone. You're not broken. You're just becoming.

We got this.

Even when it all feels like too much. Especially on those days. Now go get a snack, send a meme to your mom group and maybe take that pee you've been holding for two hours. You earned it.