When Postpartum Is Heavy
Releasing Guilt and Finding Grace
You are not broken for having a hard time. Here's how to make space for the messy truth of new motherhood — and start to heal.
The Weight No One Wants to Talk About
No one told me how motherhood sometimes feels like I lose myself.
They described the diapers, the feedings, the swaddles. They prepared me for the exhaustion, they said. But no one told me that perhaps I would take one look at my baby — this bitty person with whom I had just met — and feel absolutely no where close to the complete ecstasy I had anticipated. They didn't warn me that I may experience a sense of alienation within my own body. Or that I might weep from somewhere I couldn't name, even as I kept firmly in hand all that I thought I desired.
Nothing about how real love is the kind that sometimes grows slow — like roots under the surface, invisible but there.
We're told we should be immediately smitten, pure love swelling in our white-milk-stuffed breasts, when sometimes no amount of nipple-to-lips action (or thumb-to-nose or rocking or shushing) can bring the joy we're promised to the door precisely on time. Instead, there is only silence, confusion or perhaps even resentment. We scroll past highlight reels of picture-perfect newborn snuggles, wondering why our reality seems to suck so much — and we feel the guilt set in. The deep, disorienting guilt that whispers, "You should be happier. You need to be better cranks at this." But that guilt isn't truth. It's a signal. It is the soul calling for softness. Compassion. Room to breathe.
The Myth of Immediate Joy
There's a dangerous narrative that we've been sold about motherhood: that the second your baby is placed in your arms, an uncontrollable rush of pure, unwavering love will wash over you and course through your body like holy light.
But what if that doesn't occur?
Hell, most new moms feel uneasy in those early days — not because they don't love their baby, but because they're stuck beneath the ruble of physical healing, emotional exhaustion, and a shattering of identity. Your body is bleeding, your hormones are crashing, and the life you knew is dead. What people want from you is to magically turn into another person overnight without giving you time to also mourn who you were.
In reality, postpartum is not so much a golden hour as it is a fog. A slow dawn. And for many of us, the pleasure comes after — after the tears, after the doubt, after the surrender.
The Guilt You're Feeling Is Not Your Own
(And if you've spent your days walking around numb, disconnected, even angry, it's not because you're a Bad Mom.) It's because you're human — and in the middle of some of the most intense emotional transitions of your life.
Guilt tends to rear its head when our work is not the same as our expectations. You thought you'd be radiating love lust, and now you're mourning your independence. You envisioned that you'd instantly feel bonded, but instead you feel drained by the ceaseless needs of this person so tiny.
Guilt is just what grows in the gap between what we expect of ourselves and the reality of our lives — but you don't have to water it. Instead, see if you can fill that space with kindness. What if guilt is less a garden variety human emotion and more a call: to stop, to hold in place, to ask oneself: What do I need? What am I mourning? Where could I use more support … Not just for my baby but for me?
The Truth Behind Closed Doors
Well, if you could sit in a calm room in a circle of new mothers with all filters and pretenses removed, you would hear a different story.
"I didn't bond right away, and I thought it was something wrong with me."
"Sometimes I feel like I just want to escape. Then I cry instead, because I know that I won't."
"I love my baby, but I just miss who I was before."
These confessions are more universal than anyone acknowledges. They're whispered in therapists' rooms, texted in late-night panics, and buried under the weight of shame. But you're not the only one with this thought on the mind. They are the secret symphony of early motherhood — and saying their names aloud is the first step to healing.
You are not broken. You are becoming. And few of us do anything new gracefully.
Pathways to Emotional Healing
Healing doesn't come with a checklist, but there are gentle practices that can bring you back to yourself — one breath, one moment, one choice at a time.
- Tell the Unedited Truth
If that's in a journal, a voice memo, a support group or a therapist's office, give yourself the space to say what you're afraid to say. To give your feelings a name is to take away their power to shame you. - Develop a Personal Ritual
So if you have been following me for years, you already have a morning ritual (at least one.) And constant evolution is the name of the game, isn't it? Create one (or several) that are just for you.
Not a chore. Not a should. A ritual that will bring a moment of peace, even if it's just for a minute. Warm tea at dawn. Lotion on your feet. Yup, they sing to it when they nap. A little act of devotion to your own humanity. - Seek Help Early, Not Just When It's a Desperate Situation
Health is health, including postpartum mental health. If you have symptoms of depression, anxiety, or disconnection, talk to your provider! There is no stigma in needing help. It is, in fact, one of the most powerful things you can do for yourself and your baby. - Let Bonding Take Time
Love isn't a sparkle of lightning, it's constructed in the midnight feedings, the million diaper changes, the soft eye contact moments. You don't have to force it. Let it come and find you, love will when it's ready. - Reframe Guilt with Grace
So rather than asking "Why aren't I doing better?", inquire "What do I need to feel safe, seen, and supported today?" Your recovery is just as important as your baby's growth.
To the Mom Who Thinks She's Failing: You're Not.
You are not failing because you are not happy every minute. It doesn't mean that you are failing if you need space. You are not losing if you some days feel like too much.
You are grieving. You are growing. You're being rebuilt as you sit here.
The story that you need to "love every moment" of postpartum is not only unrealistic— it's damaging. It silences pain. It isolates women. It robs the chance to really heal.
But healing starts with telling the truth. When we allow imperfection. When we allow love to show up in its own way, in its own time.
🌿 Wholeness Close
And the mama who is still waiting to feel like herself again? She isn't gone. She's right here, just below the surface, waiting to be recalled.
You are permitted to feel grateful and to grieve. Joyful and overwhelmed. You get to not love motherhood yet — and still be a good, loving, full mother.
You are not alone.
You never were.
And you never have to fake it again.