June 15th 2024.
My experience after giving birth was filled with a lot of trauma. I remember one time when a family friend, who was in the room with a group of people, commented on how flat my stomach looked. I had just playfully lifted my six-week-old son above my head, which caused my loose T-shirt to ride up and reveal a glimpse of my bare skin. The friend then asked me how I lost the weight so quickly and everyone's eyes were fixed on my body. I didn't know how to respond, so I made a joke about how my leggings were hiding my "sins" and quickly changed the subject. I didn't want to burden people with the truth of what I was going through.
On the outside, I may have looked like the perfect mom with a smile on my face and a body that seemed to have "bounced back" in just a few weeks. I received many compliments on how good I looked. But the reality was, my post-natal experience was filled with dark thoughts and trauma. As a result, my appetite disappeared and I felt like I was on the verge of breaking down.
I have always had a complicated relationship with my body, like many women. Being a size 8-10, I have always felt the pressure of society's standards of beauty. Growing up in the 90s, I was bombarded with images of "heroin chic" and quick weight-loss diets before I even reached puberty. Celebrity magazines were filled with articles about the "best" and "worst" bikini bodies, perpetuating the idea that weight loss is a sign of having your life together, while weight gain is seen as a loss of control. It's a tough narrative to break away from.
When my body started to change during pregnancy, it was hard for me to embrace it. I had spent most of my adult life trying to stay slim, and now I was expected to let go without a care. I would stand in the shower and let the hot water wash over my growing belly, feeling parts of my body that no longer felt familiar. And then, towards my third trimester, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. I had to drastically change my diet, cutting out sugar and carbs. I followed the diet strictly, but my blood sugar levels would still spike. I became obsessive about what I ate, and my weight barely changed throughout my pregnancy.
I thought things would get better once I gave birth and returned home, surrounded by familiar comforts. But it was like a bomb had exploded, and I was left to navigate through the debris. Our son cried all the time and barely slept, and I felt like I was being tested beyond my limits. I would often have daydreams of a kind woman showing up at my door and taking my baby away to care for him. I longed for my old life and cried for it. The sadness and anxiety were overwhelming, and my appetite vanished. My mom and partner tried to encourage me to eat, but even the thought of swallowing made me feel sick. Within two weeks, I had lost all the weight I had gained during pregnancy, and my belly was flat again. Only those close to me knew how much I was struggling, and everyone else assumed I was one of those lucky moms who bounced back easily.
I would be lying if I said there weren't moments when I felt a sense of satisfaction when another mom would tell me how jealous they were of my flat stomach. I was constantly comparing myself to the perfect images of motherhood on social media, and I wished for that same happiness. But deep down, I knew that wasn't the kind of "bounce back" I should be celebrating.
After seeking help from my midwife team, they prescribed me strong antidepressants and arranged for one-on-one sessions with a health professional to focus on bonding with my son and address my fears and anxieties. It wasn't until my son was three months old, and we were cuddled up in bed one morning, that I finally felt like I was coming up for air. He giggled, and in that moment, I felt a wave of happiness wash over me, assuring me that I was a good mom. Slowly but surely, things started to improve, and I learned to embrace my new normal.
Now, two and a half years later, I barely recognize the person I was in those early days of motherhood. I am happy, my bond with my son is stronger than ever, and my appetite has returned with a vengeance. And in my opinion, that's the only kind of "bounce back" worth celebrating.
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