Part One: I Wasn’t Ready.
It’s taken me months to round up the courage to share this pivotal experience in my life with you, as the recovery is still in progress. But, I’ve been watching “Frozen 2” a lot, my daughter prefers the second part to the sequel than the first and I can honestly understand why and couldn’t disagree with her. There’s a song sang by Kristen Bell, or Anna as most would know her, titled “The next right thing”. It’s the slogan that follows the movie from the start. And what’s so beautiful about the song, is that it takes you to rock bottom and gradually lifts you, helps you “rise from the floor”, even with so much loss and grief. I should mention, I didn’t see the sequel until my daughter turned 6 months. I couldn’t have seen it at a better time.
Looking back, like Anna, I also lost a lot during my postpartum journey. I was already rushed three weeks early to labor, not necessarily able to rest as much as I wanted to because I worked until the last day. I didn’t know if I’d have paid maternity leave, I was already concerned with the time I had to return to work, I was fixated on getting everything ready, training the person who’d replace me for those months and making sure I taught her everything I possibly can and then in the meanwhile, at home, or at least what we thought was home at the time, was being taken away from us. We were being forced out of the house we had just moved into and we also had to think about where to go with a newborn. There wasn’t enough time, I felt that I had no control over anything.
Then, it was time to focus on her arrival and focus on my well being. Layla was born and the world grew silent…
My husband and I were in awe. We were lost in those beautiful moments that followed since she came into this world, even for the weeks that followed. We didn’t rest, but he was so supportive in making sure I rested a little more in the mornings and made sure I ate enough, that I drank enough water. That I took care of myself as well while my uterus was getting back into place, literally. Those were the weeks that no matter how wrong the world was, no matter who was trying to ruin our peace, no one could take that away from us.
Just in the first month postpartum, I was already being asked to show the house where we were being kicked out of, to prospective buyers during a pandemic. And as I reflect on this time, I wish I hadn’t spent so much energy and attention to the things that didn’t matter: the time I wasted going back and forth on emails, dealing with phone calls about my insurance, maternity leave pay, the time I had left and when I’d have to come back to work… I wish I hadn’t stressed about the letters coming in the mail regarding payments that needed to be made after the hospital delivery. The anxiety, the lack of sleep, the dehydration and the exhaustion just began piling up, one thing on top of the other, like bricks on a stone wall.
But everything was new to me, how can I know how to manage something I’ve never done before. Trying to stay sane, keep myself together, and all the while learning so many things all at once. It was the fact that I was a first time mom, learning how to breastfeed, learning how to pump, learning my baby’s cues, what they meant. Learning how to find a routine in this new life, and my husband returning to work and me alone, doing this all day long and so much more. This part of motherhood is also bittersweet. You have this loving child in your arms, with no clue what the real world is like and the four walls of your world is crumbling simultaneously…
Even while I was torn apart, I can say that all the while, when there were no interruptions, the time with my daughter helped glue many of the broken pieces, together. I had the most wonderful memories with my daughter, singing to her in the mornings. The relief of finally getting the hang of finding the time to make myself breakfast, while we listened to sweet lullabies together. I enjoyed our daily walks to the lake. I was just beginning to have a routine. My body had recovered very well and very quickly physically. But before I could say I’m ready, everything just fell through the roof on top of me and I was at the bottom gasping for air.
A vulnerable, young mother didn’t know how to say no, didn’t know how to stand her ground and gave in. We were beginning to pack up to leave the house, the first home my daughter had and the thought of it, damaged my center, my very core. It was the new year and I was set to work in the next couple of days. My family and I were sorting out a schedule for my daughter, and my husband and I were still trying to figure out what to do so that we could find another place in time, to live after we left this place. However, the rent was creeping and we had put so much into this place that it was so hard to find somewhere to live.
While packing up, I went on to experience the worst day of my life. I would say it felt very close to the way I felt when I heard the news of my dad’s death. I thought I’d be unable to speak or move for the rest of my days and miss out on the life that my daughter had just begun.
