When It Comes To Embracing Your Postpartum Body

I was out for a walk with my sister the other morning, each of us pushing our little buggy containing our sweet babes and all of their required gear, and we got on the topic of our bodies. This thought, without a doubt, has been heavy on my heart over these past few months as my body grew, birthed, and now nurtures a baby. 

Having a baby really changes things for your body. This is something I was aware of as I’m sure you are too. You’re sure to stretch out. Maybe you build up some stronger arm muscles hauling the carseat around. Things certainly won’t be as tight as they once were. I wasn’t blindsided by the physical changes. But what I really didn’t expect were the emotional changes that came from seeing my body go through this experience. 

I want to share this because I want to shed light on it for other new moms who need to feel validated in their experience. I don’t think I am the only one who has had a hard time coping with the changes that my body has experienced. People talk about how beautiful it is that your body, as a woman, bears the responsibility of growing your child and bringing them into this world. And it is true. But I want you to know that the feelings you experience from the changes your body endures while you do that are fair. They are allowed to be felt.

As much as it shouldn’t bother your self esteem that your pre-pregnancy pants don’t do up anymore, it does. Your body did an amazing thing growing and caring for that baby inside of you. You are entitled to a few extra pounds around the waist, right? Sure. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t affect how you view yourself in the mirror every morning. When you really think about it, it’s not the number on the scale that stings. It’s the fact that you can’t wear the same clothes you used to wear. Those jeans don’t have as much give as you thought. You’re busting out of those buttons. Everything hugs a little tighter. The clothes you put on your body these days must go through the ringer – how easily can I access my breasts for feeding? Does it matter if the baby spits up on this? Will the sweat from hauling around my constant cling-on show through this fabric? The entire experience of becoming a mom completely alters your understanding of who you are and so the fact that you can’t wear your normal pre-baby clothes as confidently as you once did just makes you feel that much more alienated from yourself.

While we’re at it, let’s just talk about the birth itself and how that affects your view of your body. Your body gets destroyed in birth. I don’t mean to be brash, but I want to be honest. Everything hurts. Literally everything. I remember feeling so defeated because people always talk about how beautiful and strong your body is in birth and how getting to witness the miracle makes the pain worth it, but I couldn’t relate to that after my daughter was born. It certainly is miraculous how it happens, but I cannot express how difficult and painful that process is. Part way through labour I told my husband that I was done and I couldn’t do it (as if I had a choice) – I did not see my body as capable, strong, and empowered. Not even the promise of soon getting to meet my daughter made me want to push my way through. People promise that sentiment will motivate you, but thinking about that doesn’t diminish the physical pain and emotional fear in the moment. Being four months on the other side of the birth, I can look back and realize that meeting my daughter was amazing and special, but my body did not forget that pain and I think it is fair to admit that I somewhat resented how her birth ravaged my body. I didn’t feel like a birthing goddess, proud of what my body managed to do. I felt helpless and scared. Completely traumatized and in so. much. pain. For weeks.

I also experienced hemorrhaging, once immediately after the birth and a second time ten days later, resulting in an unexpected surgery and blood transfusion. It was absolutely terrifying and I felt so disconnected from my body. I didn’t trust that I knew what was going on with it. I doubted my ability to heal. And when I hit nine weeks postpartum and was still experiencing bleeding, I was furious at my body. I was supposed to be feeling better by now, empowered that I had done this and found my way out the other side, but instead it felt like my body was betraying me and punishing me for asking it to carry my daughter. I longed to feel back to my understanding of normal and I felt so much fear about ever asking it to do this again. I spent thought space considering that maybe my body wasn’t made to carry babies and cried because I didn’t want my daughter to be an only child but also never wanted to try this again. I hate what this did to my body and maybe you will too. And that’s ok.

Then you start to breastfeed – an experience that many women, including your own mother, will likely tell you is a special bonding experience for you and your baby. It can be. Eventually. But not immediately. As I pulled my daughter in to latch on, I almost felt disturbed about the whole idea, and not just at first but for a long while. My understanding of my breasts has always been so conflicting and confusing and this threw another wrench in the equation. As we grow up we are taught to be ashamed of our breasts, to hide them. Then they become symbols of our sexuality and probably play a decent part in how that little human was made. And then, suddenly, we find ourselves sitting in a dark room in the middle of the night crying over the fact that we feel like a literal cow – our child literally attached to our bodies and completely dependent on us allowing them to be. Those early days were so hard. When all your baby does is cry, eat, and sleep without much notice of you beyond your milk supply, it is alienating and lonely. My body felt so used. My body longed for rest but that little crying babe was dependent on it at least every three hours, if I could even push it that long. Your body does not feel like your own.

I don’t want to diminish how amazing it is to look at your body and see what it has done for you, your baby, and your family, but I do want to be honest and admit that you don’t always have to revel in that. It has been so healing for my mind to allow myself to mourn what my body went through too. The way it has changed after having my daughter has been scary to embrace – how it looks, how it feels, and how it functions are all different than they were and that can be extra difficult to embrace at a time when you are desperately longing to maintain a sense of self in the midst of so much self-sacrifice. 

I wish someone had told me this. Like everything else, it probably wouldn’t have sunk in until I actually went through it, but I still wish I knew it. I appreciate that there is so much positivity around the way our bodies, as women, change once we become mothers. But I also wish someone would have told me that it’s ok to process these changes in this way. That I am allowed to feel down on, confused about, angry at, and conflicted by these changes sometimes. Because just because I feel those things doesn’t mean that I don’t think it was worth it.

It was definitely worth it.