I’m a New Mom, and I Don’t Want My Body “Back.”
Once upon a time, there was a young woman; when she was pregnant with her first child, the community surrounded her and her partner in a multigenerational circle of love and support, and after delivering the baby in a warm, quiet, and trusting home, they immediately shifted attention to the mother’s healing body-soul and swaddled her as she inhabited her new role as Mother.
Just kidding!
They threw her a virtual baby shower, made sure the baby was born alive, gave her some instructions for keeping it alive, and then after seeing that she was both walking and forming sentences at her six-week follow up appointment, assumed she’d be okay and never saw her again.
This is, of course, a harsh and hyperbolic illustration. Most of us in modern society find ourselves in one half or the other — depending on our cultural background, socioeconomic status, and a mosaic of other defining characteristics — and probably some level of both. However, after becoming a new mother myself during a pandemic year, I believe that mainstream America lacks attention on birthing parents as they navigate one of the most profound transitions a human being can face. And why is that? In what way is the absence of subsidized support for the postpartum year — and the almost comical emphasis on getting one’s body “back” — indicative of a larger imbalance in how we treat, value, and honor our shared mother, Earth? How does this reveal our collective need for formal rites of passage? And for the love of God, how do we become more like the Swedes, who not only give over a year of maternity/paternity leave but also gifted us with delicious meatballs, Ikea, and ABBA?
I digress.
The truth is, not all major medical events are also an initiation. After getting knee surgery, one must be thrilled to hear that they look like it “never even happened.” But birth is different. The process of building and delivering a human baby — a glorious mishmash of karma, growing edges, and genes, who also happens to be completely helpless — is irreversibly altering. Our intuitions are sharpened. Our grudges are softened. Our hearts are expanded. Our souls are awakened. The organs in our bodies go on a crazy exodus to new territories in order to make room for what is essentially a very cute, very important parasite, and then — get this — those organs find their way back into place. Without a life coach. Should it not stand to reason that after this transformation occurs, our physical bodies are also massively — irreversibly — changed? Where is the collective permission for that to be so? Where is the loving embrace as the birthing parent makes their way back from the threshold, sweaty and altered, to honor them for who they are becoming and bravery it takes to change?
Thankfully, there are a growing number of authors, doulas, midwives, medical professionals, and more who are re-envisioning and re-membering the culture of pregnancy and birth in the United States. The postpartum period, however, is still a bit of a ghost town. It’s not the sexy, exciting time. It’s not the gender reveal on Instagram Live, the adorable bump, or the unequivocally heightened experience of birth. However, it is no less high-stakes. How we set birthing parents up to witness, process, and eventually embrace our new bodies and brains as mothers is an essential stepping stone to setting our children up for success. And every time a person came up to me after birth and said, “You look so fit! Like you didn’t even have a baby!” I couldn’t help feeling like someone was erasing my experience. Here I was, fresh on the other side of the fire, but still facing new mazes to walk through every day. I didn’t want to “pass” for normal. I didn’t want to be seen for how I was before, before I had been pushed to gain this incredible strength and tenderness at the same time. Before the lid had been blasted off. I wanted to be seen in my newness, in my survival, and eventually in my thriving.
I don’t deny that reclaiming exercise is a major part of the journey toward postnatal healing and integration. It is incredible to hear “you look fit!” after essentially feeling like a beached whale strapped to a rocket ship for nine months. What I am suggesting is more nuanced; that while intentions are good, we need to break the habit of telling people that they look like they never gave birth and thinking it is a compliment. When a young man returns from a vision quest to become initiated into manhood, he isn’t then barraged with ninety thousand magazine covers offering tips to “Look Like a Boy Again!” We must alter the culture to accept us in our changing bodies; to offer this as a strength, rather than something to be embarrassed by. Treating birthing parents with holistic appreciation can set the tone for the way our children develop their own body consciousness and respect for others. Can you imagine a world where that is the norm? Because I can. And it’s better than the one where resuming sex and physical exercise are given more weight in the postpartum window than the quality of rest, care, and emotional processing that new mothers truly deserve.
So. Because I believe in solutions, and I choose daily to have hope that my son’s generation will help us grown-ups get our shit together, I leave with this. Next time you encounter a person who has just given birth — anytime in the last couple years, really — instead of telling her that she “has her body back,” consider instead:
You look so strong.
You look like your hands are full. Would you like my chair? Or a coffee? Or a million dollars?
Even though you probably haven’t slept much, you actually look like a human being!
I honor you for taking this journey. Your change is beautiful.
I see you.
I love you.
Thank you.
Originally written for IMBŌDHI Activewear, www.imbodhi.co
