Spring 2008 in The Feminist Psychologist
To All the New Moms I Love (and the ones I have not yet met)!
by Jill Kuhn, Ph.D.
“Stand at the precipice, that existential darkness, and call into the void:
it will surely answer.” -Tao
A good friend of mine recently had a baby. She and I have been e-mailing about how overwhelming it is to recover from labor (31% of the time that includes a C-section, which increases the risk of post-partum depression), add a “stranger” to your family, breastfeed (if so chosen), have one’s sleep torturously interrupted all night long, and completely change your identity to become a mother. My youngest is now 4 years old (the oldest is 8), but the memories of those early days of a new baby are not hard to recall. This column is not about the sweet smell of freshly bathed babies and the calm and sleepy babies that are a joy to cuddle. It is about the underbelly of mothering as it were! The dark shadows, the pain, angst and fear. Often we do not talk about how hard it really can be. Those of us who do admit to ourselves that it is difficult and anxiety provoking often do not know where it is safe to turn to admit to and talk through these feelings.
A while back my husband and I lamented, to some friends of ours, the loss of luxurious weekend mornings of sleeping in, reading the whole newspaper in bed, and planning the whole day for ourselves before we had kids. Certainly we did not wish we did not have our children. We were simply admitting to some of the things that change when a child or children join a family. Our friends wore a shocked look on their face and said that they had never felt such a thing, that they were so grateful to be parents. They seemingly could not hold both moments in time and savor the sweetness of both. Among those who have chosen, and have been able to have children, who of us would wish away a four year old giving sweet, sloppy kisses and dramatically saying, “you’re the bestest mommy in my whole entire world that I’ve ever seen!” Or “thank you mommy for understanding me.” Yet, what parent does not also miss the loss of sleep and of freedom at times?
When my first child was born (8 ½ years ago), I did fall in love at first sight with her, BUT I could not wrap my head around the fact that this stranger was not leaving my house. Like any decent visitor, she should not have expected my husband and me to take care of everything for her. She should have gone to bed at a decent hour, slept through the night, and awakened when I was sated with sleep. Instead I got a squalling, albeit beautiful, tempestuous, messy, demanding, rude, and cruel taskmaster. This was all while I recovered from major abdominal surgery (a C-section), learned to breastfeed, and recovered from pregnancy. Couldn’t she come back a while later, after calling ahead, with better manners and a hostess gift? I had not yet integrated the idea that she was not a visitor, but was forever going to be my child and that I had chosen this, to forever be a mother!
She insisted on breastfeeding around the clock. It was the only thing that soothed her. Who knew a 9+ pound baby could be so loud and have such a noxious cry? My husband would bring her to me every time she awakened. I would try and argue with him, in the dead of night, insisting that I had just nursed her and couldn’t I just sleep? When that did not work, I fantasized about hiding behind the clothes in the closet. I hoped they would not be able to find me there. Then I thought, I would still be able to hear her cries and my husband just might find me. Next I decided that hiding in the back of our van (regardless of the nighttime temperature) was a sure fire way to get a full night’s sleep. I never did hide from them. As the weeks wore on, I told myself that as much as I loved my daughter, and it was an intense, deep, crazy love, I could always place her for adoption if I could not take it anymore. A few times I even imagined tossing her out our bedroom window in the dead of night. The window in the house we were renting did not have a screen on it and it seemed an easy solution. If I just tossed her outside, she’d fly away to the heavens, and my chronic sleep deprivation, bouts of mastitis, and even career upheaval would all be solved. I never did these things, never came close. Yet some women do come close and need the support and validation of those around them. I reminded my friend that conflicted feelings are normal, and that should she need a break, it is ok to leave a crying baby safely in the crib and take a few moments to gather your resources, as little as those might be. I know I did so over the years.
As noted by Dr. Martha Manning, herself a mother and a psychologist who struggled with and recovered from postpartum depression, “There is no getting away from a wave that’s got your name on it. The tide will come in whether you want it to or not. And there really isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop it, reverse it, or even delay it. Forget it. You have to plant your feet solidly in the sand and get yourself anchored. And then you have to ready yourself to take a couple of direct hits from the water….But there is really nothing else to do. The tide will come and go. The sun will warm again, and the salt on your skin will remind you what you have done. And you will rest your tired body on the shore, falling into the delicious sleep that comes from knowing you are alright.” Pp 193-195.
Hopefully, as feminist psychologists were are able to allow our selves the complex feelings of new motherhood, for our friends, our clients, and our selves. At first I could not admit to myself, let alone others, that I had “negative” thoughts about being a mother. However, I have learned over the years that many, if not most, new mothers are relieved to know they are not alone in their personal struggles. Knowing they are not alone will allow them to breath easier, to reach out for an ear to listen to how hard it truly can be. It might even stave off postpartum depression. As feminists we look at the social context in which women’s issues occur. Postpartum depression can begin or be exacerbated by the lack of community, the lack of support by others, and the isolation many mothers experience (both physically and psychologically). Please check out the website below if you or someone you know might be struggling with something more than a couple days of the “baby blues.” Allow yourself to admit to your feelings, whether to your spouse, partner, fellow parent or a psychologist. It does get better. It does get easier, I promise!
Happy Mother’s Day 2008!
Jill can be reached at kuhngale@earthlink.net. If you have an interesting experience or perspective related to mothering and would like to be a guest columnist, please feel free to contact me.
References
Manning, M. (1994). Undercurrents: A Life Beneath the Surface. HarperCollins Publishers.
Postpartum Depression resources: http://www.4women.gov/FAQ/postpartum.htm
Further reading
Baker Kline, C. (1997) Ed. Child of Mine: Writers Talk About the First Year of Motherhood. New York, NY: Delta.
Lamott, Anne (1993). Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son’s First Year. New York, NY: Fawcett Columbine..