From Maiden to Mother; the first weeks

I remember taking a shower after having my daughter. It wasn’t the first, but it’s the one that sticks.

I remember standing as the warm water ran over my swollen breasts and deflating belly, facing the wall, sobbing deep, heavy sobs that felt like they poured from my very soul. I had just become a mother and my heart was hurting, my body was hurting. I had horrific haemorrhoids and couldn’t sit, lie or stand comfortably. I was learning to live in a new body, grieving something I couldn’t quite comprehend and processing a transition I felt terribly under prepared for. A swell of hormones felt like it was keeping my head under water.

Anyone who knows the baby blues on this intimate level, knows that it feels all-encompassing.

My husband came in carrying our daughter, tried to stroke my back. Through my sobs I begged him to leave me alone. Although I felt as if my very self was unravelling, I knew that this was exactly where I needed to be; consumed in this moment, and alone. I wasn’t rejecting my daughter, losing my mind or being a martyr to my emotions. Like the water surrounding me I was allowing them to wash away.

In hindsight, it felt like a baptism. I stepped into the shower still with my maiden eyes – ‘What have I done?’, ‘How can I be a mother?’, ‘Is my body broken?’ – and I stepped out with acceptance of all of the complexity that comes with being a mother.

My best friend visited from Tauranga, and lay on the bed next to me as I continued to cry through the first waves of motherhood. Another day, I stood next to my bed as I realised there would be no ‘eight hours a night of uninterrupted sleep’ for the foreseeable future. I remember the panic attacks each night before bed as I frantically searched the internet for reassurance that I wasn't going to kill my baby by co-sleeping. I didn’t find it for months, but my daughter continued to sleep beside me and I later cursed the internet for denying me and many mothers the reassurance that we weren’t bad people.

I remember all of these things strongly and vividly. Alongside them I remember the way it felt when my daughter was placed on my chest, warm, slippery and beautiful, seconds after being born on my living room floor. I remember her snuggling into me as if she knew our ties were still unsevered and that she was still as much a part of me as I was her. I remember using the word besotted dozens of times a day and watching with wonder as she cooed and made more and more confident moves with her limbs. I remember the pain and feeling of worthlessness at realising my milk supply may not be enough for her, but I remember the way we persevered and how, although it almost broke me, today at 18 months she still nuzzles in first thing in the morning or when she needs comfort. I remember feeling whole for the very first time in my adult life, while also nursing my ego over lost nights out and spontaneous road trips.

My journey from Maiden to Mother expanded my comfort levels, it pushed my limits and continues to do so. It taught me that it is ok to grieve and feel broken, while also being filled with more joy and love than you ever thought possible. It taught me that it is ok to ask for help and it’s also ok to put in boundaries when the help isn’t… helpful. 

It taught me the power of a village, and how we adapt when we are cut off from our village (thank you, Lockdown). As mothers we persevere, we overcome, but sometimes we get pulled under by the swell too. My friend once said, ‘It’s like surfing the most amazing waves, in the perfect location, but having no idea how to surf.’ Our journeys are so varied and complex, so full of wonder and awe, but also grief, and we must go to a thousand funerals of our expectations on how we thought this would be and how we would be. 

With the risk of sounding clichéd, it is ok to feel both happy and sad, to feel surrounded by love and yet all alone. It is ok to feel whatever it is you are feeling. The trick is not to hold it all inside. Motherhood stories shared are surrounded by echoes of ‘me too’, ‘I remember that’ and ‘I know what you mean’, and when a friendly ear isn’t enough, or when you’re still learning to lean into your intuition as a new Mother, there is a whole village out there ready to hold you and witness you, just as you are.

The impulse to create the Directory came from not knowing where to turn to find my people or the people that could help. We all need a village but it can look different for everyone. The Directory invites you to come as you are and find what you need.

We’re working towards a world where no woman experiences the transition to Motherhood alone.