Postpartum: Grateful, But Also Struggling

After years of infertility, I thought postpartum would feel like crossing the finish line. I had my miracle, my son. I should’ve been nothing but grateful.
And I was.

But I was also… exhausted. Anxious. Touched out. Unsure of who I was becoming.
And ashamed to admit that after everything I went through to get here, I still struggled.

That’s the part no one really prepares you for, especially if your baby came after loss or years of treatment. You carry the story of what it took to get here like a badge of honor… which sometimes makes it feel impossible to say: “I’m not okay.”

Postpartum is not just diapers and feeding schedules.
It’s an identity shift. A full-body transformation. A complete emotional rewiring.
It’s fighting with your spouse over something so small that feels giant in the moment, because you’re both so exhausted.
It’s falling in love with your baby while trying to remember who you were before you became someone’s mother.
It’s wondering if it’s okay to need space, to cry for no reason, to miss your old life while fiercely loving your new one.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, I realized I had spent four years trying to conceive, then ten months growing a baby, and now I was breastfeeding around the clock — and my body still didn’t feel like mine. I had been a vessel, a science experiment, a food source. I needed to find myself again in the cracks of each day.

So I started small.
I did my nails at home for the first time in years — something I had avoided during infertility while chasing non-toxic living. I tried an at-home hair glaze. I asked my husband for just one hour every Friday night to myself. I’d take a long bath, do a face mask, and sit in quiet. These weren’t grand gestures — they were lifelines. Tiny rituals that helped me feel human again. Like a woman again. Like me.

Postpartum isn’t always picture-perfect, and it doesn’t have to be. There’s no milestone card for the moments when you're learning how to be a mother and still hold on to who you are.

Yes, your baby matters. But so do you.

You don’t need to bounce back. You just need room to be tender, tired, grateful, overwhelmed… human.

If you’re in the thick of it right now, I see you.
You’re not weak for struggling.
You’re simply becoming — and you deserve gentleness every step of the way.