Let’s face it: birth is messy.

Postpartum is messier. Mom’s hormones are rampant, her boobs are swollen, her pelvic floor is sore, her baby is crying, her baby is sleeping, her baby is needing to be held, her baby is crying again.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

She wonders where her life went and her former identity, while she stares out the window in a sleepless haze and tries to guess whether or not she has 10 minutes to shower before her baby wakes and another merry-go-round experience of feeding, changing, burping and shushing her baby back to sleep begins. Hers is an existence built on a timeless clock of never knowing what comes next and endlessly being called to give.

It is the ultimate surrender.

The first time I was here was five years ago. My oldest son arrived faster than I knew how to catch him and sooner than I knew what to do with myself as a new mom. I loved him, the way a child loves a new toy and never wants to part with it, yet I resented the fact that this having of my baby interfered with my life. My life, as I knew it.

You see, prior to baby, I was a serious yoga enthusiast and teacher, turned naturopathic medical student, in a newly begun romance with my Acupuncturist partner. I had plenty of identity shifting already taking place.

So when baby number one came, I was broken open in the deepest sense of that expression. I fumbled my way through my beginnings of motherhood, very much in love with learning my new role, yet simultaneously hating that I couldn’t find my own personal balance doing the things I used to do as a single, unattached, young, healthy female.

My yoga mat collected dust and my meditation practice suffered because I simply couldn’t recreate those rituals as they formerly existed. I struggled to roll with the changes. I could barely sit up straight in bed, or nurse my little one without sobbing, thus sitting on my cushion or moving through basic sun salutations had little to no appeal.

Over time though, I found my way.

Over time, I reclaimed my physical body to the best of my ability with increased walking, yoga and consistent doing as a mom and full time graduate student. Unfortunately, many of my efforts were fueled with anxiety and panic, though there was always the undercurrent of love, perhaps just not directed toward myself.

My second child came while I was still in school, though closer to the final year of my program. I was better this time, with the letting go and the body changes and the shift in identity moving back to baby-centered days and nights. I was more accepting, more calm, yet still had the scurrying of a squirrel under my skin. Life was full, there was always more to do and the call of my own personal self-care practices fell silent to the demands of mothering two young children.

Now, I sit with my third baby as she is merely days old and brand new to this world.

I am not in school. I am not busy with outside demands. I am taking a leave from my practice and will return when I am ready. I am here and in the present moment. Thus, I can drop into being with her. Just being.

As a result, I am seeing postpartum in a whole new light.

Sure, there are still the excessive emotional extremes felt deeply in my own heart and body. I just let them arise, and shed a tear accordingly if needed. And yes, there is still the wild unknowing of when she will wake or sleep or feed or need me. Though when she calls, I find myself joyfully jumping to her, as if in love with the chance to be near her. I hold her longer than I need to. I sleep with her whenever I can. I sing to her. I laugh with her. I tell her how happy I am that she chose me to be her mom.

This time, I see it differently.

For now, she is the balance I am needing for my own self-care. She is the anchor of my current existence. She is my spiritual practice. And with her I sit, and sit, and sit…and many thoughts, feelings, ideas and emotions arise. Still, I sit longer and I find an even deeper undercurrent of love that is holding us both. Together, we are one. All is well.

That is not to say I didn’t have the same experience of grief and loss that comes with saying goodbye to life as I knew it before baby. I still wept for the myriad ways that my relationships with my two boys and my partner will change, that my life would be too full, that I fear I may not ever have enough time for all that I want to do and be and see in this world. Yet, it is to say that I no longer worry.

Rather, I am letting myself feel into a deeper sense of trust with this baby, and as a result I am the calmest version of my mothering self that I have ever met. I guess it only took three tries to get here.

The greater lesson of all of these new mothering experiences, for me, is that babies can be an invitation of every mom’s ability to practice presence.

Ultimately, one’s spiritual practice does not need to take shape and form or evolve and deepen based on its external appearance. It no longer matters to me how formal my meditation is or how advanced my poses are, because the real work lies in my ability to rise up to what is asked of me, be it a middle of the night feeding or a household of tantrums and dirty laundry.

My centeredness is now needing to come from within, and I am a better mother to each of my children when I can move from that place.

Postpartum taught me that.

Relephant: 

To My Post-Partum Self: Things I Wish I’d Known.

Author: Melanie Everett

Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photo: Author’s Own