Postpartum Loneliness & How I Tackled It

I can take haemorrhoids, infections and rage; the crushing loneliness though, that was the toughest.

As Lauren Barber so accurately addressed in her piece on postpartum, I too feel that we owe it to other women to share our experiences following birth so that they might feel more prepared – and quite frankly, so that they don’t feel like complete failures if they don’t have an instinctive maternal force guiding them.

There are many of us out there who have no idea what we’re doing and long to be carried gently through early motherhood, particularly by other women who can impart their wisdom onto us.

In lieu of those matriarchal guides in our lives and the wider culture, it’s common for mothers to turn to strangers on the internet for comfort and insights to help guide us through.

I have been fortunate enough to find reassurance in the candid stories of other mums, and so I’d like to return the favour by offering a snapshot into my postpartum journeys in the hope it may too be of service to others.

From pregnancy to birth, to postpartum and beyond, there is a lot of hardship in the motherhood journey. After both children I had many of the common physical symptoms like haemorrhoids, constipation, trapped gas, hair loss, and night sweats.

The second time around a dash of ab separation, which was particularly uncomfortable, led to months of being unable to lift myself from laying position. Needless to say, I have been humbled, reminded that I am nothing more than flesh and bone, a mammal.

Yet, of all the physical changes my body has gone through, there is one overarching issue that disturbed me over all the others; the crushing loneliness. And unlike the various treatments I could try for the changes to my body, I knew this would be harder to address. 

Both postpartum experiences began for me on a hospital ward. With my firstborn, it was May 2020, and so Covid restrictions meant that my partner had to leave a couple of hours after birth and wasn’t able to return until I was ready to go home 4 days later. During those delicate, vulnerable, and scary first few days, I had a stark introduction to motherhood. No visitors, strangers in masks, and a few troubled characters staying on the same ward added to my feeling of being unsafe. There was no one to hug me, no one to hold my hand, no one to comfort me. Even though I’m awkward with physical affection at the best of times, I needed it.

Once out of the hospital, my new baby and I were unable to attend local baby classes as they were canceled and weren’t to resume properly for another year. No one was coming to do the dishes, to offer up meals, to help with washing my hair, to hold me in moments of deep fear. It was down to my partner and me to glean all we could from a few post-natal check-up appointments to make sense of the new life we had to nurture, let alone the changes we’d encounter as a consequence. I heard it said somewhere that disappointment comes when expectations aren’t met, but in no way could I have expected such a stark reality.

Second time around, in June 2023, the hospital experience was marginally better, but the postnatal period was equally isolating. This time I had also had the added juggling act of an older child to manage, and his new nursery admission meant my days quickly became filled with conflicting priorities–leaving less time than I could’ve imagined for connection.

Countless times over the last 4 years, I have found myself wondering:

Why do I feel painfully alone?
Where is the village?
Where is the tribe?

Such questions haunted me, gripping my thoughts during challenging moments or when dark and invasive thoughts besieged my mind. The desperate hunch over the bed in agony, attempting to stand straight after my c-section; the tears streaming down my face as I tried to establish breastfeeding with a baby who had a shallow latch; the disgust and flashbacks triggered by the sight of my scar, serving as a haunting reminder of a birthing experience I wished to forget. Much of the time, I was screaming into the void.

Many cultures have special postnatal customs including a tailored diet, isolation, rest, and assistance for the mother [1]. However, in the West, the focus on postnatal rest and assistance for mothers has gradually diminished.

As mums we often find ourselves facing traumatic births, unnecessary medicalisation, and being left alone in a less than manageable state, day in and day out, with a new baby to nurture. With minimal contact with the outside world, our partners often bear the brunt of our breakdowns, leading to conflicts that run the risk of shaking at the foundations we rely so heavily upon. Research indicates that women experiencing loneliness are more likely to develop psychological conditions such as postnatal depression [2]. It’s not surprising.

Considering the pivotal role mothers play in shaping the well-being of future generations, it's unsettling to think about how deeply lonely many of us become once we cross the threshold into motherhood. This is a time when we need more connection, compassion, and understanding. Yet, the lived experiences for a significant number of mothers differ greatly as we adapt to the challenges of becoming a primary caregiver.

I began to glimpse a renewed version of myself emerging from the depths of solitude when my first child was around 12 months old. Slowly but surely, I gained confidence as I re-entered the world of work, finding a new rhythm that allowed for more social connectivity.

With my second child, I took a more proactive approach, considering ways to resource myself in advance. This led me to start a local walking group. After posting about it on my local area’s Facebook page, I was pleasantly surprised by the messages I received. It turns out there were countless women going through the exact same thing, at the exact same time, and seeking connection too. Every week we run a poll to determine the best days for everyone to meet for a walk based on the majority votes. The group has helped a collection of mothers establish connections with others who are in the same phases of motherhood and life. The WhatsApp group has naturally become a resource to discuss all things parenting, and we even enjoyed a Christmas meal together.

I've come to understand that the postpartum period is inherently challenging. It's a phase that no one can escape, marked by its brutality and inherent fears. I have also learned that postpartum and can be made much less lonely if we connect with others who can relate.

If you find yourself searching, calling on the village, with no response in sight; how about initiating one yourself? You never know who else could use it.

Until next week.

References

1. https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/19804024/

2. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC8197355/