When Postpartum Hits Like a Truck
I knew postpartum would be hard, but I did not expect it to hit like this.
The emotions came fast. They came heavy. One minute I was overwhelmed with love and gratitude, and the next I was crying in the dark, wondering if I was already failing. I thought I had prepared myself for the sleepless nights and the physical recovery, but I was not ready for the flood of feelings that came with them.
There were so many things I did not expect to worry about. I thought I would be anxious about sleep schedules, diaper changes, feeding struggles. And sure, some of that happened. But what surprised me the most were the deeper fears. The ones I did not even know were hiding.
One of the biggest struggles was something I never imagined would hit me so hard. This overwhelming fear that my daughter would feel abandoned if I could not comfort her fast enough.
Every time Isla cried, especially in those first few days, I would panic. Even if it was just for a minute. Even if I was right there with her. I found myself spiraling with thoughts like, What if she thinks I am not coming back? What if she feels alone? What if she believes I do not care or that she is not safe?
It was not about whether she was okay logically. I could see that she was. But emotionally, I could not separate her cries from my own childhood wounds. I did not realize how much my adoption story would surface in this season. How quickly I would go from hearing her cry to remembering what it felt like to be left.
I have always known I carried some abandonment issues, but motherhood exposed them in ways I could not prepare for. I was not just parenting Isla. I was grieving and protecting a younger version of myself at the same time. The little girl who once felt forgotten. The little girl who still wonders why she was not kept.
But here is the truth I am learning. Just because a fear is loud does not mean it is true. And just because my pain resurfaces does not mean I am broken. It means I am human. It means I care deeply. It means I love my daughter enough to want more for her.
And God is not intimidated by any of it.
He is not disappointed in me for being tender. He is not shaking His head at my fears. He is sitting with me in the dark, whispering that I am safe too. That I am not failing. That I am free to feel it all and still be a good mom.
Motherhood does not erase our wounds. It often reveals them. But it also gives us the chance to face them, to name them, and to bring them into the light. God does not ask me to mother from a place of perfection. He invites me to mother from a place of dependence. On Him. On grace. On truth.
So when the fear creeps in again, and it will, I am learning to pause. To breathe. To remember that Isla is not alone. She is deeply loved. She is safe. And so am I.
A Word of Grace
If you are in a tender season, whether postpartum or something else, please know this. You are not broken for feeling deeply. You are not failing for needing help. And you are not alone in your struggle.
God sees every tear, even the ones you do not understand. He is present in the fear and faithful in the healing. You do not have to hide the hard stuff to be held by Him. You do not have to be strong every second to be a good mom. You just have to show up, and that is more than enough.
"From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I." - Psalms 61:2
A Gentle Reminder
You do not have to do this perfectly to do it faithfully.
This season of [insert what you’re walking through] does not define your worth.
God is not measuring your value by how strong you seem or how much you get done.
He is with you in the trying, in the tired moments, and in the quiet in-betweens.
You are not failing.
You are showing up, with what you have, from where you are.
And that is more than enough.