Super Boob, The Sequel
Finding Truth and Solidarity in the Secret World of Motherhood
I wrote Super Boob in a moment of desperation, with a sense of exhaustion so heavy it felt all consuming. “I must be crazy. I will never show this to anyone,” I thought. Three years later I read it again, laughed out loud, and reasoned, “This is a real raw honest portrayal of early motherhood that is so often hidden from the world. I’m going to be brave, share it, and see what happens.”
The progression was an immediate feeling of embarrassment, like that dream we all have where we’re naked in public and there’s nowhere to hide. Then all these women started reaching out to me, telling me about their postpartum journeys and how much this piece resonated with them, made them feel seen, validated. This gave me a feeling of pride but also sadness that so many new mothers go through this huge rite of passage in a cloak of deep dark isolation, exhaustion, and invisibility.
The other thing that stood out was that these women reached out to me in secret. In the same way that I wrote Super Boob with a hidden sense of shame and embarrassment, it seems that many other new mothers are living through this too. I remember reading The Feminine Mystique years ago and thinking, “Wow, I’m glad we don’t live like that anymore.” The book describes the type of hidden depression and pill-popping, so common in isolated house-wives in the 1950’s who were expected to derive biological bliss and joy from having kids and housework. Some of the circumstances have changed, most modern mothers are educated and many work outside the home. There is still a shared experience of internalizing a sense of shame for the depression and anxiety that so often comes from the isolation and lack of support in early motherhood. When we hide it, we feel as if we must be the only ones experiencing this pain, which leads to not asking for help or changing things.
It doesn’t feel like we’ve come as far as I’d thought before becoming a mother. We’re still operating from a place of false expectations and isolation that keeps us dis-empowered. My generation grew up believing that gender doesn’t matter, we can find a partner, and make sure everything is fair, split 50/50. Then if you have a kid all of that gets thrown out the window because for a while the load primarily lands on the birthing parent, if they’re around, because they smell, feel, and sound like home. It won’t be “fair” in any measurable way. The work of growing, birthing, and nursing a baby is hard to qualify and measure. You can say, “I’m really tired, can you do the dishes?” It’s harder to say, “I grew an entire nervous system, the spinal cord and brain have been completed. In all fairness you should cook and clean today. Thank you!”
In pregnancy we’re expected to operate as if it’s just business as usual and then maybe we get six weeks postpartum before we “bounce back” and resume life as “normal.” That is total bullshit. Having a baby changes us forever. There is no more “normal,” not the normal that was before. After a baby there will be thousands of new normals and then perhaps life will settle out and plateau a bit. Odds are that’s about the time you’ll think, “Let’s have another one.” Then everything will explode again. That’s what I imagine is in store as I write this, one month from my due date with baby number two.
The paradigm that we are living under when it comes to introducing children into the mix is a recipe for isolation which leads to anxiety and depression. What do we do? We change some shit! We change the narrative to valuing pregnant people and the incredible ability to grow an entire human being. We value the other side with a baby, all the caretakers putting in the sweat, blood, and tears it takes to raise a useless tiny alien being into a beautiful valuable member of society. This includes mothers, fathers, and everyone in between, all the caretakers. We ask for help and call in community so there is as much support as possible. We’re truly not meant to do this hugely important work alone.
The other point that feels important to bring up are the US policies around birth and early parenting. There’s no guaranteed paid parental leave and for the first 5 years we’re expected to pay for all childcare expenses out of pocket. Then there are healthcare bills. How do we not have universal healthcare, paid parental leave, and good quality affordable childcare for the first 5 years? It is insane that we are not sharing this load as a society- as this is literally how the members of society are created. Once we begin to look at US policies around birth, healthcare, and childcare it begins to paint a picture that this is a country that doesn’t give a shit about the well being of families, especially mothers, and babies. We’re living in a broken system, that is hugely outdated. Taking care of mothers, babies, and families is an investment for the entire society!
The transition to motherhood can feel like a demotion, a hard crash to the bottom where we realize that culturally we are not valued and perhaps we have internalized these messages. To keep an intact self esteem we have to untangle any toxic messaging we have unintentionally allowed to penetrate our tissues. Then we can create a world, a lifestyle that actually works for us. I want to have time to enjoy my babies and I want to enjoy my career. I want to lean into community and feel held, valued, and witnessed by the people around me.
I want to live in a world where we can be honest about the grueling unfair invisible work of motherhood, of raising the next generation that has the potential to benefit everyone. This is valuable, powerful work and when it is hard I want us to share it openly so we don’t feel isolated or individually crazy. Please comment here publicly if something I write resonates with you, if you disagree, or if you’re a policy expert and have ideas about how to change things! Share it here openly. Let’s grow this community of mothers and anyone who was born (yes that’s you!). Motherhood and birth connects all of us because that’s how we all got here. One way or another we all got born and we’re all going to die. Let’s not waste time hiding. Open the curtains, let the light shine in, show your big naked belly to the world!
Finding hope: I’m at the thresh-hold of having baby number two and I’m very aware that it won’t be all sparkles and unicorns. I’m also aware that no amount of baby stuff, gear, or gadgets will save me. So what am I doing? I called together wise powerful women and we had a Blessingway, a ceremony to connect community and celebrate this sacred life transition, recognizing that with this birth my old life will die. The ceremony includes ritualistic cleansing, my feet were bathed in warm water with peppermint. I shared what I am releasing, about shedding the layers of believing that being a good mom means doing it all myself. I spoke of entering this transition with a sense of newness and curiosity. This being deserves me at my best, feeling loved, supported, and juicy. To show up in this way I have to practice vulnerability and reach out to community to bathe me with love, food, laughter, encouragement, touch, jokes, and to be witnessed in the pain we all share in this life that includes birth and death. This is what all mothers deserve and how we raise a healthy next generation.
Then I was anointed with oils, blessings, stories, and wisdom. Women rubbed my hands, feet, belly, and back, and told me of my own power, the power of our ancestors, and that I will forever be held in the web of women, of mothers, of all who have birthed or raised a child. We laughed and cried. I was reminded to take my baby out to coffee shops in the early days, to let myself be held by the thrum of community and strangers, and guiltlessly accept coffee and treats. I was reminded to not worry about bothering people with baby sounds, to jump into the mess of it all, and that having a baby outside of a global pandemic shut-down is easier and more fun.
What brings me hope when everything feels like such a fucked up mess in the world of birth and motherhood in the US? We can change the stories, first internally, so we truly believe that we are important, that our babies are important. We can raise our voices and share our truths with authority. Then we can change policies together so that all families, all babies, and the next generation can live with more support, health, and well being.
If you’re getting ready to have a baby you can call in community by having a Blessingway and ask a friend to set up a Meal Train so you’re well nourished! You might also explore 7 Sisters postpartum support, where you call in 7 friends or family members to check on you each day of the week. Each person commits to one day of the week and can call/text to see how you’re doing and if you need anything, so you feel held in the tender vulnerable early days with a baby.
Books to Explore:
Feminine Mystique by Betty Friedan
Transformed By Birth by Britta Bushnell
All the Rage by Darcy Lockman
Fair Play by Eve Rodsky
I love it! Thanks for putting these ideas out into the world.