A Delicate Surrendering

Control.

What every human clings to,

and what every human doesn't have.

Something I keep relearning.

It was only amplified postpartum.

It's a huge change, adding a newborn to the family. The mental and physical toll is underestimated or just plain unknown.

It's the unpredictable fussiness, sleep, and schedule that does it for me.

Control is incredibly seductive in the midst of change.

One of the most difficult things for me with my babes,

was letting go of it.

Is letting go of it.

Postpartum is 

healing inside and out,

delicate,

loosening the tight grip on what was,

or what I want it to be,

accepting what is,

surrendering to the now,

a spiritual awakening, a reckoning,

a forceful slow down,

letting go,

a practice in patience,

and humility.

It's shedding the old and blossoming into the new - life - body - person.

It's unrecognizable love, joy,

irritability, and anger.

It's accepting the fact that days look different now,

and nights are completely unidentifiable.

It's the push and pull between caring for myself and healing from an intense physical and emotional experience,

while also needing to care for this brand new baby, who I'm just getting to know.

I don’t recognize my days. I don't recognize myself.

For now, things are just going to suck and feel weird,

that’s ok.

It takes time to heal,

to find a rhythm and confidence in motherhood.

It doesn’t happen overnight.

When I stop resisting,

stop holding on to the past,

and reaching for the future,

I sit with the uncomfortable,

and remind myself this won't last forever.

I embrace the suck of it all.

I shed the heaviness of it all,

and finally crack a smile,

and maybe even laugh.

I gradually enjoy this moment in time.

Then all of a sudden, leaving the house doesn't feel like such a monumental task,

my baby sleeps * almost through the night *,

I get more sleep,

and I begin to recognize myself again,

feel more like myself,

yet,

this new, better, stronger, and more vulnerable woman emerges.

I had no clue,

the growing pains of matresence (the physical, mental, emotional, hormonal, and social transition of becoming a mother),

would unveil the best and worse parts of me.

I had no clue,

that these babies hold the answers,

are the answers,

if I only pay enough attention,

listen, and let them

unveil new parts of me,

and teach me about the world.

I thought I knew myself at 28 (not yet, my angel baby whispered).

I thought I knew myself at 29 (oh just wait, my firstborn cried).

I thought I knew myself at 32 (you have no idea, my second born wailed).

We will show you the way mama, they sing and hold me, together.

-Margo Game Brandenburg