Nothing could’ve prepared me for how much motherhood changed me.
I was familiar with the concept of matrescence before I got pregnant. Naively, I thought knowing what to expect would make it less intense when it was my turn. I was wrong.
I remember crying to my friend at six-weeks postpartum, “Everyone tells you it’s hard, but they don’t tell you specifically what is hard! Why doesn’t anyone tell you?”
You expect the sleepless nights, the breastfeeding hurdles, the lost free time. But I wasn’t expecting this: The baby isn’t the hard part about having a baby.
My friend replied, “If someone asked you what’s hard about having a baby, what would you say?”
I took her point. Where would I begin? How could I explain it? Words couldn’t do it justice.
It was an indescribable tug-of-war between all-consuming love for my son and an overwhelming identity and existential crisis that left me feeling homesick and unrecognisable to myself.
Invisible growing pains
We hear a lot about bounce-back culture around women’s postpartum bodies. But we don’t talk about the expectation to bounce back mentally too.
When you’re pregnant with a big belly, the visible evidence is a reminder to people that you’re going through physical changes. People are generally more likely to ask how you’re going.
After baby, you often look much like your old self. There’s no visible marker that you’re still experiencing changes to your brain, hormones, and nervous system. People kind of forget you’re still in the thick of a major, messy life transformation.
I felt like I was expected to live, work, socialise, and perceive the world the same way I always did, while navigating the invisible growing pains of matrescence.
I’ve never felt so lonely in my life. I felt like no one could possibly understand what I was going through.
Adjusting to change
Matrescence impacted my priorities, interests, values, patience, empathy… everything.
I noticed cognitive changes in pregnancy first. I was grasping for words that used to come easily. As a writer, this impacted my confidence at work as well as in social conversations. I guess my brain didn’t think a diverse vocabulary was important for keeping a baby alive.
Socially, I found it hard to engage in conversations or be interested in topics that felt trivial while trudging through the newborn trenches. I found it hard to relax and be present when I was away from my son, my primal instincts sounding an urgent alarm to BE WITH BABY. I couldn’t seem to relate to anyone anymore, also partly because I felt so alone in my experience.
Before pregnancy, I mostly consumed true crime podcasts and horror and thriller movies. But suddenly, I couldn’t stomach them anymore. Everyone became “someone’s child”. I was turning to comedies and reality TV for the lighthearted escapism, which felt very unlike me.
When I had free time to myself, I felt internal pressure to make the most of it by doing an activity, but none of my usual hobbies felt appealing. I didn’t know what I enjoyed anymore.
The impact on my mental health
I didn’t know who I was for a long time. I didn't feel like I mattered or had an identity outside of ‘Mum’.
I think my initial resistance to all the changes to myself, my relationships, and my lifestyle contributed to my eventual postnatal depression. But knowing there was a word to describe this experience felt really validating.
I wasn’t weak or broken. It wasn’t just in my head. Of course I was having a hard time adjusting – my brain was literally changing!
Even with all the love and support I could’ve hoped for from my husband, I still felt lonely in my experience. There’s just no way for even the most supportive, emotionally intelligent partner to fully understand the severity of the matrescence rollercoaster if they haven’t been on it themselves.
More awareness is needed
Mums don’t need to justify struggling in pregnancy and postpartum. We don’t need a “valid excuse” to find the transition to motherhood hard.
But I think more awareness around the science of what’s happening with our brains and hormones during this time could help mums feel less alone, and others to be more empathetic.
Knowing matrescence can be a risk for mental health challenges could encourage partners, friends, and family to be proactive in checking in and offering emotional support to the new mums in their lives.
We recognise adolescence as a major developmental stage in human beings, and we give grace to teenagers finding their footing during this time. We owe people going through matrescence the same understanding and care.
Acceptance
It took me 14 months to accept my new life and identity as a mum. Matrescence brought a lot of grief until I found myself again, and now I’m grateful for that journey of growth.
I’m proud of myself and in awe of everyone who’s been cracked open by motherhood and had to put the pieces back together, stronger and softer than before.
I met myself in motherhood.
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