No one told me
Some time ago, as I began sharing the early days of my doula practice in Amsterdam, a friend introduced me to the work of Sarah, a gifted photographer and stylist. Her series, "Project Projection," stayed with me for its look at contemporary life in the digital age and its focus on the deep connection between mother and child. Her photography conveyed such warmth and vulnerability that I felt an immediate kinship with her, even though we were strangers.
Selena and her baby from Project Projection. Photographed by Sarah Kinder.
Sarah explains “I see the body as an art form. A human canvas––we exist as our own greatest work of art: physically, emotionally, mentally working on ourselves from the moment we start to explore and find our place in this world.”
I recently read a great New Yorker article by Anna Russell titled “Matrescence, and the Transformations of Motherhood” discussing Lucy Jones’ new book––part memoir, part science writing—where Jones argues that having a baby changes the body as much as adolescence, and should be taken as seriously. Russell describes a tea date with Jones, where Jones explains that what happened to her after giving birth felt like “the biggest drama of my life.” In the book, Jones writes, “I thought early motherhood would be gentle, beatific, pacific, tranquil: bathed in a soft light. But actually, it was hardcore, edgy, gnarly. It wasn’t pale pink; it was brown of shit and red of blood. And it was the most political experience of my life, rife with conflict, domination, drama, struggle and power.”
Sarah’s poem is our tea date: an experience not of pale pink hues but of raw, primal, vulnerable honesty.
No one told me I would become a stranger to myself. No one told me I would have to fall in love with this stranger. No one told me, so I’m telling you.
No one told me about pregnancy. No one told me I would hate it. No one told me the guilt I would feel for hating it. No one told me it would be the worst months of my life. No one told me about Hyperemesis Gravidarum. No one told me I would be in the hospital with it. No one told me I would need to take anti-sickness medication. No one told me it wouldn’t work. No one told me I would get migraines every day. No one told me about pubic dysfunction. No one told me the depression would break me. No one told me my body would be stretched to its limits. No one told me this would leave mental and physical scars. No one told me I would feel completely alone. No one told me that pregnancy is four trimesters, not three. No one told me the trauma of labor. No one told me I would feel like it’s the end of life. No one told me about perineal tears. No one told me it would be so painful to pee. No one told me the excruciatingly stressful challenge of breastfeeding. No one told me my hair would fall out in clumps. No one told me the insanity and torture I would feel from months of sleep deprivation. No one told me I would struggle with panic attacks. No one told me I would feel like I’m failing. No one told me I would lose myself. No one told me I would become a stranger to myself. No one told me I would have to fall in love with this stranger. No one told me, so I’m telling you.
This is my truth. It’s a sad truth, but I think it’s important to talk about the negative aspects of motherhood as not many people do.
This is my truth. It’s a sad truth, but I think it’s important to talk about the negative aspects of motherhood as not many people do. I’m still triggered by the trauma of pregnancy, labor, and those first few months with my children, but what I know for sure is that every moment of struggle is worth one moment with them.
Six months on from the birth of my daughter, and I see glimmers of my former self.
Six months on from the birth of my daughter, and I see glimmers of my former self. I recognize the woman in the mirror, and she is happy. I feel inspired again; my creative mind is flowing, and motherhood will continue to be at the core of my artistic practice. Nothing is more beautiful. I know I am blessed; my family has given me a life and love I did not know possible, and for this, I am forever grateful.
Written by Sarah Kinder.