The Onset of Postpartum Bully
Today, I started noticing the Bully in my head. Bullies are never nice, but today, this one was particularly quick to jump in to knock me down and beat me up. She’s skillfully aiming to leave bruises and scars that will serve as reminders that I can never escape her because we’re tethered together. I might gain some distance, but especially at my weakest, she can come snapping back at a moment’s notice. I’m not quite sure what this Bully gains by all this extensive work, but I know it’s working meticulously to keep me feeling like a failure and the terrible person I feel I was destined to be.
I was ready for this Bully to arrive. I know it well, good ol’ postpartum Bully. It came in hard and fast after the birth of my first child 3 and a half years ago. She caught me by surprise that time. By 6 weeks postpartum, she had engulfed me in so much anxiety that I found myself unable to leave the house before sundown in fear that I would get attacked by bees. I had randomly been the receiver of two, yes two, bee stings within the first 5 weeks of my first child being born. The stings swelled up into huge 5–6 inch red, rough, hard patches that itched so badly, they woke me up in the night.
The postpartum Bully assured me it was NOT a random act. The bees were after me. I did something terrible and I deserved it. They were there, in my front yard, constantly just reminding me that I didn’t deserve to leave the house. The Bully also reminded me that I didn’t know how to care for my child. I couldn’t calm her. I could try, but I wasn’t patient enough. I shouldn’t even be left alone with her. I mean, why would anyone trust me with my own child? And, I sure as hell couldn’t produce enough milk for her, even though my body was “made to do it.” I couldn’t do the things my body was here to do. I was a failure to not just my daughter, or husband, but to my own body. I was useless. I was a total waste. Even trying to go to work to find purpose was useless. My brain didn’t work the way it used to. I knew there was a physical change to my brain after birth, but I couldn’t even recall words. “Stroller”, a now high frequency word, kept coming out “wheelbarrow”. My brain was seriously broken. “So why even fight it?”, the Bully asked. “Just lean in to the fact that you’re a hot mess who is too easily overwhelmed and when you try to fight this fact, you get frustrated and damage everyone around you.”
It was probably about 10 months postpartum when I finally felt a lift. Postpartum Bully flew off somewhere else most days, but she was sure to come back once in a while to slap me with some reminders. It was 12 months before I fully felt myself again and I could trust that my true voice was heard when I spoke back to that Bully.
And now, here we are, heading into week 6 postpartum for the second time. And quick to make a bid for the starring role is this familiar postpartum Bully. A few weeks ago, she started chiming in here and there, just making herself known, getting her name back out there. She was particularly ready to chime in when there was lack of sleep. But, today for example, I had gotten enough sleep and she still figured out a way to wedge herself in there. I know her tricks now, and yet, she still swooped in quickly and fearlessly when I wasn’t looking. Her current favorite move is to translate the things people tell me. She takes benign comments, even helpful ones and she twists them to her advantage. She knows just how to phrase them so I truly believe them to be accurate. Here are some examples:
Me: ”I can’t seem to find the time to do things I want to do.”
PPB translation: “Of course not! You’re not good enough to get your stuff done. You’re not worth getting what you want. You are just an imposter mom.”
Super helpful and supportive friend: “Why don’t you try this different way of doing sleep/feeding/daily toddler wrangling?”
PPB translation: “You’re obviously doing it all wrong. You always do. You never get anything right. You always think you know what is best for you. But you have NO CLUE what’s best for you.”
Therapist: “And how do you think it was received when you told your family you needed to take a quick break?”
PPB translation: “Well, you clearly did it wrong. You can’t even exit the room gracefully? You’re a terrible person. You hurt everyone around you. At least, try hold it together for your daughter once in a while, she’s only 3.”
Infant daughter: Random normal infant cry
PPB translation: “You NEVER soothe her. You can’t even distinguish her cries. You just feed her and pass her off, don’t you? See, there you go again! You have no patience. She won’t bond with you, mark my word. She will only bond with her father, the only person to really put in effort to soothe her.”
Infant daughter: Massive throw up
PPB translation: “Do I even need to tell you how much this is your fault? Seriously. This is your milk doing this to her. Your flow. Figure it out! You should be able to tell when your baby needs to stop eating. She clearly can’t, she’s only a few weeks old. You can’t even feed your child well. Now she will be uncomfortable for hours with gas and reflux. You are hurting her.”
Toddler daughter: “Are you happy?”
PPB translation: “You might be happy now, and she might see that but it’s too late. You fucked up your older daughter. She saw you upset last night and she now thinks she is fully responsible for your feelings. Good luck fixing that one! It will be years of undoing.”
Family member via text: “The way you treated me yesterday was not ok. It was abusive and I won’t take it anymore. I’ll talk to you in a few days.”
PPB translation: “Ah ha! See?! Truth! All truth! You are abusive and mean! You punish your family for no good reason. You’re selfish! It doesn’t matter what you think you need or what you are going through. The stitches in your vagina, the blisters on your nipples, your complete and utter lack of sleep, the hormones surging and plummeting have no relevance here. They do not mask your true essence: you are so terrible that you are abusive. It is right there in black and white. Read it over and over, and when you forget to read it, don’t worry, I will remind you, especially when you try to sleep. You are worthless. Even if you have needs, you can’t even communicate them. You clearly hurt everyone around you. You don’t have the slightest clue how to be a caring person. Frankly, it’s unforgivable.”
Related family member: Silence- No response to simple request
Translation: “Yep, you earned this. You deserve to be invisible. Your voice is worthless. Go ahead, try to be nice… it won’t change anything, they won’t hear you. Doesn’t matter what you are going through or how long it has been. You are terrible. You’re a terrible person, and you hurt people. You deserve to be ignored. You deserve to be hurt.”
There it is… my core wound. This Bully knows just how to tell me: “You are a terrible person and you hurt people”. This Bully already works around the clock to remind me of the belief that I deserve nothing. And when given an opening like this, she’s like a thorny vine, painfully digging into me, locking me in before winding around me again and again and squeezing me tightly until there is no space left for light. And when a small bud of life somehow manages to peek out into the sunshine, she stomps it down, deep into the mud, suffocating it in darkness. What exactly does my Bully gain by keeping me here with this wound that has followed me across decades? My core wound already oozes out constantly across my life like a slow erupting volcano, just a consistent flow of lava slowly destroying life around it, leaving nothing but charcoal black rock in its path. But then, every once in a while, with a little extra help from the Bully, the lava is triggered, exploding, lashing out and fulfilling its destiny of catastrophic destruction louder and more crippling than ever before.
When my awareness first perked up to this core wound, the Bully took a hit. She lost some power. But then, she recovered quickly by teaching me to blame others for being hurt. We don’t just get core wounds. Someone or something gives it to us. And even if we heal it, there’s that scar.
But even if someone gave me my core wound, does it matter? This person doesn’t continue to give it to me. The event that hurt doesn’t continue to happen. My Bully is the one actually sticking around. She is the one continually telling me “Someone did this to you! They made you this mess. You are a victim here! Stay angry and defensive. That’s the only way to prove that you’re not a terrible person.”
But if I could translate my Bully, she would *really* be saying, “Don’t get distracted. Stay here with me. Whatever you do, do not see yourself for who you truly are.”
What does this Bully gain by keeping me here in this space where I am desperate for her cruel validation? Underneath it all, this Bully can only come away with anything if it is itself the volcano. When I am kept in this space, it grows stronger as my core wound oozes out over itself, and thrives when it explodes. And, the last thing this Bully wants is for the lava to be extinguished. That would result in green grass growing, wildflowers bursting, water flowing, beauty multiplying into total abundance, total blooming, a whole new existence. And maybe it’s been enough for the Bully to just keep me knocked down, buried in mud all these years, so we delay the natural progression of life, and linger a little longer in the painful struggles of being human.
Today a super amazing supportive and empathetic friend, who does not have children but knew exactly what to say, told me that her friend once told her: “I thought I was a pretty awesome mom… until I had two.” This comment lifted so much for me. It nails everything to a tee. Everything was feeling fine, we had a good routine going. Even when that Bully told me I didn’t deserve to be pregnant, I spoke back and believed more. And…. then, our dream came true. We became a pack of four. And all at once, I went from mom of the year, to terrible failure. Everything is messy. My infant has a recurring diaper rash and spit up encrusted behind her ear. My toddler won’t stop talking or singing. It’s beautiful and at the same time I’m not sure how much more I can hear her voice. I say the wrong thing constantly. I don’t sleep enough and I’m feeling punchy. I sleep too much and I missed time with my toddler. I take a walk, I feel better. I take a walk, and I still feel stuck. I make some tea. I never drink it. I make tea, I think I take a sip. I take a shower, and forget to wash my hair. I make a list just to finish it. I organize a cabinet. I sit next to my toddler. I get distracted and make tea again. I play a game with my toddler for 5 minutes. I need a break. I text a friend. I hear my name. I don’t respond. I ask my toddler what she is drawing. I tell her it is wonderful and kiss her head. I breastfeed my infant and hand her to her papa. I breast feed her again and hold her close. Then hand her off again. Then pick her up and coo back to her. I kiss her nose. I suck at this. And it’s awesome.
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