Three Weeks Postpartum—and I’m Not Okay
It’s been three weeks since I gave birth to Baby B.
Three weeks of bleeding, feeding, healing, and unraveling.
You’d think I’d be prepared. We had nine months, right?
But as every mother knows, a lot can happen in nine months—and even more in three weeks.
And yet, I still feel caught off guard. Like the ground shifted beneath me… again.
I’m a woman who knows transition. I’ve transitioned teams, companies, and entire parts of myself. I’ve moved through divorce, reinvention, motherhood, and the messy middle of it all. I’ve coached women through burnout, advocated for maternal rights, and taught the importance of rhythm, nutrition, and nervous system regulation.
I’m a certified holistic health coach.
I understand hormone shifts. I am living proof that you can be in perimenopause and still get pregnant and have a healthy baby at 40.
I talk about seasons. About slowing down. About honoring your non-negotiables. About boundaries. About support.
And yet—today, I feel completely suffocated by it all. How can someone who’s spent the last two decades helping moms feel so lost right now?
Maybe it’s because even when you know better… you’re still up at 2 a.m., leaking milk, answering emails, and wondering how the hell you're going to pay for diapers and health insurance this month.
Maybe it’s because I’m three weeks postpartum with no paid leave—if you can even call what I’m doing “leave.” I’m not just healing from birth. I’m also trying to figure out what’s next in business.
After transitioning HeyMama to a new home, I thought I’d have clarity. Space. Direction.
But what no one tells you is that even when one chapter closes with success, the next one doesn’t begin with certainty.
So here I am—still holding the pieces.
Still bleeding.
Still showing up… because I have no choice.
Yesterday, I tried to check in with the outside world—just for a minute. And I saw a post about a teacher who just gave birth, and who’ll be returning to her classroom six weeks postpartum to care for other people’s toddlers.
And it broke me.
Because I know that mom.
I am that mom.
And you might be her too.
We celebrate her strength. We call it “dedication.” But let’s be honest—this isn’t resilience. This is survival.
This is what happens when moms are asked to carry entire systems on their backs: caregiving, working, healing, managing, smiling, doing it all—while being told to be grateful we even have a job or a healthy baby.
But here’s the thing:
We’re not meant to do this alone.
We’re not meant to disappear the moment the baby arrives.
We’re not meant to rush our healing to keep a paycheck.
This is not okay.
This is not normal.
And we should not get used to it.
We need to stop applauding women for surviving broken systems and start demanding the systems be rebuilt:
Paid family leave that doesn’t force us back to work before our stitches have dissolved
Postpartum care that lasts beyond the six-week checkup
Affordable childcare that doesn’t make us choose between working and eating
Mental health support that’s accessible, stigma-free, and actually responsive
A cultural reframe that sees caregiving as real, valuable, economy-shaping labor
I know the power of community. I’ve spent years saying network = net worth—but right now? All I want to do is throw my phone in a drawer and hide under the covers.
And maybe that’s the most honest thing I can say.
This post isn’t about sympathy.
It’s about truth.
It’s about the silent suffering so many of us carry.
It’s about naming what we’re living through.
And it’s about saying this, as clearly as I can:
Moms are not okay. And pretending we are is inhumane.
I may feel helpless right now, but I’m not hopeless.
And if you’re in it too, I see you, mama.
You’re not broken.
You’re just being asked to hold too much—without enough support.
And it’s time we all said that out loud.
