But wait. Postpartum. That part was coming again. And now there was even more pressure. Toddlers to chase. Single motherhood to navigate. Grieving a divorce. I kept thinking: this time was supposed to be different.
Those thoughts hit me repeatedly once the reality of divorce settled in. Memories of my first postpartum experience with my daughters came rushing back—the chaos, the exhaustion, the raw anxiety. It all came flooding in, and with it, a building storm of fear and guilt.
“How selfish could I possibly be? Bringing children into the world when I’m barely equipped to take care of them? Who do I think I am? What have I done to these poor babies? How fr*cking selfish!”
I can still feel those thoughts, hear them echoing in my mind like they happened a second ago. I remember sobbing on the bathroom floor while my twin newborns screamed beside me. Those moments played out in slow motion.
The hospital sent me home with a tiny slip of paper that said: “may experience tearfulness.” YEAH RIGHT! What a joke. Noah’s Ark could have sailed off the rivers of tears I shed in those first eight weeks. I was alone. Their dad worked nonstop, and being a military family meant we lived far from any support system. The tension between us was high, and he slept through every middle-of-the-night scream. I’d stopped trying to wake him—it wasn’t worth it anymore.
Breastfeeding was pure agony. It offered no comfort to them. The second they left my chest, the screaming returned. The physical pain was relentless for weeks. I was encouraged to pump after every feeding, leaving barely twenty minutes between meals.
“Sleep when the baby sleeps?” How?! Especially when your babies prefer screaming to resting.
The combination of physical and emotional strain felt unbearable. Yet, in the quiet moments when they finally slept in the baby carrier, I’d feel their soft breath, hear their tiny snores, watch their chests rise and fall against mine. In those moments, I knew I could survive one more day for them. Just one more day.
Five weeks in, a light switch finally flipped. I decided it was time to release the impossible guilt surrounding breastfeeding. My daughters needed a happy, healthy mama more than a perfectly breastfed one. I offered them a full bottle of formula, and for the first time in five weeks, they were calm, content, even peaceful. I cried a loud, cathartic cry of relief and knew I’d made the right choice—for them and for myself. That moment marked the first time I truly let go of expectations I’d internalized, realizing the world’s pressure was only as heavy as I allowed it to be. I decided to show up fully, however that looked.
When we discovered we were having twins, the shock was real—twins don’t run in our family, and conception had been natural. But excitement overtook fear. From the beginning, I felt ready to embrace the challenge. I researched hospitals, found a doula, attended a 12-week natural birthing class, breastfeeding classes, read countless books—I prepared as best as I could.
Of course, my OB wanted me induced by 36 weeks. Twin pregnancies are high-risk, and they claimed Baby A was “growth restricted.” I tried everything to coax them out naturally before the deadline. Two failed rounds of Pitocin, artificial rupture of membranes, and hours of begging for an epidural later, my beautiful girls were born vaginally, 18 minutes apart, at exactly 37 weeks.
No preparation could have truly readied me for postpartum. I wish the realities of it were more openly discussed—it’s isolating, frightening, and overwhelming. I’m grateful I didn’t develop full-blown postpartum depression, but those first two months were among the hardest of my life. I truly believed I’d never make it through.
But I survived. And I emerged stronger than I ever imagined. Now, 38 weeks pregnant with a baby boy, my girls nearly 2.5 years old, I see the magic in their toddler years—even when tantrums bring echoes of newborn chaos. Witnessing their growth and joy is beyond fulfilling.
So much changed between that first bottle of formula and today. I experienced a profound awakening. My relationship struggles never fully disappeared. Anxiety loomed, and I relied on Pinot Grigio more than I should have. But I committed to bettering myself—to be a stronger mom, partner, and person.
I embraced sobriety, went vegan, prioritized health, ran my first 5K, and completely transformed my lifestyle. I explored essential oils, low-tox living, spiritual connection. I even started a business with twin infants at my feet. Divine intervention feels like the only explanation.
Yet, despite all this growth, my marriage could not survive. Six months pregnant, having just relocated across the country, my husband told me he wanted a divorce. His desire to repair our relationship was gone. Devastation doesn’t even begin to cover it—confusion, anger, resentment, disappointment, numbness filled the following weeks. I couldn’t have anticipated how the growth within me had been preparing me for this very moment: a new beginning, full of possibility.
Grieving continues. Co-parenting is challenging and emotional. But I see divine timing. There is immense potential in this new chapter. It will require effort, humility, and collaboration—but I trust it is the right path.
I feel more prepared than ever to welcome my baby boy. Even amidst chaos, I know I can face whatever birth and postpartum throw my way.
The growth I’ve experienced as a mother over the past few years is profound. It reshapes my thoughts, feelings, and actions daily. Prioritizing my own wellbeing is essential—physical, mental, emotional—before anything else. Discipline, early mornings, self-investment—they all lead to a joyful life, even when it’s hard.
I’m far from perfect—and I never want to be. Patience falters, Cocomelon plays too often, but I still strive every day to invest in myself.
The biggest lesson? We must put ourselves first. Counterintuitive as it seems, especially as parents, it’s the most transformative choice we can make. We cannot pour from an empty cup, nor can we rely on others to refill it. Fill your cup in the way that serves you best, and step into your day fully ready to own it.
You deserve it. Your family deserves it. The world deserves it.
