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People told me there would be all-nighters. I was informed that when my milk came in, my breasts would feel like bags filled with rocks. I knew I would bleed for days after giving birth and my belly would be like jelly for, well, forever. Everyone told us to eat out as much as possible, go on a babymoon, go to the movies — all of which we did. I felt as prepared as I could for something I had never done before, but I knew it would be incredible, challenging, and altogether life-changing. Everyone told me what to expect, and, of course, I read that book cover to cover. But the one thing no one ever told me was how lonely I would be.
Why doesn’t anyone talk about how lonely motherhood is?
Loneliness - Birth - Facts - Friends - Neighbors
I didn’t feel the loneliness right away. Between texting birth facts to friends, neighbors dropping by for a quick visit, and family managing the fridge and meals, I didn’t have time to feel anything but overwhelmed. The loneliness didn’t settle in until about week 6. It wasn’t until my husband went back to work and my baby boy stopped sleeping effortlessly on my chest that the small sting of loneliness slowly appeared. It was surprising because I was prepared for everything but this feeling. A baby was supposed to complete me and fulfill my womanhood. The ache of loneliness felt wrong. I felt guilty. I found myself bouncing my baby (for the 100th hour) back to sleep and weeping. I couldn’t tell anyone I was so terribly lonely. For goodness’ sake, I was a mother.
I see our loneliness at playgrounds when our eyes connect and then quickly look down, shame and solidarity saying, “We understand.” I see it as we walk aimlessly around Target. I see it in...
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With God all things are possible, but not probable.