Post Natal Quotes

Her reaction had not been unusual. Anti-natalism—the idea that humans should not breed—was not a popular view. Not even amongst most green freaks. This despite the fact that all the troubles that existed in the world existed solely because of human beings. Despite the obviousness of this idea, admitting this to the average person was like confessing to a murder. Even in a post-apocalyptic wasteland where all that existed was misery and squalor, humans, in their never-ending capacity for delirium, would without a doubt still continue bringing new people into this world instead of realizing that doing so was both cruel and insane. That was how strongly the delusion that life was good was embedded into us. It had to be since otherwise there wouldn’t be any humans around. Life was like a pyramid scheme that had to be constantly shoved down the throats of new victims in order to keep the scam going.

In my simple, post-natal frame of mind, I was convinced that if the world were to be run by the mothers of newborn babies rather than hardened old men inciting brash youths to violence, wars would cease overnight.

Your nation is the richest, most powerful on the Earth, and it has one of the highest infant mortality rates. Why? Because poor people cannot afford quality pre-natal and post-natal care—and your society is profit driven.

We can love more than one set of parents. Relationships with our birth parents, foster parents, and our adoptive parents are not mutually exclusive. We have the right to own our original birth certificate. Curiosity about our roots is innate. We need access to our family medical history. The pre-verbal memories you have with your first family are real. Post-natal culture shock exists. It's okay to feel a mixture of gratitude and loss. We are not alone. We have each other.

Women who had often done little more than manifest behaviours that were out of feminine bounds (such as having a libido) were incarcerated for years in asylums. They were given hysterectomies and clitoridectomies. Women were locked up for having even mild post-natal depression: the grandmother of a friend of mine spent her life in an asylum after throwing a scourer at her mother-in-law. At least one US psychiatric textbook, still widely in use during the 1970s, recommended lobotomies for women in abusive relationships.62

I try, but somehow I am always the woman in the wrong line. Lines are like a foreign language. You have to know how to read and to translate them. What looks to me like a thirty-second transaction invariably ends up as a tenor thirty-minute wait.

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Early suckling helps expel any fragments of placenta and stems post-natal bleeding; it also prevents engorgement, mastitis and abscesses which could lead to infection, septicaemia and death.

Pre-natal care, perinatal care, post-natal care, pediatrics, nutrition, education, orthodontics, vacations, college, postgrad, a fiancé, the whole nine yards. Her assembly line had worked just fine.

A single mother! I’ll put you on the watchlist for post-natal depression then!’.

If we were to take another example, and apply the same rules, it becomes obvious just how inappropriate and harmful this trope is. For some (not all) trans people, one element of being trans is the physical process of transition. It can be joyful, it can be painful, it can be messy, and it can involve surgery. The same could be said of parenthood. Conception, pregnancy, and childbirth are necessary parts of making a family for the majority of people. Like medical transition, it is vital that we're educated about these processes if there's a chance we'll find ourselves personally affected. And luckily, in both of these cases, the medical information is freely and easily available online, through public health initiatives, in libraries, and from the relevant medical authorities. But it would never be appropriate to approach a new mother in a cafe and say, 'so, did you rip your vagina giving birth to that one?' When greeting a colleague returning to the office after maternity leave, we don't ask if we can examine the stretch marks and possible scars, or ask about hemorrhaging and post-natal incontinence. If we're close friends or family, we might well talk about the most personal physical aspects of creating and delivering a baby - the same is true of transition. But the need to be honest and close with our loved ones doesn't make the intrusion of strangers okay.

I promise you beautiful woman, if we hold hands together with unconditional love, compassion, understanding, connection and divine wisdom…that you can venture through this journey with greater ease, lightness, trust and eternal surrender that you will heal and you will get through this. I promise.

I release the shame, guilt, embarrassment and taboo or stigma that is attached to suffering from post-natal depression. I wear my war wounds proudly in hope that I can shine the light for those women and families who see no way out of the trenches. I speak out in hope of creating change in a condition that is widely misunderstood, to create opportunities for healing holistically and change the current model where women can get lost in the system, and can lose their lives battling this silent and very isolating dis-ease.

Whilst parenthood will always have challenging moments, days and periods which can feel extremely exhausting, isolating, lonely and the compelling need to be seen, held and supported from your tribe…for example home schooling during Covid lockdown with two or three children at home, it is normal and natural to feel the frustration and stress. We are humans at the end of the day and our children do test the patience of anyone especially with being in confined spaces, financial stress, when they are fighting or there is constant noise and mess…not to mention throwing in illness to an already exhausting day! It is no wonder that it takes a village to raise a child. However, I still do feel that this is manageable when your brain biochemistry is balanced. One can draw on the inner resilience to get through the chaos that is, but with imbalanced biochemistry with PND it can be enough to make you feel like you cannot go on.

The impact of imprinting varies from tissue to tissue. The placenta is particularly rich in expression of imprinted genes. This is what we would expect from our model of imprinting as a means of balancing out the demand on maternal resources. The brain also appears to be very susceptible to imprinting effects. It’s not so clear why this should be the case. It’s harder to reconcile parent-of-origin control of gene expression in the brain with the battle for nutrients we’ve been considering so far. Professor Gudrun Moore of University College London has made an intriguing suggestion. She has proposed that the high levels of imprinting in the brain represent a post-natal continuation of the war of the sexes. She has speculated that some brain imprints are an attempt by the paternal genome to promote behaviour in young offspring that will stimulate the mother to continue to drain her own resources, for example by prolonged breast-feeding

George Alfred Henty (1832–1902), who began his writing career in the 1860s. Henty – educated at Westminster and Caius, Cambridge, the son of a wealthy stockbroker – had been commissioned in the Purveyor’s Department of the army, and gone to the Crimea during the war. There he had drifted into journalism, sending back reports for the Morning Advertiser and the Morning Post before catching fever and being invalided home. He continued to work in the Purveyor’s Department until the mid-Sixties, when the life of the war correspondent and the writer of boys’ adventure stories seemed overwhelmingly more interesting and better paid. Four generations of British children grew up with Henry’s irresistible stories, beautifully produced, bound and edited, on their shelves. The Henty phenomenon – over seventy titles celebrating imperialistic derring-do – really belongs to the 1880s, but deserves a mention here not only because of his radical and political views, but because of the direction taken by his career as a writer. The Henty story, by the time he had got into his stride, followed the formula that a young English lad in his early teens, freed from the shackles of public school or home upbringing by the convenient accident of orphanhood, finds himself caught up in some thrilling historical episode. The temporal sweep is impressive, ranging from Beric at Agincourt to The Briton: a story of the Roman Invasion; but the huge majority are exercises in British imperialist myth-building: By Conduct and Courage, A Story of the Days of Nelson, By Pike and Dyke, By Sheer Pluck, A Tale of the Ashanti War, Condemned as a Nihilist, The Dash for Khartoum, For Name and Fame: or through the Afghan Passes, Jack Archer, A Tale of the Crimea, Through the Sikh War. A Tale of the Punjaub (sic); The Tiger of Mysore, With Buller in Natal, With Kitchener in the Soudan, and so on.

In fact, most of Freud’s hypotheses have proved untenable in the light of dream research, while Jung’s have stood the test of time. For example, the well-established observation that all mammals dream and that human infants devote much of their time to REM (rapid eye movement) dream sleep, both in the womb and post-natally, would seem to dispose of the idea that dreams are disguised expressions of repressed wishes or that their primary function is to preserve sleep. It is more likely that dreams are, as Jung maintained, natural products of the psyche, that they perform some homeostatic or self-regulatory function, and that they obey the biological imperative of adaptation in the interests of personal adjustment, growth, and survival.

That boy,” said Allison, “is a post-natal drip!

Summer showed me to be present and allow the new growth of life to flourish.

Sometimes we’re lost; we’re deep in emotions and we’re drowning in them.

What you’re looking for is already within you and only you can find that.

This is your story and only you can write it. So, take my hand, turn the page, and know that I am here to support and care for you within each word. But there will come a time when you let go, and I will stand back as you begin your journey home.

Over the years, I have had many bad ideas, and keeping my mental illness a secret was one of them.

As I began to connect back to myself and hear my thoughts instead of other people´s, I started seeing the connection we have with nature, and how it shows us every day, in every season, how to live in our own world. Upon my walks, I watched how Mother Nature changes, how each day she rises—every day, every season, every year, nature rises, time and time again. If she is broken, she will rise. She will break through the concrete to grow her roots if she needs to, but she does it her way and in her time and it´s only other people who break her, she never breaks herself. When I watched this, I knew that I could rise too. I was going to rise up through the years of mental destruction and break through.

I wanted to share my story with you so that you felt less alone. I didn’t want you to feel like no one understood like I did, because they do. They’re our secrets too.

I wanted you to see who you are—I wanted you to see that you are not your mental illness; you are so much more. You are you and you are wanted. But right now you are hurting, and being so unwell is painful, but it’s even harder hiding it.

So, believe me or not, you already hold everything you need. What you need is not on the outside; it’s not about the things you buy, the contacts you make, the money in your bank or how you look. It’s about you. It’s the thoughts and the feelings you walk with every day. It’s knowing that you are worthy, that you are so worthy of feeling well and balanced, and that you are wanted and needed–by you and by us. This is your journey on Earth, no one else’s, and the only person that can do your life is you. It’s yours and every second of each breath you take belongs to you. You are your life.

I saw how earth became silent after snowfall, and how the flowers and plants retreat in winter. Nature was telling me it was a time for respite, recovery, and healing.

I won’t be telling you that the reason you may feel unfulfilled is because you’re not good enough yet, or that you’re missing something that you need to work harder for. This book is taking all of that away. It’s stripping back the things that have been added to you throughout your life in an attempt to help you feel whole and worthy being you. You see, you are already worthy without any of that. You are worthy just the way you are–nothing added, nothing taken away. This book is about finding you in a world where you can feel so on show yet unseen, so in demand yet lost. This book is not about being bigger and better; it’s about being you and finding the part of you that wants you back to the home you hold within you. And as you read these pages, I hope you recognise that within you is your true voice, which whispers quietly that you are needed and wanted. You are loved, and you are worthy in this world and within your life just the way you are.

And there it was—it was the seasons I’d been searching for.

I saw that Mother Nature was giving me the answers; she was showing me the way. But because I’d had my head busy with improving myself and moving forwards towards that non-existent finish line, I’d never stopped to see it.

You have been untaught that within you are your answers. Within you may be pain and suffering. There may be sadness, regret, grief, a lost dream, a forgotten hope. There may be a lost child who had their childhood taken away. Perhaps an adult trapped inside that has never gone for it for fear of rejection, being laughed at, or looking like a failure. You’ve kept yourself protected because no one else did.

Have you become silenced and given up? It is, of course, less painful to give up and to support others than to be seen as having failed and not receiving any support yourself.

And there my darkness became my normality, and I lived within a haze of silent mental destruction for years. There have been a couple of occasions that I’ve had to get serious help because I was knocking on suicide´s door, I was fading away. I’d constantly question why I didn’t feel happy and well like other people did? What was I doing so wrong that I’d choose death over life?

So, as I watched and learnt, I noticed that as the golden leaves floated down and became a part of the ground, autumn was teaching me to let go of what had run its course.

I saw how spring offers a fresh start and that each plant grows in its own time and when it’s ready. Spring was showing me that sometimes we’re not ready to bloom, but one day we will be, and it will be when it’s right.

I wanted to know how to feel accepted by myself, and also for me to be accepting of the world around me that I didn’t like.

You are worthy of your life.

I couldn’t change what had happened, no matter how hard it was to hear. But instead, I’d be a new version of who I was, and one day she will be ok. I’ll like her; I’ll like who she becomes; in fact, one day, I’ll love her.

I found it strange not doing anything to improve myself. Not focussing on writing my goals for the day, not reading a chapter of a book to expand my never-ending need for knowledge, and not being a part of any self-help, goal-setting groups. All of that had stopped and I was just being me, and that’s where I got stuck because I couldn’t remember who that was. Who was I when I wasn’t hiding behind improving my business or becoming a better, more positive version of myself? I had become a stranger.

My world had slowed to my pace. I found a new un-need for things. I didn’t need to buy, change or replace anything. I liked the things I had. I read fictional books of adventure, love, and crime. It felt like, finally, the ¨be a better version¨ race had finished, so instead of being constantly out of breath, I could breathe and just be me.

I felt freedom when exposing my mental illness for what it was. How telling the depth of my journey for you became a way to release what it had held over me for so long. It was no longer powerful; it had become weak, and I could see it for what it really was. It was a bully, and I’d been bullied by my own brain. But I’d just pulled its pants down in front of everyone, and my deepest secret became my most exposed truth, and there I was, no longer a sufferer. Instead, I was a survivor.