She Hasn't Fallen Apart in Public Yet

I was not fine. Fine should not be an acceptable answer for a new mother to give.

I was “fine” on the outside in that I was functioning. Everyone is fed, nobody is crying at the exact moment, you are going through the motions.

But I didn’t come close to fine on the inside. I felt exhausted. Physically, mentally, logistically. I felt like I couldn’t be a good mom to either kid. My heart broke everyday at the distance the baby was putting between my older son and myself, and my heart expanded everyday as my bonding grew with the baby. I was grieving in the moment. I was grateful for every step of the way that got us to here. All my cups were empty at once and nothing was filling them in the way they normally did.

But I said fine.

Most moms will say they are fine, and most moms are indeed, not fine.

Fine is not a lie. It is an answer that fits the space that was given for it. When someone asks how you are doing at the end of a conversation, after they have asked about the baby, after they have told you how good he looks and how well you seem to be managing — there is exactly enough room for one word. Fine is that word. It closes the loop. It lets everyone move on. It doesn’t bring any questions that you don’t have the energy to answer.

But I always wonder… what would the real answer have been?

I am not sleeping more than a few hours at a stretch and I don’t know how long a person can do that before something breaks. I am scared of thoughts I am having that don’t sound like me. I am grieving my old self and my older son and my old life and I love this baby so much it makes me feel a little crazy. I am lonely in a way I didn’t expect, surrounded by people who love me and completely alone inside what is actually happening. I wish my partner did more but I don’t even know how to ask for help because I don’t know what needs help.

That was the real answer. There was no room for it.

We do not set up new mothers to tell the truth.

The six-week postpartum appointment, the one that is supposed to be the clinical check-in on her mental health, her body, her wellbeing, lasts on average twelve minutes (in my experience it was 3 minutes). She fills out a questionnaire. Someone scans it. Someone says “any concerns?” in a way that doesn’t really invite them to answer honestly. If she does answer honestly, she’s worried about what will happen to her if she isn’t okay. She says she’s tired but that’s normal, right? They say yes. She leaves. Apps like VillageFor are trying to change that with offering screening that asks the right questions and follows you for more than six weeks.

She has been a mother for six weeks. She has probably not slept more than a few consecutive hours in all of them. Her body is still healing. Her identity has shifted in ways she doesn’t even realize yet. She may be experiencing anxiety, depression, intrusive thoughts, rage, or a grief that is confusing but real.

She probably doesn’t know any of those things have names.

Nobody asked the question that would have opened the door.

“She’s doing great” is one of the most well-intentioned, most unhelpful things we say about new mothers.

It means she is upright. She is not crying in front of you. The baby looks clean and content. She seemed like herself, mostly.

It does not mean she is okay.

She is holding it together in front of you. She has been practicing holding it together because that is what the people around her seem to need. She has learned, without anyone saying it explicitly, that the real answer takes longer than anyone has time for right now.

She hasn’t fallen apart in public yet.

That is all “doing great” means.

A healthy baby does not always mean a well mother. Those are not the same thing. We have spent a long time treating them as the same thing, and mothers pay the price for it.

In my practice, what strikes me most is not how many moms are struggling. It’s how long they’ve been struggling before they said anything to anyone.

Six weeks. Three months. A year.

They waited because they didn’t want to seem ungrateful for their beautiful baby they waited so long to have. Because they thought it would pass. Because they thought it was normal, and just what motherhood is. Because everyone kept telling them they were doing so great. Because when they tried to find the words, the words didn’t come out right, and the moment closed before they got there.

What I wish someone had asked me, three weeks postpartum, when they asked how I was doing:

Not “how are you?” But: how are you, really? What’s the hardest part right now?

And then went with whatever I said. Didn’t pivot to the baby. Didn’t say at least he’s healthy. At least you’re healthy. But stayed in it.

That is not a clinical intervention. It doesn’t require a provider or a degree. It is actually the most meaningful when a friend says it.

It is a question and a willingness to hear the answer.

Most new mothers are not asking for someone to fix anything. They are asking to be seen as a person. To have someone notice that she is still in there. That she has an inner life that is probably complicated and worth asking about. That it matters how she is doing independent of how the baby is doing.

If you said fine recently when you weren’t, that makes sense. There almost never is room for the real answer.

But if there is someone in your life who would stay with it — tell them.

And if you need more than that: “I am not fine and I need help” is a complete sentence. It is enough.

If this resonated, share it with a mom you know is saying fine.

This essay is part of the This Is Motherhood library. If what you're carrying sounds more like anxiety, I wrote about that here.

If you are in crisis or need immediate support right now, click here.