Reflection on Matrescence and Self-Image
It seems there are as many opinions on motherhood as there are people. So when a woman finds herself at the culmination of her maidenhood, teetering on the epoch of matrescence and the irrevocable changes that come, she has heard that parenthood, and more specifically motherhood, is paradoxically both the primary good in an evil world, and the ruin of a good life. A year ago, I felt uncertain of what those two little pink lines were going to mean for me in the contradicting claims that I was about to undertake the most rewarding experience of my life, and that my life and body were about to be in shreds.
Well, perhaps like life, bearing new life is rather paradoxical. Not that I agree with the simplified or extreme proclamations that motherhood is heaven or hell, either without suffering or without redemption, but I believe that something so prevalent can also be so personal. Motherhood contains within it multitudes, and therefore it can both take and give all that you have.
Despite the work I’ve done to neutralize my feelings about my body and deprogram from a toxic culture, I didn’t realize how alien I’ve felt in my skin for decades. I went part way through puberty and got stuck in the awkwardness of my new body, but it was a blind spot in my deprogramming until giving birth. The breast buds and feeling of being on display between the tender ages of 12 and 19 took active effort to heal in my 20s. I had to learn to stop being my own voyeur, or to think of myself as dress-coded body parts. Even right before giving birth, I intellectually knew breastfeeding was the most natural part of being a mammal, but for myself thought breast-feeding was a bizarre phenomenon and that I’d have to tolerate for the sake of my baby. It was as though I had made my way back to my house and sat on the front porch for the last ten years. Then, the very first time my baby was brought to my breast, any residual dysphoria evaporated, and I finally crossed the threshold of my home, my adult body.
Now, this surprised me more than anyone, because I didn't have preconceptions that I wasn’t yet at home in myself, nor was I someone who felt destined for motherhood and incomplete without children. I’m deeply convinced that women can be self-actualized and at home in themselves no matter if they bear or raise children. So I was shocked at the instantaneous clarity and peace I felt, and the decades of issues that were left behind in that operating room.
Plenty of women have uncomfortable pregnancies and postpartum periods, and have a hard time with their bodies either from symptomatic or visual changes that are difficult for them to handle. There are plenty of videos on the internet where women share their pregnancy rhinitis, swelling, and grief over their wardrobes no longer fitting them–so I don’t need to detail that as much here. Opposed, there are the women who felt destined for motherhood, and so when that desire was actualized, no matter the hemorrhoids or hair loss, the peace they felt was because of the role they stepped into. The peace I felt wasn’t related to the absence of uncomfortable symptoms (I had plenty!) nor was it related to the fulfillment of a dream (I was ambivalent about motherhood before conceiving). The peace was a moment of grace, but it was also a moment of fulfillment for the parts of my body that hadn’t been celebrated these last 20 years.
No one applauded me for having smaller breasts. Doctors didn’t want to help me with irregular periods, hormone imbalances, or even the tricky dynamic of polyps and fibroids that were destroying my uterus. My concerns were shoved aside with flippant advice to “just go on the pill.” In an anti-natalist culture filled with casual eugenicists, I’ve been called a “pug” and advised not to “pass on my genes.” While my natal family is very supportive of breastfeeding, I didn’t really understand the wider cultural messages that my breasts were tempting, unprofessional, and inappropriate, but now I was supposed to semi-pull them out to feed a baby on demand.
Yet, here I was, no longer needing rationalizations nor listening to the voices of the disenchanted. All I could hear was my baby’s voice, and I knew I would no longer worry about the confused opinions of those who think breasts are inappropriate, because feeding my baby is appropriate. I didn’t need to dress rehearse tragedy about all the hard parts of being a mom, because my unique set of hardships and blessings couldn’t be expected in “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” While I think it can be helpful for the women who do get very difficult symptoms to have support and acknowledgement of those situations online (grateful for it during my unusual hurdles!), I had been algorithmically sucked down doomsday spirals that made it seem like motherhood would be mostly negative.
Most of what I’ve learned is that we all come into our bodies and to the role of mother by different roads. There really is no good in worrying about areola sizes or stretch marks, because you won’t know until it happens, and then what are you supposed to do about it anyway? “Worrying means you suffer twice.”
Magazines can strangely moralize pregnancy weight or “bouncing back” (what am I? A rubber ball?), but at the end of the day, being at home in your body means you don’t invite critics into your home. Having your body be someone else’s home, whether that’s biologically or emotionally, means you don’t treat yourself like an art gallery, open for evaluation and critical viewership even if it elicits some wonder of beauty. Being detached when people tell you “you’re glowing!” means that when you’re tired and they offer no more compliments, you don’t care. It’s not our jobs (mothers or not!) to look like we always have had a solid eight hours of sleep!
So to add a little grey into the billions of seemingly black and white opinions on motherhood: it’s hard and worthwhile. Your body can change in unpleasant ways and it can develop into the fullest maturity and employ of its abilities. Your body can shift in unaesthetic ways you thought you’d care about and you might not actually end up caring. You may not feel actualized in your new role and paradoxically have a great relationship with your evolved body. We can’t plan out everything in our parenthood, so the sooner we seek healing and trust ourselves, the sooner we can enjoy, or at least accept, all the transformations that are in store. We’re meant to age and evolve. That should be celebrated in all its iterations, like having a mom bod, and being proud of how much you’ve changed.
