Postpartum Detachment: My Raw Story of Delayed Bonding

The Real Journey Begins:

Postpartum. It’s a word we hear a lot, usually followed by images of blissful bonding and instant connection. But what happens when that connection doesn’t happen right away? What if, instead of overwhelming love, you feel… nothing? That’s postpartum detachment, a reality many mothers experience but rarely discuss. It’s a confusing, isolating, and often guilt-ridden journey. I’m sharing my story not to scare anyone, but to normalize this experience with postpartum detachment. Because if you’re feeling this way, you’re not alone.

If you haven’t read my labor and delivery story, check it out here. Now, let’s talk about what happened after my son arrived. What followed took time for me to understand. Looking back, I realized I thought something was wrong with me. My son was born on his due date, a natural birth. The experience was beautiful, yet exhausting. Pushing out a baby is no small feat. The pain vanished after his head emerged. I thought I was done, but I wasn’t. I still had the rest of his body to go. Doctors urged me to keep pushing. ‘I can’t, I’m too tired,’ I said, and I stopped pushing. They continued to encourage me, and he finally came out. Doctors and nurses checked on him. Then, the doctor focused on me. I needed to deliver the placenta. It wasn’t as bad as expected. They pressed on my stomach, with a couple of pushes from me and it came out. No pain. The doctor cleaned me and said I needed stitches. I had a second-degree tear. (You don’t feel the tear, but it could be the ‘ring of fire’ as your vagina stretches.) If you pause and breathe before pushing, it might reduce the tear. This is just my opinion, not medical advice.

The Blur of Afterbirth:

After delivery, my memory’s a total blur. Thank God for pictures and videos, because they fill in the gaps. I remember later, my mom telling me they brought my son over, and I literally shooed them away. My man had to step in and do the first skin-to-skin. I just stared at both of them, my face completely blank, no emotion whatsoever. My body was freezing, shaking like crazy. They piled warm blankets on me, trying to get my temperature back to normal. The nurse brought me this awesome turkey wrap, which I inhaled. Meanwhile, my man was all dad-mode, and I was still getting poked and prodded. They pushed down on my stomach four more times, trying to get all the extra blood out and make sure nothing was clotting up inside. It wasn’t painful, just super uncomfortable. Before each push, they’d tell me to take a deep breath and blow it out while they pressed. Honestly, that breathing trick really helped.

Then, they brought my son to me for the first latch. I remember my doula placing him on my chest, and I just laid there, eyes half-closed, completely drained. I listened and watched. He was alive, he was here, but it still hadn’t sunk in. Before they moved me to the recovery room—where I’d end up spending the next four days, by the way—I also had to pee to get the extra blood out. Two bathroom trips later, I finally did. And then, in the recovery room, I held him… and felt absolutely nothing.

The Emotional Void: Where’s the Bond?

In the recovery room, I held my son. Oh, he was so precious, already alert with his beautiful grayish/blue eyes and curly ginger-brown hair and beautiful plump lips, and I just stared at him, examining our creation. But I never had happy tears or felt a spark of joy in my heart. Everything was numb. I knew he was my son, but I felt nothing like the movies. Why? Why wasn’t I feeling the bond?”

You’re Not Alone: Understanding Postpartum Detachment

So, there I was, holding my son, and feeling… nothing. Society paints this picture of instant, overwhelming love. But honestly? That wasn’t my experience. And let’s be real—it isn’t for a lot of us. Postpartum hormones are a rollercoaster, and childbirth itself? Brutal. The physical toll is immense, but the emotional toll? Just as heavy. That numbness, that detachment? It’s not always postpartum depression, but it’s just as draining. And the guilt? Don’t even get me started on that.

But here’s the truth: talking about it helps. Reach out to your partner, your family, your friends—anyone. Find a professional if you need to. There are resources. And know this: that bond? It comes. It might be slow, a gradual thing. (For me, it didn’t really kick in until around four and a half, five months, and honestly, I’m still working on it.) It’s a journey, not a race. So, be patient with yourself. You’re not broken, you’re not alone, and you will find your way. Coping with postpartum detachment takes time and self-compassion. Remember to prioritize your well-being and seek support when you need it.

If you’ve experienced anything similar, please share in the comments. Let’s support each other. If you’re struggling, reach out. You’re not alone.

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