The first month postpartum was overwhelming and exhausting in ways I wasn’t fully prepared for. It hit me like a truck. I knew it would be hard, but the emotional and physical weight of those early weeks was heavier than I expected.

I’ve since realized this is a pretty universal experience for new moms. During this time, it’s okay if it feels like all you’re doing is surviving, because that’s exactly what I was doing. But as the days slowly passed, I began to notice what actually helped me cope, rest, and feel a little more grounded.

That’s what this post is about: what genuinely helped me survive the first month postpartum.

Lowering My Expectations

There’s a lot of conversation, especially on social media, about “bouncing back” after having a baby. How quickly you lose the baby weight, regain your body, and return to looking like your pre-baby self. I’m here to say that your body does change after having a baby, and that isn’t a bad thing. It’s simply reality, one that society puts far too much pressure on new moms to resist.

When I was pregnant, I often heard that breastfeeding helps you lose weight quickly, but that it all comes back just as fast because you’re eating more to nourish another human. In the first couple of months postpartum, I did lose weight quickly and felt really good about how I looked. But bodies naturally fluctuate, and that expectation didn’t last.

This is your reminder that how you look after having a baby doesn’t matter. Our bodies created and sustained life. That alone makes them worthy of appreciation and respect.

Another expectation I had to adjust was productivity. I came home from the hospital on a Monday evening, and by Tuesday, my mom was back at work, and my sister was back at school. From day one, it was just me and my baby. While that one-on-one time was incredibly special, it was also very hard.

In those first weeks, most of his sleep happened on me or with me, which meant very little time alone and almost no time for chores. It’s easy to fixate on everything that isn’t getting done, but I had to learn that none of it mattered right then.

The whole world stopped when I had my son, and I had to learn to let it.

There will always be time for dishes and laundry. Learning to embrace the slowness of this season allowed me to cherish it for what it was: a brief moment where nothing mattered more than bonding and healing.

Accepting Help Without Guilt

This was a big one for me. I’ve always struggled to ask for help, and as a single mom, it often felt like I had to do everything on my own. Thankfully, I have an incredible family. I live with my mom and sister, and they’ve been supportive from day one, though they still have to remind me to ask for help sometimes.

As a mom, accepting help can come with guilt. It can feel like you’re being selfish or “handing your baby off.” I had to learn that this couldn’t be further from the truth. The people who offer help do so because they love you and want to support you.

Help doesn’t always look big. Sometimes it’s someone holding the baby so you can shower, eat a meal, or take a breath. And just as important is emotional support, having someone to talk to, cry with, or sit beside when things feel heavy.

Whether it’s a partner, family member, nanny, or daycare, support is essential during the postpartum period. If asking for help doesn’t come naturally to you, know that you’re not alone, and that accepting help is not a weakness. It’s a form of care.

Learning My Baby Instead of Following Rules

One thing I learned very quickly after becoming a mom is that there are endless opinions about how to do everything. From wake windows to feeding schedules to when to introduce solids, suddenly, everyone has advice.

As someone who has always been a people pleaser, this was a hard lesson. What I chose to do with my baby seemed to become everyone else’s business, even though it didn’t affect them at all.

What helped me most was learning my baby. Over time, I realized that I knew his cues, what soothed him, what overwhelmed him, and what he needed in different moments. It was tempting to follow advice from moms with more experience or more children, but I eventually understood something important: they had never parented my baby.

That realization changed everything. Trusting my instincts brought more peace than trying to follow every rule. Learning your baby, rather than forcing them into someone else’s system, can be one of the most grounding parts of early motherhood.

Closing Thoughts

The first month postpartum didn’t teach me how to do everything “right.” It taught me how to give myself grace when nothing felt easy. I learned that survival counts, that rest can look messy, and that love shows up even when you feel exhausted and unsure of yourself. Those early weeks weren’t about perfection; they were about showing up, moment by moment, and trusting that was enough.

If you’re in the thick of it right now, I hope this reminds you that you’re not behind, you’re not failing, and you’re not alone. You are learning, healing, and becoming, one long night, one quiet moment, one deep breath at a time.

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If you’ve ever felt this way, you are definitely not alone. This is my experience navigating the first few weeks postpartum; the exhaustion, the overwhelming love, and the quiet survival it took to get through.

The Kind of Tired You Can’t Sleep Off

I delivered my son at 1:58 a.m. on May 4th, so our first full night in the hospital wasn’t until the following night, May 5th. That night, my mom stayed with me because I was only allowed one person overnight.

I remember feeling completely exhausted and overwhelmed. My baby had been so fussy, and I truly had no idea what I was doing yet or how to calm him down. Thankfully, my mom is incredible. She took him, got him settled, and stayed up with him through the night so I could finally get some rest.

I distinctly remember lying in the hospital bed, afraid to turn away from them. My mom was sitting in the hospital chair to my right, so I stayed lying on that side, not wanting to lose sight of either of them. My mind and body felt like they were stuck in overdrive, unable to fully relax or sleep.

Looking back now, I deeply cherish that time in the hospital with my mom. She was such a calming presence during one of the most vulnerable moments of my life. Having those memories, just us and my newborn baby, feels incredibly special.

Loving Someone While Barely Recognizing Yourself

Those first few weeks, especially the first few days postpartum, were pure survival mode. Looking back, so much of it feels blurry. It’s such an intense, emotional time that your brain almost protects you by softening the details.

Even through all of that, the shift in my heart was immediate. I felt love and joy in a way I had never experienced before, not even close. I think it’s important to acknowledge that you can feel completely overwhelmed and burned out while also feeling the happiest you’ve ever been at the same time.

One moment that stands out to me is being awake in the middle of the night with a crying baby, feeling like a failure because I couldn’t calm him, or even calm myself enough to be fully present. Even with my mom helping me every single night so I could get some rest, it was still easy to feel like I was doing it all alone.

Especially as a single mom without a partner to lean on, those feelings can feel incredibly heavy. Looking back now, being on the other side of it, I can clearly see that every hard moment was worth it. I can validate my experience and still hold so much gratitude when I look at my beautiful boy.

Love in the In-Between Moments

After the first couple of days of figuring things out, I learned to love cosleeping with him, having him right there beside me. Even now, he has never slept through the night, so I’ve learned to appreciate the middle-of-the-night wakeups more than I ever thought I would.

Back then, though, it was harder. I was so tired and overwhelmed that it was difficult to fully enjoy those moments. Being present in early motherhood doesn’t come easily when you’re running on empty.

But now, looking back through photos from those first weeks, I see just how sweet those moments were. Knowing that you are literally everything your baby needs is incredibly powerful. They are so tender and trusting that somehow, all the exhaustion feels worth it.

Closing Thoughts

One thing I learned quickly is that no one really prepares you for the small, intimate details of the postpartum period. Things like learning how to swaddle a baby by yourself at home, waiting for your milk supply to come in, and when it does, realizing it feels like a hose you can’t turn off.

These little moments are messy, uncomfortable, and deeply human. They’re also what make the first weeks postpartum so meaningful. You don’t need to love every moment to be a good mother. You don’t need to feel confident or put together to be doing it right.

If you’re in this season right now, survival is success. The fog does lift. And one day, you’ll look back and realize just how strong you were becoming, even when you didn’t feel like it.

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Before Labor Began

I decided to take a shower, wash my hair, just in case things started progressing that day. I made some lunch and sat at my desk in my room to finish up some homework. Funny enough, my final college semester was set to end that weekend, so it was a relatively stressful time for me, to say the least. I got some homework done, and I was exhausted. I laid down in my bed for the majority of that day. 

False Starts and Being Sent Home

I don’t remember much from these few days, bits and pieces here and there. The rest of what I remember from Wednesday is that night. However, I must have been feeling something that led us to go into labor and delivery that night. From what I remember, I think I was having trouble sleeping due to pain and discomfort, so we actually went to the hospital in the middle of the night/early morning. It was around 3 am on Thursday, May 1st. After checking in and going through the triage portion of labor and delivery, they sent me home. I was not dilated at all at that point.

The same kind of thing happened the next day/night. The night of May 1st. Late that night, we went back to labor and delivery. Yes, you guessed it, we were sent home. It was clear that I was in labor and had been since the day before, but for some reason, things were not progressing, and I was not dilating. We went home again early Friday morning, around 2 am. I tried to get some sleep, though it wasn’t much. I remember being extremely uncomfortable, and the pain started to get worse and more intense. I tried lots of different sleep positions, and I tried the couch, but nothing was comfortable enough. 

The Lowest Point

Eventually, after enough tossing and turning, I decided just to be awake for the day. My mom let me know that she made an appointment with a chiropractor who works on pregnant women and babies. Throughout these few days, I had also been vomiting on and off because of the pain and stress on my body, so at this point, my mom was not my favorite person. Reluctantly, I figured it was probably a decent idea. 

Before leaving for the appointment, my mom helped me take a shower. This is how much pain I was in; I could not lift my legs enough to get myself out of the shower, bend over enough to put down the toilet seat, etc. I felt so low and useless at that point. This was probably the lowest point in this entire experience.

We left for the appointment, and I vomited in the car on the way there. I hobbled into the appointment next to my mom. She explained the situation, and the chiropractor knew all the right things to do. I was lightly adjusted, and he mentioned that based on his feeling of my back and my torso, maybe the baby was a little off-center. He was surprised when I said that no doctor had caught that or even suspected it. But this could be the reason why I was in labor, just not dilating. I was feeling all of the typical labor pains, but because he was slightly off center, I wasn’t dilating at all since he was having trouble getting low enough. 

Finding My Rhythm

After this appointment, we came back home. I spent much of the day in the pool, trying to relax as much as I could. This is another time where things are kind of fuzzy. I remember at some point I was on the couch watching a soccer game with my mom. I ended up going and lying down in her bed eventually. If you are anything like me, my mom’s bed is way more comfortable than my own. Eventually, the contractions started getting more intense. This is when I started employing the breathing techniques I had been practicing in order to attempt an unmedicated, no IV birth. I spent some time there, kind of in and out of sleep. Breathing in and out, deep moaning with each contraction. I could hear my mom and my sister out in the living room, though I was so disoriented at this point that I did not know what they were doing.

After probably a couple of hours of this, my mom was coming in occasionally to lie with me or rub my back, and we decided it was hospital time once again. From what I remember, it was a bit earlier this time, sometime before midnight. We got to the hospital, and I remember it taking so long for me to walk inside. I think I ended up having a wheelchair brought out to me because the pain and discomfort were so intense. 

Finally Admitted

We got into the hospital, and by this point, I was familiar with the process. I was ecstatic when the nurse told me I was 4 centimeters dilated. I thought, “Wow, I already got almost halfway dilated, this shouldn’t take too much longer!!” I had some excitement surrounding that thought, but also just knowing we were finally making some progress, and it was time to stay in the hospital now. 

This is the point where I completely lose track of time, and when everything happened. It was late Friday night at this point, May 2nd. I was anticipating having him the next day, Saturday, since I was already 4 centimeters dilated, and it would be a full 24 hours to get him out. Boy, was I wrong.

Letting Go of Control

My water still hadn’t broken yet, which was both good and bad. I had heard it’s easier or possibly less painful when you are contracting on your waters still. However, knowing it hadn’t broken yet meant I still wasn’t super close to delivering. I spent much of Saturday transitioning in and out of the bed, walking around, stretching, and doing whatever I could to move things along. Luckily, I could freely move around since I chose not to be hooked up to an IV.

At some point Saturday morning, I was so exhausted and worn out from being in labor since Wednesday, and still not getting an epidural or using any pain meds. I remembered the nurse saying they could give small doses of Tylenol, so I asked about that. It turned out that what they gave was actually Fentanyl. I was kind of bummed out by that because I didn’t want to be on such a strong drug. I did want to do this whole thing unmedicated, after all. After asking some questions about it, I learned that the dose they give is so small that some women don’t even benefit from it at all. And they only give it to you one time. So I figured this would be beneficial to hopefully give me a little rest. 

A short time later, they came in to give me the dose. Because I chose not to have an IV, they had to connect it all. When they admitted me earlier, they put the port on my arm, which made it a little bit easier. It made me feel a tiny bit woozy, but I was able to take a little catnap, and maybe 40 minutes later, it wore off. Even during those 40 minutes, I could still feel all the pain and discomfort; the edge just came off a little from the Fentanyl. After this, it was back to bed, up from the bed, walking around, hunching over the bed, literally anything I could do to relieve pain for a few minutes. 

When Things Shifted

Later that afternoon, I went to the bathroom, where my water finally broke at 8 centimeters! This is when it got REAL. Because I didn’t get an epidural, I was able to feel everything, which is what I wanted. So one of those feelings was being able to feel him actually moving down and lower. At some point, my body just naturally started pushing him down further and further. It was a crazy feeling, but also pretty satisfying as well, because with him moving down and getting closer to coming out, the pain and discomfort were also starting to ease up a bit.

At this point, I really thought he would be born on Saturday, May 3rd. My body was doing well in naturally moving him down; I was barely even pushing at all. I tried different positions like being on all fours on the bed, to being on my knees leaning up against the back of the bed. These seemed to be working just fine until the doctor came in. 

When the Room Changed

You see, the problem with doing a birth so naturally this way is that doctors aren’t used to it. They are surgeons after all. The shift in the room was immediate. My body, which had been working instinctively for hours, suddenly felt tense and disconnected.

She kept making comments that were diminishing my effort and abilities. She wanted me to push the “normal” way, how everyone else does. Which is on your back, knees up, and bent. At this point, I was so tired and exhausted, I just wanted this baby out. So, I did what she said. I ended up pushing for 3+ hours because pushing in this position goes against gravity, making it more difficult for the baby to come out smoothly and efficiently. 

Meeting My Son

After a few hours, and as the clock turned to Sunday, May 4th, my sweet baby was born! At 1:58am. They said he had the cord loosely wrapped around his neck, nothing super serious. Feeling him on my chest after all of that hard work was incredible. All of a sudden, nothing else in the world matters, and all the pain is completely gone. It was such an amazing feeling and experience when all was said and done. 

Looking Back

That experience taught me that birth, like motherhood, doesn’t always go according to plan, but strength shows up anyway. Though there are things I wish had gone differently, I wouldn’t trade my experience for anything, and I would do it again!

This is just one chapter of my motherhood journey. If you want to follow along as I share more honest stories, reflections, and lessons from early motherhood, you can find more here and on Instagram @mymotherhood.blog

It was my second anniversary with my boyfriend, and we decided to take a little trip together. We hadn’t traveled much throughout our relationship because I was still in college, so this felt special. Our destination was Las Vegas. You’ll soon learn that not everything that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

This was August 2024, and I had just wrapped up a summer internship. The weather was perfect, our relationship felt solid, and I was over the moon to be getting away from the reality of school and work for a few days. The trip itself was genuinely fun, lounging by the pool during the day and ending our nights at the hotel bar with dessert and a drink. I remember coming home and telling my mom, “I feel like that trip was a turning point in our relationship.”

What I didn’t know then was that it was actually the peak. Everything went downhill from there, fast.

I found out I was pregnant the first week of September, sitting in my college apartment. I was an undergraduate senior, 21 years old, and completely surprised. I texted my boyfriend while he was at work and asked if I could call him. He was just as shocked as I was.

From that moment on, our relationship felt different. At first, I felt supported by him, though less so by his family. I remember thinking, Okay, this is a major derailment in the course of my life and the trajectory of our relationship. I had always wanted to be a mom, so that part didn’t scare me as much. The biggest hurdles were finishing school and figuring out what life would look like next, whether we would move in together, where I would live, and how we would make it all work.

As time went on, the strain in our relationship became impossible to ignore. There were other factors at play as well, and everything felt heavier. In January 2025, I was involved in an incident with his family that marked the true beginning of the end. We officially broke up in February.

We stayed amicable, or at least tried to. It felt necessary, knowing that in just a few months we would be bringing a baby into the world together.

When the time came for me to give birth, things were not what I had hoped for. He was less than supportive, and his family was trying to make themselves present in ways that felt overwhelming, right there in the hospital. In the end, I gave birth with my parents and my sister by my side. My son’s dad waited in the waiting room.

This was never how I imagined giving birth, becoming a mother, or starting a family. But if there’s one thing I took from that experience, it’s the unwavering support of my own family. and the strength I didn’t know I had.

Thank you for reading. I hope you stick around!