Postpartum is Political
Key Takeaways:
Postpartum struggles are not just personal — they are political. Our society’s lack of postpartum support isn’t an oversight, it’s systemic and intentional.
The system exploits unpaid maternal labor. Moms are expected to do it all — physically, emotionally, mentally — without compensation, recognition, or rest.
Our struggles are pathologized instead of contextualized. When moms are anxious, burned out, or resentful, they're told it's a personal failure, not a systemic one.
American mothers are set up to fail. With no paid parental leave, inadequate mental health care, unaffordable childcare, and no societal safety net, the U.S. has the highest maternal mortality rate in the developed world.
Mothers are divided to stay disempowered. The mommy wars (breast vs. bottle, sleep train vs. co-sleep) distract from the real enemy: a system that benefits from our exhaustion and self-doubt.
Invisible labor is real and exhausting. Emotional labor, planning, mental load, and default parenting roles are rarely acknowledged, yet they’re critical to a functioning household and society.
The “perfect mother” is a myth weaponized against us. When you can’t meet impossible expectations, you blame yourself instead of the culture that set you up to fail.
It’s not your fault. You’re not broken. The system is built to make you feel that way.
I divorced my ex in 2020, just a few months after lockdown. In late 2019, a pipe burst under our laundry room floor (my house sits on a slab — so they pretty much had to dig up the whole house), and we ended up living in a hotel with two kids, two cats, and an 80-pound old man of a dog. That put the nail in the coffin for my already dead relationship. The foundation of our marriage began to crack when my now 15-year-old was just a few weeks old.
That life-altering postpartum experience came after I lost my first baby in 2008 — followed by fertility treatments and finally a successful IVF cycle (shout out to the folks over at South Jersey Fertility in Marlton and Jon Posner, acupuncturist). I planned a home birth, but my stubborn little miracle was breech, and I ended up with a C-section. I had so many risk factors for postpartum anxiety — infant loss, IVF, unplanned surgery, sensory sensitivities, a need for control and predictability — but no one warned me. No one prepared me. And early motherhood hit me like a ton of bricks.
My postpartum anxiety affected every aspect of my life. It affected my baby, my marriage, my social life, and my bank account.
I left my teaching career — and with it, my salary, pension, and health insurance — because I literally couldn’t fathom going back to working outside of the home. My baby woke every 2–3 hours for 2.5 years (and no, I am not being hyperbolic here), and I did 100% of the nighttime parenting. I mean, I wasn’t earning a paycheck, so I was hell-bent on picking up the slack in every other way.
My then-husband didn’t seem to mind. He leaned into the imbalance — and suddenly the feminist I thought I married became a sulky teenage roommate who just couldn’t understand why I had no sex drive.
When I tell you I did everything, I mean it. I did everything: the emotional labor, the researching, the planning, the parenting, the cleaning, the bill paying, the doctor appointments — all of it. I never took time for myself because I never felt like I could. The resentment piled up fast. And as we know from John Gottman, resentment is one of the four horsemen of the relationship apocalypse — once it shows up, it tends to stick around.
Up until we became parents, we were a great team. He knew how to show up for me – he was my rock through our loss and the infertility stuff. But pretty soon after our baby arrived, it was like someone hit a switch. Suddenly, I felt abandoned and alone in a very real, very exhausting way — and I didn’t even understand why.
But in reality, when I think about it now, I realize I had always done the bulk share of labor in our relationship. And I didn’t mind. I like to do it all. I like to be in control. So I did the stuff — because then it was done my way and I could predict how it would land. Which was great — until it wasn’t.
No one could ever say I didn’t pull my weight. I made sure I carried more than my share — because the fear of being a burden was unbearable.
Some men (my ex was one of them — and he still tries to take credit for my labor) love to benefit from your low self-worth and behind-the-scenes work. But when it breaks down they take on the role of supervisor and point out all the places you went wrong without any effort to make anything right.
And for a long time, I did think this was a me problem.
But it’s not.
It’s not just my ex. It’s not just my story.
This is what happens when you’re mothering in a system that exploits your unpaid labor, downplays its value, and gives you as little support as possible.
That’s why I’m telling you — postpartum isn’t just personal. It’s political.
They’re Lying to us
Postpartum is about more than baby snuggles, the delicious smell of their heads, and ridiculously adorable onesies. It’s about our changing bodies, our shifting hormones, our baby-saturated minds. It’s about our incredible babies and our relationships — with friends, partners, careers, and most importantly, ourselves.
We’re taught to see postpartum as a strictly personal experience. A solo endeavor. Something you do behind closed doors, and if you’re a nursing mom, under a cover. That’s a lie. That’s American-style rugged individualism sneaking into our most vulnerable season and putting us in our place.
Society wants us to believe the reason we’re drowning is because we didn’t plan better. Because we’re selfish. Lazy. Expect too much. Ungrateful. Because we’re not loving every minute.
That lie is killing us. Literally.
In fact, suicide is one of the leading causes of maternal death in the U.S.
We’re mothering in a capitalist, patriarchal, colonized system — a system that works because moms are exhausted, isolated, stressed out, and unpaid. This isn’t an accident. That’s the blueprint. Because as they say: the system isn’t broken — it’s working exactly the way it was designed to.
Capitalism is designed to extract as much unpaid labor from you as possible while giving you as little support as it can get away with. The labor of mothering — the round-the-clock care, emotional labor, physical toil, mental juggling — is essential to the survival of the system, but it’s treated like it has no value. And they get away with it because so much of our work is invisible.
The work moms do is priceless. It's the work that sustains families, communities, and economies, yet we’re brainwashed to believe it’s “maternal instinct” and that it doesn’t deserve compensation, recognition, support, or even a fucking break. And until we, as mothers, realize the value of this labor, the system will continue to use us as its unpaid workforce — draining our energy, our time, and our health while offering us the bare minimum in return.
This is how it works: We’re told our work doesn’t count. That it’s all just part of being a mom. That it’s easy. That our partners would trade places with us in a second and “stay home all day.”
But in reality, without our unpaid labor, the system would crumble. Immediately.
And that’s why they like to keep us divided. And infighting over breast vs. bottle, sleep train vs. bedshare, vax or no vax. You get it.
And since the American approach to postpartum is “good luck, hope your partner’s not a total ass. See you at your six-week check-up.” There is no federally mandated paid parental leave. No guaranteed, universally accessible postpartum mental health care. No universal childcare. No meaningful safety net. And this lack of support is disproportionately dangerous for Black, Brown, low-income, and disabled moms — especially in the postpartum period.
Check this out:
The U.S. is the richest country on the planet. But somehow, it’s the only developed nation that doesn’t offer paid family leave. Seriously. The rest of the world is like, “Take care of your baby, we got you.” The U.S.? Nope. In case you;re curious, the other countries that don’t offer paid leave are Papua New Guinea, Suriname, Micronesia, The Marshall Islands, Nauru, Palau, and Tonga.
This country has the highest maternal mortality rate of any industrialized nation. Every year, 700 women die from pregnancy or birth-related causes. Black women are 3 times more likely to die from pregnancy-related complications than white women — and it’s not because of genetics, it’s because we live in a racists nation and under racist systems.
At least 1 in 5 birthing people will experience perinatal mood or anxiety disorders — and most won’t get the care they need because it’s expensive, stigmatized, and pretty much ignored. You know, pull yourself up by your bootstraps.
We have a childcare crisis in the US. The average cost of childcare here in the US is more than what you’d pay for in-state tuition at a public university. So an insane number of moms end up leaving their job because they cant find or cant afford child care.
The “second shift” is real. Women do more than 4 hours of extra housework and caregiving every single day than their male partners — and that’s not counting the emotional labor, which is again, invisible.
Breastfeeding? Good luck with that. Less than 30% of moms in the U.S. can exclusively breastfeed for 6 months. Why? Because our maternity leave sucks, workplaces don’t support it, and society’s more interested in policing what we do with our bodies than giving us the tools to thrive as parents. Meanwhile, in countries like Norway, nearly 90% of mothers breastfeed exclusively for the first 6 months — and they get 46 weeks of paid leave to do it. In the UK, it’s around 80% of mothers who can make it to that 6-month mark, thanks to up to 52 weeks of paid parental leave. The U.S.? You get jack shit unless you're lucky enough to work at a company that might “give” you a few weeks off — unpaid, of course.
And yet, when a mom is struggling, the narrative is “If you didn’t want to deal with it, you shouldn’t have had a baby.” I see this shit all the time in comment threads on social media and it’s super gross.
That messaging is seriously sinister — it causes us zip it, suck it up, stay quiet, feel ashamed, and ultimately slap on a smile and say, “I’m doing great! I LOVE being a mom.”
Meanwhile, inside, you feel like a prisoner in your own life, blindsided and betrayed.
You start to think maybe it is you. That you’re a shitty mom. That your baby deserves better.
But it’s not you.
It’s the system.
And it's working exactly as intended — to keep you overwhelmed and under-supported, while convincing you it’s your fault if you’re not enjoying it.
the perfect Mother is a Myth
You don’t need to try harder.
You don’t need to do more.
No amount of wooden toys, organic foods, or mommy-and-me music classes will earn you the perfect mom badge. None of it will give you the perfect baby who’s magically able to thrive in this fucked-up world they were born into.
There’s this toxic narrative surrounding motherhood — it tells us that if we just read all the books, gather all the information, and give 100%, we can do it right. Better. Perfect.
But there is no getting it right. No Pinterest-worthy plan, gratitude journal, or morning routine will turn you into the perfect mother.
Because there’s no such thing.
The bullshit we’re fed says that if we’re struggling, we must be doing it wrong.
We’re just not leaning into motherhood hard enough. We should try harder. Sleep less. Give more. Give everything.
Embrace it. Live in the moment. Enjoy every minute.
Oh, and don’t forget to prioritize self-care — just pop that yoga class on the calendar and make yourself go! Prioritize, woman! Prioritize. Otherwise, it's your fault you’re not enjoying it so you should probably just shut up.
Or hey, just buy some shit. There’s always more shit you can buy to make this whole mom thing easier. Do that.
Fuck. That. Noise.
All of that nonsense is designed to keep moms isolated, compliant, stressed out, and broke.
Those messages don’t serve moms — they serve capitalism.
Those messages keep us hustling, shrinking, and blaming ourselves — instead of raging against the motherfucking machine.
Self-blame is one of capitalism’s favorite weapons. Because if you're too busy blaming yourself, you're too burnt out to organize, rage, or resist.
And while we're busy fighting off guilt and struggling to keep our heads above water, who picks up the slack?
Moms. Always moms.
We’re the ones figuring out how to make ends meet and how to “make it work.”
And don’t forget to be grateful .
It’s time we all recognize the fact that we live in a society that creates the conditions for maternal distress, and then tells us to fix it with date nights, a better attitude, and a bubble bath.
The pressure to “bounce back,” stay positive, keep your house clean, raise a well-adjusted kid, prioritize your relationship, and not lose yourself in the process is all part of the plan.
Because as long as you’re exhausted and blaming yourself, you’re not asking questions. You’re not seeing the injustice of it all. Or the oppression.
You’re not demanding change.
You’re not burning shit down. You’re not out in the streets demanding better for yourself and for your babies.
You don’t have time or energy to write your representatives. Show up to a town hall.
You’re too depleted to boycott your Frappuccino. Or Amazon. Or any of the corporations profiting from your unpaid labor and slow unraveling.
The postpartum crisis isn’t a personal mental health problem. It’s a collective political failure.
It is policy.
It is power.
It is capitalism. It is colonization. It is patriarchy.
And it wins when women roll their eyes at the mention of any of this.
The maternal mental health care crisis is proof (among a million other things) that the system doesn’t work.
So what do we do when the system fails us?
We take our power back — in any way we can.
Autonomy Through Your Placenta?
Weird transition here, but this is actually why I encapsulate placentas for a living.
I don’t do it because it’s trendy (I’m pretty much the opposite of trendy.) I don’t view the placenta as a sacred goddess organ or anything like that. It’s definitely not a crunchy mom wellness flex for me.
I do it because when the system gives us nothing — no time, no care, no help, no support — we have to take control whenever and wherever we can. We take ownership of what’s ours.
Turning placentas into pills for moms who are doing everything they can to support themselves through postpartum is my own personal act of rebellion. It’s activism. It’s how I fight the system. It’s how I support women as they reclaim their bodily autonomy — in a world that treats our bodies as vessels: good for selling things, good for making workers babies, then discarded when we’re no longer pretty, thin, or useful.
Keeping your placenta and doing whatever TF you want to do with it is refusing to hand over your power to a medical system that has abandoned you your entire life.
This is reclaiming ancestral tradition that was stolen from you. This is medicine that the colonizers tried to erase. This is taking ownership in a world that trains women to ask permission.
Sadly, nobody’s coming to save you. So, unfortunately, until we all start to realize that we’re actually in this together, you have to save yourself.
You do that by tuning in to your instincts and blocking out the noise. You listen to your body. You trust your mom gut. And you make friends. You build community.
You take ownership of your pregnancy, your birth, your hormones, your postpartum healing, and your life.
We live under a system that offers us basically nothing, so we need to take everything.
Collective Rage = Collective Power
You are not alone.
And it’s not your fault.
Let that sink in. Seriously. Sit with it.
Because isolation is the lie that keeps moms quiet. It keeps us in our homes, walled off from community. It keeps us in our heads, thinking everyone else has their shit together (they don’t) while we’re drowning in dishes, self-doubt, and piles of laundry.
The sooner we all figure out that the game is rigged, the better off we will all be.
You're not failing — you're being failed.
The shame you feel is man-made. Literally.
The guilt that sneaks in when you're sad, or angry, or stressed has been programmed.
The pressure you feel to do it all, be it all, love it all is weaponized.
We weren’t meant to do this alone. We’re supposed to mother in community – we’re supposed to have a village.
Motherhood is not supposed to be a test of personal strength or endurance. It’s supposed to be a collective venture – one in which we all thrive.
We CAN opt out. We have that power.
We can reject the myth of the strong independent mother who does it all. We can build something that feels more natural, more healthy, more connected. .
We can tap into our collective rage — and turn it into collective power.
That’s why I work so hard to help moms build systems that support them — because I know that when moms are energized and empowered, we can do anything.
So here’s the bottom line:
Build a life that works for you.
Plan for postpartum like the revolution it is.
Mom as you are — not like you’re expected to.
And do it in community.
The answer is not doing more. The answer is doing less. But doing it collectively.
None of us is failing — we’re being failed. The sooner we stop trying to fix ourselves and start fixing the system, the better off we’ll all be. This isn’t about self-care. It’s about collective care, community, and burning down the harmful expectations of modern motherhood. Postpartum isn’t just personal — it’s political. And you deserve better than what they’re offering.
“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation — and that is an act of political warfare.”
— Audre Lorde
Let’s keep this conversation going.
If any of this cracked something open in you — the resentment, the exhaustion, the quiet rage — you’re not alone. You were never supposed to do this alone. And you definitely weren’t supposed to do it without support.
👉 Shoot me a message about your own experience with unpaid labor, postpartum disillusionment, or the invisible load you’ve been carrying. I want to hear it all.
👉 Get on my email list to learn how I help moms build systems that work for them, not against them — because the ones we’ve been handed were not built with us in mind.
👉 Share this post with another mom who needs to hear it and let her know that she’s not broken. The system is.
A better world is possible. And moms can be the ones to build it.
