Leah Carter Bennett (42 - she/her), Audrey Rose (10), and Eliana Faith (8)
Leah is a repeat participant. You can view her previous photos and stories here.
Philadelphia, PA
“I miscarried very early into my second pregnancy in October of 2010. I was only about 5 weeks along when I started bleeding. Audrey was 16 months old. We were trying and had just found out I was pregnant so there was joy turned immediately to disappointment. My father had just died so it was a weird time. My dad was equal parts hilarious and awful so I was processing those feelings of losing a parent (sadness) who was pretty abusive and neglectful to me (anger). I was a little bummed about the miscarriage but honestly I am a firm believer that at that stage of a pregnancy it’s really just a bunch of cells so I was not yet attached. It takes me a while to bond anyway as my bonding abilities are kind of damaged from being a survivor of childhood trauma. So, I feel really guilty that the loss was not horrible for me. I have so many lovely friends who are very upset and torn apart by miscarriage. I really felt, and still feel, that something was wrong with me because I did not grieve like I felt I should have. It was so early, I never even heard a heart beat and I didn’t even need a DNC because I was able to pass everything without a problem. I also had a very active 17 month old I was taking care of so I didn’t really have time to think about the loss. All of those things combined with the fact that we got pregnant immediately after the miscarriage made the loss uneventful if that makes any sense. However, I still feel very bad about myself that it really did not affect me much. Almost as if I am not maternal enough or I am emotionally broken in some way. These are actually themes which have followed me throughout motherhood. That feeling that I am not loving my kids enough and I’m too broken to be a good mom.
How has parenthood impacted your body image?
I have never been one to really care too much about how my body looks. I think I have had such a hard time dealing with mental illness (severe Depression, Anxiety, OCD, ADHD, Trich) worrying about what I look like has been the least of my worries! I have always struggled with my personality and being weird and not fitting in because of my bizarre sense of humor and awkwardness. I have always felt I was sort of pretty and I never understood why I had so much trouble finding partners growing up. I never had tons of boyfriends or girlfriends. My first relationship was a very intense partnership with a girl named Bethany when I was 16. That lasted two years. Even though I am married to a man I still identify as not straight or bisexual if I had to label it but I hate labels. I see sexuality as a spectrum and very much love intimacy with whomever I feel attracted to. I give zero fucks what someone pees out of.
I have always loved curves. I love my hips and thick thighs and ample bottom. I find comfort in thickness. My grandmother was the only amazing mother figure in my life growing up. My mother, due to her young age, trauma, severe mental illness and zero support from family could not raise me so my grandmother did this until my father remarried when I was 11. My stepmother was awful so my grandmother was the only maternal love I have ever felt in my life. Anyway, she was zaftig. Her parts were soft and plump. Even as a gangly 10 year old I would crawl up into her lap and she would rock me like a baby. So many amazing feelings of comfort and love came from these moments. So I view lots of skin and rolls as positive and beautiful. I gained a lot of weight after both my girls were born. I did not hate my body but I did not like how I felt. It was hard to move and be active. I elected to have the gastric sleeve surgery to help me shed the extra 80 pounds because I have so much trouble with diets and I needed help. I lost 75 pounds and I definitely feel physically comfortable again. I am still thick and considered obese but I feel so much better and I love every roll and curve and jiggle.
Another part of accepting my body has to do with a mental illness I have called Trichotillomania. It is anxiety induced hair pulling. I began pulling my eyelashes at around 6 as a coping mechanism for the trauma I was experiencing. By the time I was in my 30’s and I was in the throes of postpartum depression, I was pulling out clumps of my head hair. I actually had more sadness and self-loathing over not having hair than I did with my growing belly and thighs. I know I don’t have to say it but our beauty standards in America are so fucked and based on toxic masculinity and what men think is attractive. A woman is suppose to have long flowing hair. It has been said that a woman’s hair is her crowning glory or some shit. And so many people are obsessed with long hair on women. So I really struggled with the hair loss. I hid it. I wore wigs. I tried to cut it all different ways to hide the bald patches. I bought a million head wraps and hats. This dance went on for several years. So much self hate was involved in this struggle. Finally one day I fucking shaved it. My whole entire head. Now I mostly keep it shaved. Sometimes I let it grow a few inches but then I start getting itchy and have to shave it again. Shaving my head makes me so happy. It removes the urge to pull. It feels great. I feel powerful and different and awesome. And I give zero fucks. It also quickly weeds out the awesome people from the assholes in my life. If you hate my bald head I don’t have room for you in my life. If you are supportive and love it, well you are my people.
Lastly, I really think about my kids a lot when it comes to body image and the things I say about my body and others bodies and what messages I am instilling in their heads. so parenthood has made me be very careful to say positive things about my body and my bald head and to show them stories of people who are differently abled doing cool things like living with joy or fighting to be seen. I strive to raise my children to question cultural norms and standards. I want to show my girls that different is awesome and needs to be supported and normalized.
What was your postpartum experience?
My postpartum experience with both girls is a blur. It was hard and scary and hard and exhausting. We now refer to it as survival mode. I was an emotional and psychological mess. I had very bad postpartum Depression and Anxiety with Audrey. I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to kill myself. I was worried all the time about Audrey. I cried constantly. I don’t remember much because everything was overwhelming. Postpartum was a bit better with Ellie because I was medicated but we later found out I was on psych meds that really didn’t work for me so it was still hard. Especially because I was mothering two babies ages 2 and newborn. And of course with all this difficulty and trouble remembering this time period comes mass amounts of guilt. Guilt that it’s a fog that I can’t remember much about. Guilt that motherhood during that stage did not look like what I wanted it to and what I felt it was suppose to; sweet, ethereal, smiles and hugs and coos. A desire to do it all over again. I always say I carry my guilt around with me daily in a little backpack on my back. If I didn’t feel guilty every damn day I wouldn’t know how to feel. There is a dysfunctional comfort in perpetually blaming yourself. Having a difficult postpartum period with both girls still takes up a lot of room in my backpack of guilt.
What is your truth that you'd pass along to your former self, or a new parent?
I have so many truths! Like ALL the TRUTHS! Life is hard, beautiful, heartbreaking and hilarious. I am weird. I struggle and that’s okay. I’m not quite straight. I laugh a lot and at stuff I probably shouldn’t laugh at. I love nachos. I take an inordinate amount of naps. I talk way too much. I say fuck more than your average sailor. I constantly argue with God because I don't understand what he is even doing and I hate organized religion. I am the face of mental illness. I am very medicated. Sometimes I am so depressed I can't even get out of bed to shower and sometimes this overwhelming sadness and lack of personal hygiene lasts for days. I am scared of death. But, I love hard and I am finding joy; small glimpses of joy, every day. Some days I have to look harder for joy than other days. My kids bring me joy. I love them so much it hurts. Hearing others say that I have really helped them feel less alone and crazy and isolated brings me immense joy. Making people laugh brings me joy. I have good days. I have not so good days. But I am a survivor and I must keep going for my kids. I must keep going so I can continue to shout my truths (especially my love for nachos) and to always help the hurting and the marginalized.
Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?
I am so in love with this project and movement. Participating in this project is incredibly important to me for so many reasons. My main reason is of course to talk about navigating parenthood with mental illness and share some things, very real thoughts and feelings that many of us have but do not talk about out of fear. Fear of being judged, fear of embarrassment, fear of failure, fear of not being good enough, fear of talking about reality, fear of getting our children taken away…..so much fear. I also want to obliterate the stigmas about parenting with mental illness; stigmas that say it can’t be done or that people with mental illness are not worthy of being parents or that we are going to somehow hurt our children and should not have children. I mean I get it; there is a small percentage of severely mentally ill parents who do harm their children. And those sensationalized news stories are heartbreaking and terrifying. But maybe, just maybe, if we talk about mental illness more and strive to help, support and connect with those who are struggling we may see less hurt. If I can share my journey and it reaches another human who is struggling and hiding in the shadows and pretending to be okay and they feel less alone and encouraged to seek help then I can die happy.