Alison LiVecchi (37 - she/her). Mother to Alaina Mae (9), Athan Harper (5), and Anderson Finch (6 mo)
Houston, TX
How has parenthood impacted your body image?
Parenthood has made me appreciate my body in ways I never did before. Pregnancy gave me a new level of self-confidence I never had before – no longer did I need to hide my tummy; instead I was proud of my body’s ability to grow life and enjoyed my new shape. After Alaina arrived, I plummeted into feeling like my body had failed me. Because of my body, I was unable to deliver the baby naturally. Because of my body, I was unable to produce enough milk. My postpartum experience erased all the body positivity and replaced it with sadness, frustration, and fear that I would never have a body that would do what I wanted it to (if I were able to get pregnant again).
After my other two pregnancies, my body appreciation has returned. Not only do I remain in awe of the physical functions of motherhood, but I appreciate my softer tummy, my wider hips, my “few extra pounds” as symbols of the journey. My body has sustained me and 3 babies, so of course its shape will change. Furthermore, I am not the same person on the inside as I was before my babies, and so my outside should not be the same either.
This appreciation has led to a sort of slowing-down. No need to rush into “getting my body back”. Instead, I am patient and forgiving as my body continues to shift and sag and roll in ways it may not have before. I know that someday I may want to return to a way of life in which my physical body is a priority. But right now, I am satisfied with prioritizing connection and joy and appreciation – regardless of body shape or size.
What was your postpartum experience?
My first birth experience was traumatic, ending in an unplanned cesarean. Breastfeeding was challenging and my baby was struggling to gain weight. Nothing was going as I planned or expected, and on top of that, everyone was asking “Don’t you just love being a mom?” Each day I kept wondering when the idyllic, soft glow of motherhood would arrive with angelic singing and a peaceful sleeping baby in my arms. It never did, and coupled with my traumatic birth experience and changing hormones, I fell into postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety lasting for about 3 years. I do not feel like I experienced the first year of my daughter’s life, and I certainly did not enjoy becoming a mom in that year; I was just hoping not to keep “failing” at everything and to keep both of us alive.
I always imagined motherhood would be filled with bubbly connections to other women and babies – like after my baby came I would be welcomed into a “club”. But after my first baby, I felt so incredibly isolated. I was home alone during maternity leave, struggling to process a million emotions, and the only interactions I had with other adults were brief and superficial. I felt like I was the only one who was struggling to look at my beautiful newborn baby girl and feel joy, or the only one who was traumatized by birth, or the only one who was facing breastfeeding challenges. Motherhood was always supposed to be magical, amazing, and special. I didn’t have any of those feelings about it, and I felt like there was something abnormal in thinking that way. I knew my birth experience was challenging, but I think the isolation, both physically and emotionally, was the hardest part. The PPD led to me feeling isolated from other mothers, and because I was isolated, I became more depressed. It was a cycle that spiraled for me for 3 years, leading to treatment with therapy and later medication. My husband was so supportive and patient during this time, and I leaned on him when I could. But what I really yearned for was connections to others who felt like me – to know that I wasn’t alone.
Slowly, I built a network of connections that chipped away at that isolated feeling. I found a local ICAN chapter and attended in person meetings to help me process my unplanned cesarean. I signed up for daily affirming emails from Postpartum Progress to read while pumping at work. I joined a creative writing class and began writing a manuscript of a memoir of my experiences. I found a therapist who empowered me, and I told my story to anyone who asked me how much I was enjoying motherhood. I spent my free time researching birth in our modern, medicalized society as a way to try and understand my experience and discovered the statistics that show I was definitely not alone.
I was scared when I became pregnant with Athan. But I knew a lot more about what to expect in birth and the newborn phase. I sought out a supportive care provider (and drove an hour away for appointments and delivery) and assembled a team, including a doula, chiropractor, therapist, psychiatrist, and others who helped me stay laser-focused on a VBAC. I knew that a better birth experience could lead to a better postpartum outcome, so I was singularly focused on this goal. I got my VBAC, and this time, I had was in the club – I had already built a network of friends and mothers as my daughter had been growing up – and I was not alone. I had a much more positive birth experience, and although I faced challenges with breastfeeding (and juggling 2 kids), my expectations were more aligned with my reality. I avoided PPD and PPA by staying busy with my toddler and leaning on my people who knew my story, but also by encapsulating my placenta and remaining medicated throughout my pregnancy and postpartum period.
This third baby was a surprise, and in many ways, a gift. Now 8 years after Alaina’s birth, I could rely on my team without the pressure and focus of “achieving” a VBAC. I was confident in my body knowing I had done it once before. I could lean on a team that was pretty much in tact from Athan’s birth. Not only was I planning a VBAC this time, but I was able to consider my wishes for the birth experience itself – mood of the room, position to deliver in, etc. My goals this time around were to try to enjoy and process and feel all the transitions and stages instead of “achieving” something.
This time I knew so much more about myself and my own emotional needs in the postpartum period and I was able to advocate for what I needed to stay mentally healthy and present for my husband and other children. For example, I knew that a “lying in” period immediately postpartum didn’t work well for me (too isolating) so I scheduled groups of friends to visit every other day. I am trying to savor each moment of parenthood and just see each stage for what it is, as this is my last baby.
I am grateful to have had this third opportunity with Anderson to learn to slow down and take challenges as they come. I have learned motherhood isn’t about having all the answers, but about learning to expect challenges along the way, and the give yourself, your partner, and your child the patience and grace along the way.
What is your truth?
You. Are. Not. Alone. Seek connection, speak up, share your story, ask for help, honor your feelings as authentic and real and ALLOWED. Find someone who will listen, and be patient as the transformation into parenthood isn’t overnight.
Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?
Social media has done a lot for me to feel connected to other moms, especially the stories on this page. I wanted to be able to tell my story in hopes that someone out there needs to read it. Someone who might be feeling like they are the only one who isn’t loving the transition to motherhood, or who had a traumatic birth, or who is struggling with breastfeeding. Participating in this movement will not only connect me to moms in the future, but also allows me the opportunity to continue to honor and reflect on my own journey.
I am so grateful to ash and all they have done to tell the stories of people who are like me, but also people who are very different than me. Reading these stories and seeing these photos remind me that parenthood looks different to each person, but the medium of her black and white photos reminds us of how connected we all are. Just parents. Loving their babies. Learning to love ourselves.