"Sweet Sadness" - What Carried Me Through A Season I Didn't Understand

I was sitting on my couch, staring out the window at frozen Lake Manitoba.

It was the brink of spring 2025—a season that’s supposed to feel like hope returning.

But I felt none.

Only dread.

I was four weeks postpartum.

And my thoughts sounded like this:

How could anyone choose this? How are there so many people in the world if this is what it takes? How does life just… keep going?

At a time when I thought I’d be in awe of life, I found myself doubting everything—even my faith in God.

It was a heavy season.

The rage. The tears. The numbness. The resentment.

I kept asking myself, When do I get to the other side of this?

But the “other side” felt like a mountain I had no desire to climb. Because what was the point, if I couldn’t even see the top?

I was afraid to call it depression.

But it was the closest I had ever come to understanding what that word might really mean.

People would visit and say the most harmless things—and somehow, they would send me spiralling.

It felt like I was living in a different reality. One filled with panic. With paranoia.

At night, I would relive my birth experience over and over—replaying the fear, the what if something went wrong with the baby?

Even though nothing did.

Even in all of that, I knew—somewhere deep down—I wasn’t a victim.

But the weight of those feelings made it so easy to become one.

One day, in the middle of all that discomfort, I came across a TEDx talk:“A New Way to Think About the Transition to Motherhood.”

She introduced the term matrescence—like adolescence, but for becoming a mother.

That word stayed with me.

It gave shape to what I was going through.

This wasn’t a failure. It was a transformation.

Awkward. Painful. Disorienting. But still—a process.

So looking back now, here are a few things that gently carried me through:

1. Talking about my birth experience—again and again

Some people want to leave the past behind. I couldn’t. I needed to walk through it repeatedly, until it stopped holding power over me. Talking to people I trusted helped more than anything.

My mom said something I’ll never forget:

“These thoughts are like a spinning top in your mind. Eventually, it will slow down. Eventually, it will stop.”

And she was right.

One day, it became… boring to tell the story.

That’s when I knew it was losing its grip.

2. Sitting in the discomfort—and praying through it

I learned that avoiding the feeling only made it louder. So I sat with it.

And I prayed.

Not polished prayers—just honest ones. Asking God to meet me exactly where I was.

Sometimes I even thanked Him for the discomfort.

Because somehow, I knew it was shaping me into someone stronger.

3. Letting my brain rest

For me, that looked like watching Legally Blonde.

Not because it’s profound—but because it isn’t.

It gave my mind a break from the constant intensity.

Anything light, funny, or familiar can help pull you out of that spiral, even for a moment.

And sometimes, a moment is enough.

4. Taking small pieces of time back for myself

Whenever I could, I asked my husband or my mom to watch the baby so I could step away.

Sometimes I’d just go for a walk. Sometimes I’d go grocery shopping.

And strangely, wandering the grocery store alone felt like freedom.

Those small pockets of independence reminded me that I was still me, too.

5. Learning about what I was going through

Reading about postpartum recovery helped me put language to my experience.

It reminded me that this wasn’t random. It wasn’t just me.

There are resources out there—and sometimes, just knowing that is grounding.

6. Hearing other women’s stories

Before this, I didn’t fully believe postpartum depression, anxiety, or rage would happen to me.

I was wrong.

What helped most was talking to women who had been there—and made it through.

Even when I couldn’t see the “other side,” they could.

And for a while, that was enough.

There were words that hurt during that time.

But there were also words that stayed with me—words that anchored me when I felt like I was drifting:

• “You are never alone when you are with God.”

• “Let that baby heal you—mind, body, and spirit.”

• “Eventually, the top will stop spinning.”
  

And it did.

On the other side of depression, is hope.

On the other side of feeling lost, is feeling found.

On the other side of rain, is the sun.

That's why sadness is sort've...

..sweet. * * * "The Lord is near to all who call upon Him. To all who call upon him in truth. He will fulfill the desire of those who fear Him; He also will hear their cry and save them." - Psalm 145:18-19