Why didn’t anyone warn me how lonely postpartum would feel?

Question from Lucía R., 34, Argentina. First-time mom to an 11-week-old baby boy.

Truth is… most of us don’t talk about it💔 Not because it’s not real (it is), but because we’re afraid of what it says about us if we admit it out loud. I know I was. I had these perfect little babies in my arms, and I thought I was supposed to feel nothing but awe and gratitude every single second. But inside? I was aching—for silence, for sleep, for something that felt like me again.

I remember one afternoon, sitting on the edge of my bed, still in the same stretched-out tank top from yesterday, nursing for what felt like the hundredth time, and just thinking, Why does no one talk about this part? The part where you feel invisible, touched-out, unsure if you’ll ever feel like yourself again. I wasn’t ungrateful—I was just lonely. And that loneliness? It felt like a secret I had to carry alone. 😞

What changed everything for me was opening up to one other mom. Just one. I nervously blurted out how I was really feeling, half-expecting judgment or pity. Instead, she looked at me and said, “Me too.” That moment cracked something open. Suddenly I wasn’t broken or failing—I was just human. A new mom trying to find her way. 

After that, I started making tiny shifts. Nothing huge, just small, sacred acts of comfort. I remember one of the first things I did was buy a bra that didn’t dig into my ribs or make me want to rip it off by 10 a.m. It was soft. Supportive. Easy to nurse in. And it made me feel just a little more… held. Like I mattered, too. Not just as a mom, but as a person. ✨

That’s actually a big reason I started Bloom & Heal. I wanted other moms to know that comfort matters. That you matter. That wearing something soft, or making your tea just how you like it, or spending five quiet minutes in the bathroom (even if the toddler is knocking on the door 🚪👶)—those things aren’t selfish. They’re survival. They’re love, pointed inward.

So if you’re reading this and feeling that quiet, heavy loneliness—I see you. You’re not alone, and you’re not doing it wrong. The early days can be brutally tender. But they don’t last forever. You’re still in there, under the exhaustion and spit-up and noise. And little by little, you come back to yourself. 🌷

If you’re ready, reach out to one other mom. Or leave a comment below. Sometimes all it takes is someone whispering back, “Me too.” 💬💞