The Transition Into Motherhood

that does, in fact, have a word.

Sep 25, 2023

I didn’t learn of the word Matrescence until I was three years into postpartum. A word that still to this day shows up on my computers as a misspelling. Even as I write this, red squiggly lines are present underlying this word that does, in fact, not only exist but is also desperately needed in our bodies, our psyche, our communities, our maternal wellness, our healthcare systems, and especially in our vocabulary as mothers.

I didn’t learn of this word until three years after I became a mother. Three years of being in the depths of un-namable changes and shifts, three years after being broken up, split apart, and kind of reassembled. Three years worth of wondering who I am and why it is taking me so long to put the pieces back together, three years of coming face to face with the impacts of capitalism and patriarchal systems in my mothering, as I was directed to speed up, return to normal, bounce back; all the while innately knowing what I truly needed was to slow down, connect, and heal. Three years of learning and unlearning — all happening as I questioned the unstable ground that I continually attempted to balance on.

The ground below me was not only unstable - but at times, it also felt invisible because the majority of what I experienced after giving birth was the feeling of being alone. Although I was not physically alone, it felt as if I was experiencing something that not many talked about or understood, which left tastes of insecurities and loneliness on my tongue. This unknown space of not being able to fully trust what lies beneath your feet, doesn’t always feel safe unless you know that this in-between state was a normal part of such a transformation. I always knew that becoming a mother would shake up my world. What I didn’t know was just how deep this shaking up would penetrate, just how long it would last, and just how deep this transformation would be felt.

This realization of what “normal” is during this season wasn’t fully known until I stumbled upon the word Matrescence, and although it is still a bit hard to say, it is now deeply known in my bones.

Matrescence, a term introduced by medical anthropologist. Dana Raphael, in the early 1970s, signifies her groundbreaking work in maternal health and breastfeeding. She coined this term to emphasize that the journey into motherhood encompasses not only physical transformations like pregnancy and childbirth but also significant psychological and emotional shifts. The term was then revitalized by Aurélie Athan, Ph.D., who extended the definition to Matrescence being “a developmental passage where a woman transitions through pre-conception, pregnancy and birth, surrogacy or adoption, to the postnatal period and beyond. The exact length of matrescence is individual, recurs with each child, and may arguably last a lifetime. The scope of the changes encompasses multiple domains --bio-psycho-social-political-spiritual-- and can be likened to the developmental push of adolescence.”

And suddenly, there it was. A word, a movement.

And for what felt like the first time — I felt seen, I felt understood, and I felt like I could see other mothers more clearly.

I let out an exhale, an exhale held for years, an exhale that finally breathed out this knowing that was now known, this knowing that didn’t have a name now did.

And along the way, a new inhale of knowing made its way in.

The knowing of Matrescence.

When there are things in the distance that we are able to feel, yet not able to know for certain or name, there is inevitable grief. The grief I experienced was a deep sadness for not being able to see myself fully in postpartum with understanding and compassion, something I desperately wish was different.

I also felt anger at the very little we are prepared for, as we transition into becoming mothers and families.

I felt angry that dressing up our children with the backdrop of the changing months was so easy, yet there was no picture or image of what the mother holding the camera was going through; what was her developmental transition like? Did she know she was allowed to have one? I tried to go back to see if I could possibly re-create these images, but the truth was, there were hardly any pictures of me to be found, and part of that reason was that I didn’t feel as though my journey was worthy of being shown, to be captured, to be seen. I never would have thought that three years later, I would long for those images.

In this longing, what I have realized was there was also another longing.

Through these images, I longed to tell her she is right where she needs to be, that she is changing and evolving, and with that comes great disruption on every level of her being. And mostly importantly, I would long to tell her that one day her pieces will find their new home inside of her and that she will one day know herself again.

Jessie Harold, a doula and a teacher of Matrescence, often says, “You are not broken, you are becoming.”

And finally, I know the difference.