Families

HI! I'm Joni Edelman, Editor-In-Chief here at Ravishly. Parenting is some hard shit.

Her birth turned my life upside down in the very best way a tiny human can; and through her, I’ve learned some of the most profound life lessons.
By “profound lessons,” I mean, “I have fucked up a lot of times.”

I scrolled through my Instagram feed to catch a photo of a friend’s first tattoo. It was an abstract design that paid homage to her wedding venue, a distinctive historic site in her home state. The tattoo seemed sweet at first, but then I read the photo caption. My friend had gotten inked to honor the child she lost in miscarriage.

CN: mention of postpartum depression/suicidality. Generally, in my experience, people often get so excited about a new baby, that they forget that postpartum women need doting on, too.

“Don’t talk to strangers. Unless they resemble George Clooney and have a steady job at Microsoft. In that case, give them Mommy’s number, or just walk them straight home with you.”

If I was lucky, I would find an outfit that properly hid my figure such that I looked pretty OK. It was always my body that failed the test, never the clothing. That day, I realized that pregnancy had changed something fundamental for me: I loved how I looked. I loved my bump, I loved what it signified, and I loved how people treated me.

I understand that feeling good is far more important than looking good. But it's hard to not get caught up in the frenzy to lose all the baby weight when that's the only thing everyone seems to comment on post-delivery.

Prescribe, refer, repeat — that was the drill for several years. It wasn’t until I started to explore the impact of childhood adversity that I saw the big picture, and it began to make sense.