Bringing our girl home was surreal just like all moms say. I got on my couch. I took deep breaths. I waited for the overwhelming flood of pure joy. It came. But it also came with something else: a strangeness I wasn't prepared to name. Who is this lady in my home now caring for a child? Husband is now a dad what will that be like? Who does what? Where do we start?

We did so many things right. Our baby was healthy. Our family showed up. We had plans, we had fun. And yet, there was this peculiar feeling like we were living in someone else's life, watching ourselves move through the motions while something fundamental had shifted beneath us. That's the fourth trimester. I personally think it’s impossible to prepare for it.

The Fourth Trimester Isn't What You Think It Is

First, let's name what we're talking about: the fourth trimester per ‘most of the internet’ is roughly the first three months after birth. It's that in-between time when your baby is here but you're still recovering. You just has a 40 week medical event (my brother called it this best term ever so accurate) and smooth or traumatic, it happened. At this time, you're likely not sure if what you're feeling is joy or dissociation. You love your baby more than you've ever loved anything …and also kind of want to disappear.

Doctors call it postpartum adjustment. Therapists call it a critical mental health period. But I call it the strangest, most contradictory, most tender time I've ever lived through.

And I wish someone had told me: all of it is normal. The joy AND the tension AND the strange blurry moments are not signs you're failing. They're signs you're human.

The Peace Moments (These Are Real)

There were moments in those early weeks that felt sacred. Day or night, baby sleeping on my chest, cat at my feet, everyone else in the house silent. The house breathing around us. No one needing anything. No expectations. Just me and this tiny human I created, existing together in the dark. Exquisite.

There's a kind of peace that only comes after you've been through something intense. You've survived birth. Your baby is here and healthy. You're alive. For a few seconds at a time, that's enough. That's everything. I'd be feeding my baby and suddenly feel this wave of gratitude so big it almost knocked me over. I'd look at my partner holding our baby and think: we made this. we're doing this. this is real. We prayed and waited and wished and now it’s real.

The peace wasn't constant, but when it came, it was profound.

The Tension (This Is Also Normal)

But here's the part nobody wants to talk about: there was tension. Between my partner and me. Between who I used to be and who I felt myself becoming. Between my body and my mind. Between my expectations and reality. Eventually some nights were hard. Someone always needed something. Everyone was tired. Small disagreements became big ones. "Why didn't you do X?" "I thought you were handling Y?" We were still in a tremendous love upswing but operating from a place of scarcity: scarcity of sleep, of space, of patience.

There was tension in my own skin. My body didn't feel like mine. I was healing from birth while simultaneously being needed constantly. My breasts hurt. My emotions were all over the place. One minute I was fine, the next I was crying at a commercial. The tensions ran between love and resentment. Between gratitude and rage. Between "this is the most important thing I've ever done" and "I want to run away, will I never have a break again."

Nobody tells you that you can feel both things at the same time. That you can be the most devoted mother and also be angry. That you can love your baby fiercely and also feel trapped by the demands of newborn care. The tension doesn't mean something is wrong. It means you're experiencing something real and complicated.

The Strange Times (Dissociation Is More Common Than You Think)

There were moments that felt out of body: I'd go through the motions, feed, change, soothe, repeat…and feel like I was floating above myself. Is this what's happening? Is this real? When did I become a mother? Who am I now?

I'd read something about postpartum anxiety or depression and think: Is this me? Am I okay? But I wasn't sad exactly. I wasn't anxious exactly (well a bit of OCD style anxiety was real). I was mostly just feeling... strange. Untethered.

Turns out, this dissociation, this sense of observing your own life from the outside, is incredibly common in the postpartum period. Your hormones are in free fall. You're severely sleep-deprived. Your entire identity has shifted overnight. Of course you feel strange. The strange moments weren't signs I was broken. They were signs my nervous system was adjusting to the most dramatic change of my life.

The Joy (Yes, It's Real)

And then there was the joy. Not the Instagram-worthy joy. The messy, complicated, caught-me-off-guard joy. Beanie baby smiled. The joy of my baby's hand wrapped around my finger. The joy of my partner stepping in to hold the baby so I could take a shower, knowing I was going to cry in that shower and it was okay. The joy of my mom sitting in my living room, not judging, just being while I figured out how to be a mother. The joy of surviving a really hard night and making it to morning. The joy of realizing I'm actually doing this. I'm actually a mother. And I'm not completely falling apart.

The joy was there, woven through the difficulty. Not as a consolation prize. Not as a way to make the hard parts worth it. Just... there. Real. Enough.

The Blurry Moments (And That's Okay)

Most of the fourth trimester is blurry. I have photos from those first weeks and I can barely remember them being taken. I look at my baby in those photos and think: Did that actually happen? Was I really there?

The blurriness comes from sleep deprivation, hormones, and just the sheer intensity of adjusting to a new reality. Your brain is protecting you by making some of it fuzzy. It's a kindness, actually. Those blurry moments aren't moments you're wasting or missing out on. They're moments your nervous system is processing at a different pace than your consciousness. You're actually there, even if you can't remember being there.

The blurriness passes. One day you wake up and realize you can remember what day it is. You're sleeping more than 2-hour stretches. Your baby isn't brand new anymore. The blurriness lifts. And you realize: I did it. We did it. A milestone and a groove. We are in this and it’s working.

The Contradiction That Holds It All

The fourth trimester is the hardest, most beautiful, most confusing time. You're exhausted and exhilarated. You're deeply bonded and also touched out. You're grateful and resentful. You're present and dissociated. You're doing everything right and everything feels wrong. All of it is true at the same time.

If someone had told me in the hospital: "You're going to feel all of this. The peace and the tension. The joy and the strangeness. The blurriness and the crystal clear moments. You're going to feel it all, sometimes in the same afternoon, and that means you're exactly where you need to be"…I think it would have helped.

Because I spent a lot of that time thinking something was wrong with me. That I should feel one way or the other. That good mothers feel good all the time. That if I was struggling, I must be failing. But that's not how the fourth trimester works.

What I Wish I'd Known

The fourth trimester is a real transition, not just a recovery period. Your body is healing, yes. But you're also becoming someone new. That's huge. That's worthy of respect and gentleness.
The weird feelings don't mean something is wrong. Dissociation, tension, blurriness, these are normal nervous system responses to an abnormal situation (you just birthed a human and now they're here and you're responsible forever).
You don't have to feel grateful to justify the difficulty. Yes, your baby is a blessing. That doesn't mean the fourth trimester isn't hard. Both things are true.
The blurriness is temporary. Around week 12, something shifts. Your baby starts smiling more. You start sleeping slightly more. The fog lifts. You realize you survived.
You need support, even if you "did it right." Having a healthy baby and a good partner doesn't mean you don't need help. You do. Ask for it. Let people bring you meals and hold your baby so you can shower.
Your relationship will survive the tension. My partner and I were speaking in grunts by day 5. By week 8, we were holding hands again. The tension doesn't mean you're broken as a couple. It means you're both exhausted and adjusting.
This time is fleeting. I know it doesn't feel that way at 3 AM when you've been up for 4 hours. But one day your baby will sleep through the night. And you'll miss some of it (not the exhaustion, but the closeness, the quiet, the intensity).

If You're In The Fourth Trimester Right Now

You're not failing. You're not broken. You're not weak for struggling. You're not ungrateful for finding it hard. You're in one of the most transformative, disorienting, beautiful, difficult times of your life. And you're doing it. You're showing up. You're holding your baby. You're surviving the nights and the tension and the strangeness.

That's everything.

The peace will come in small moments and you'll be surprised by how much it heals you. The tension will ease, even if it doesn't disappear. The strange blurriness will lift and you'll remember your own name again. The joy will surprise you with its intensity. And one day, you'll realize: I'm not in the fourth trimester anymore. I'm on the other side. I made it through.

You will too. Take it from me years later, feeling fully you again might take you more time. We’re all on different paths. Don’t rush.

What Helped Me Through

Letting go of expectations about what I "should" be feeling
Talking about it with my partner, my mom, my friends
Grounding practices when dissociation felt too intense (more on that in another post)
Sleep (whenever I could get it) and support (asking for and accepting help)
Remembering that this phase is temporary, that my nervous system would recalibrate, that it gets easier

And yes, meditation and mindfulness. Not as a cure-all, but as a way to come home to my body when it felt like I was floating away. Even five minutes of breath awareness helped me feel like myself again.

The fourth trimester taught me something I needed to learn: transformation is messy. New beginnings have tension and strangeness alongside the joy. And the most powerful thing I can do is witness all of it without trying to fix it or prettify it.

You're Not Alone In This

If you're in the fourth trimester and you're feeling any of this - the tension, the strangeness, the blurriness - you're not alone. Thousands of mothers are feeling it right now. Sitting in the darkness. Questioning themselves. Surviving on no sleep and pure love.

You're doing it. And you're doing it better than you think.

Have you been through the fourth trimester? What surprised you? What helped you most? Let's normalize the messy, beautiful, complicated truth of bringing a baby home.

If you're struggling with postpartum depression, anxiety, or intrusive thoughts, please reach out to a mental health professional. Postpartum Support International has resources at PSI.org.