Creativity and Wellbeing Week – and a poem to share

This week is Creativity and Wellbeing Week in the UK. Since launching Mothership two years ago I’ve seen just how therapeutic a practice writing can be for new mums. It’s not just about the words you set down – it’s about giving yourself the time and space to do it. Maybe it’s only ever in snatched moments to begin with, but those moments build and build until they become a familiar rhythm and before you know it … you’re living a creative life. You’re feeding your soul. You’re paying attention to your thoughts and letting your pen move freely across the page, listening properly to the sound of your own voice – perhaps at first with doubt or hesitation then, as the pen moves, as the pages turn, loudly and clearly.

In one of our Mothership workshops this week we wrote in response to Liz Berry’s marvellous poem The Republic of Motherhood. Our exercise was to write a letter or a postcard or a message home, from this place called Motherhood. Katie wrote The Pay Off in the session, with her baby balanced on her knee – and was kind enough to let me share it here. It’s an incredibly powerful account, and I love how she so movingly incorporates the moment of writing into the piece itself.

Here’s to creativity and maternity – and always supporting each other.

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The Pay Off

Katie Stanton

You’ll come out on top
No matter what

Motherhood is struggle and regret
You will hate that version of you
Who thought you could do this

But some days, on occasion
You'll catch a glimpse of
What you thought would happen

You were signing up
For unbridled joy
What you got was misery
Trauma, depression, loss

But some days you miss him
Your perspective realigns
If only temporarily
And the joy happens, fleetingly

Eventually, you labour for those moments
(He is watching me write,
Bewitched by the pen)
Hello there little man
At last you are what I wanted

But I had to wade through shit to get here
They say pain comes before glory

You will feel like you have earned something
At the end of it all

I’ll come out on top
No matter what

***

NIGHT LIFE by Hayley

This week’s Dispatches from New Motherhood piece is NIGHT LIFE by Hayley. It’s an intimate, reflective account of the end of the day, that seemingly ever-decreasing space between the children’s bedtime and one’s own. Hayley writes with a beautifully observational eye, as she surveys the chaos of the house, and the distant allure of the world outside. Enjoy her tender piece here.

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NIGHT LIFE

Hayley

As the last light slips from around the edges of ill-fitting drapes, tiny limbs and busy minds give in to the night. The mayhem of the day ebbs away and chaos subsides. My slippered feet pad across the wooden floor, automatically navigating the debris; tiny toy cars, plastic instruments, unlidded felt tips, discarded items of clothing, unwanted pieces of dinner.

I open the fridge door, take out a bottle of wine and pour it into a large glass salvaged from the dishwasher. I take a gulp, then another, then place it down amongst the grubby plates, abandoned vegetable peelings and opened tins. I pause, inhaling slowly, exhaling even more slowly, audibly. I indulge in the luxury of having time to breathe. I try to instil some calm and order into my mind. But like a reflection of the room around me, it's in disarray. I need to gather up the last of my energy to reclaim my space, then maybe my thoughts will be less chaotic too. Resetting, in the hope I will then be able to relax, before starting again tomorrow.

A whimper from overhead. The baby, not the big one. I hold my breath and body still, like playing dead will stave off any interruption to my evening which hasn’t even yet begun. Quiet. I move to the back door, wine in hand. One of my nightly chores is to tend to guinea pigs in their hutch. As I step outside, I hear a faint bassline. I stand on the garden steps sipping wine and trying to pick out a melody. As the breeze changes direction it emerges. A boy-band ballad I recognise from my childhood. The noise of a crowd singing along rolls over the rooftops. I join in with them briefly. People doing their living. So close, but they feel a lifetime away.

A pang of longing for my old life hits me, as it sometimes does. Nighttime is now a very different beast for me. Does this mean I am too? Darkness used to burst with laughter, music, chat, dancing, drinking and planning. Now a quiet, solitary, weary time of day. I wonder when it is I now do my living. If I do at all. The odd hours, here and there, hurried and borrowed. Fleeting freedom, overwhelmed with indecisiveness.

I shake, stretch and flex, trying to awaken my body and snap my mind back into the moment and jobs in hand. Pets fed, the longing is still with me as I step inside. Determined to claw back some of the night for myself, even if only to collapse on the sofa for an hour. Another noise overhead. I can tell already that he's not going to let this one go unanswered. So, wine down and quickly I'm there, settling down next to my boy.

For now, my living is for them.

***

Night Life by Hayley appears in the Mothership Writers anthology Dispatches from New Motherhood. All 50 pieces from the book will be published here over the year to come, creating an online library of what it really means – right here, right now – to be a new mother.

LIFE IS HERE by Danielle Duggan

This week’s offering from our Dispatches from New Motherhood anthology is LIFE IS HERE by Danielle Duggan, a tender and powerfully-expressed reflection on her role as a mum, and that of others before her.

Danielle says, ‘I wanted to write about how parenting feels both mundane and profound, sometimes all at the same time. I found becoming a mum a huge adjustment and I couldn't quite believe that so many people must have felt like this including my mum and grandmas and women before them. ‘

Of her process, Danielle says, ‘I wrote whenever I got a few minutes to myself which wasn't often. Even without a pen or paper I found myself thinking about a line when I was making tea or rewording a sentence in my head while trying to get my boys down for bed.’

And of Mothership, Danielle says, ‘I remember reading about the classes when my second son was just a few days old and immediately emailing to try to get a place. The classes were such a highlight of my maternity leave, that time every two weeks was time just for me.’

Enjoy Danielle’s beautiful piece here.

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Life is Here

Danielle Duggan

You passed away the day before we found out he was a boy. As I watched him wriggling around on the screen I thought of all the amazing things he was going to experience and of the moments we had thought you would share with him and his brother. I was happy that you had known he existed at all.

When he was born I thought of you again. Holding him against me, looking into his dark eyes, just as you had held my mum in your arms as an exhausted new mother years ago, I felt the invisible thread through generations of women. You all felt this responsibility for a tiny creature you had created – did it envelop and consume you the way it does me? Some mornings I find myself staring into nothingness. Too many questions, too many decisions to make, and I feel broken – struggling to find the energy to stand up. I imagine that you felt this way once, and my mum too. I hope that this is normal, that I’m not doing it wrong.

There are moments when I feel my day should be filmed and shared with teenagers as a means of contraception. When the baby will not be put down for one second and I attempt to prepare dinner with only one functioning hand. When his older brother lies beetroot faced and wailing on the floor because he wanted the yellow plate. When their dad sleeps peacefully through the hungry insistent cries and I feel a frustration I’ve never known before. I wish I had asked more about your own experiences of motherhood and the highlights and challenges of raising a child.

At times I feel that motherhood has reduced me to a mere feeding machine, with a constant dull ache behind my eyes, and a restless anxiety in my stomach. But I also feel emboldened by being a mother. I feel braver and stronger than I ever knew I could be. I feel grateful for each day and the new experiences it will bring, both good and bad, because I am getting to share it with my boys. They are mine and I am theirs. Life is not ahead of us, or behind us, but here. It is happening in the sleepy midnight feeds, the sticky handprints, the gummy smiles, the dirty nappies, the baked-bean-smeared faces – all the things that make up every day. My sons have made me a mother, and while it may be terrifying, relentless and exhausting at times, life is more exciting and full of possibility than ever before. I hope you found it all worth it too.

***

Life is Here by Danielle Duggan appears in the Mothership Writers anthology Dispatches from New Motherhood. All 50 pieces from the book will be published here over the year to come, creating an online library of what it really means – right here, right now – to be a new mother.

MILK by Zoë Robinson

This week’s piece from Dispatches from New Motherhood is MILK by Zoe Robinson, an honest and beautifully articulated account of her breastfeeding journey. In clear-eyed prose the author writes of the challenges, the anxiety, and the support she received – and the therapeutic benefits of writing it all down.

Zoë says, ‘My son was five and a half when I wrote this - he's now six and a half - and my breastfeeding journey with him remains the most challenging thing I've ever experienced (and I've climbed a volcano in the dark). Telling this story was cathartic for me, but hard in itself because it is so personal and tinged with feelings of guilt and sadness. Unfortunately, my story is not an uncommon one - I've met many other women who have had a similarly traumatic experience of breastfeeding, made even worse when we're told 'it's easy - it's the most natural thing in the world'. But perhaps my story can offer some encouragement, hope or just relief at hearing a shared experience to others who are finding their way through.’

***

Milk

Zoë Robinson

I would have given birth ten times over if I could have avoided the pain of breastfeeding. I’m not talking about physical discomfort – I had that too, but it was nothing compared to the feelings of grief and inadequacy that gripped me each time I tried to feed my baby.

Giving birth was no picnic. Instead of the home birth I’d dreamt of, meconium in my waters meant I ended up in hospital, hooked up to synthetic oxytocin. With no epidural it was intense but months of prep and hypnobirthing helped me keep my calm. When my baby was passed to me through my legs I felt powerful and proud – in awe of my body and this incredible, beautiful creature that had landed in our lives.

But we couldn’t get the hang of breastfeeding. He found it hard to latch. I lost count of how many midwives demonstrated how to hand-express colostrum to feed him through a tiny syringe. Once we were home he cried a lot. I thought it was normal. We had dedicated support from caseload midwives, visiting almost every day and soon the feeding seemed to be improving. On day five one of the midwives weighed him. ‘Hmm, that can’t be right,’ she said, ‘let’s try again.’ She weighed him a second time and did the maths. He’d lost almost 20% of his bodyweight. How could I not have noticed?

That night he was sent to NICU and a tube was put into his stomach to get fluids in fast. The nurse asked me to pump and when I presented my efforts to him in a bottle, he said something that I remember now as, ‘Well, that’s not going to be enough.’ Never in my life had I felt so inadequate. Never had anything ever mattered so much.

This was over five years ago and I’m crying as I write this.

We spent a surreal five days in St Thomas’, falling like clockwork into the prescribed three-hourly routine – feed, formula, pump, sleep. He had his tongue tie snipped, his weight was deemed good; we were allowed home.

He regained his birth weight within the month but I continued to have difficulty breastfeeding him. My husband was our saviour. He got up with me every night for months and sat with me while my son and I still struggled, both desperately trying to find the right position, tears of failure and bewilderment tumbling down my face. He came with me to a cafe the first time I attempted – crippled with anxiety – to feed our son in public. Had it not been for his constant care I couldn’t have done it. As it was, I persevered, and I continued to breastfeed our boy until he was 18 months old.

My youngest son is now 18 months old and breastfeeding has been … calm. I hadn’t realised how much a baby’s temperament can play a part, and of course I have the wisdom of experience this time around.

***

Milk by Zoë Robinson appears in the Mothership Writers anthology Dispatches from New Motherhood. All 50 pieces from the book will be published here over the year to come, creating an online library of what it really means – right here, right now – to be a new mother.

THE ASSASSIN by Charlie Wakefield

This week’s Dispatches from New Motherhood offering is THE ASSASSIN by Charlie Wakefield. Charlie’s powerful piece opens on a playful note, but goes on to capture all of the uncertainty and vulnerability that she felt around the birth of her daughter. As the author explains, the framing of her account is testament to the many benefits of creativity when reflecting on experience.

Charlie says, ‘It probably sounds like quite an unusual title to describe the birth of my daughter. I was scared at this point and writing about it in this way helped me to deal with and overcome this experience. Plus, to have this moment captured and published turned it into a positive.’

***

The Assassin

Charlie Wakefield

The assassin shifted in his black shoes. They were embroidered with his initials: SJ. He flicked the vial and a small droplet of liquid dribbled off the syringe end. He tapped his foot, and sighed irritably as he waited to kill me. For him it was just another day and just another victim.

OK, so he wasn’t really an assassin, he was the anaesthetist. He could equally have been seen as my saviour, a knight in hospital scrubs armour: the pain instantly being relieved by his administration of the epidural. But to me he was cold, impatient and had seen this all before. Plus, I was scared.

Flashback to 10pm on the Thursday – four days earlier. I believe my waters have broken and I naively think that this is it: my baby will be here shortly. I’m being asked for the first time on the journey to the assassin, ‘Is it ok if I touch you?’ How polite, yet strange, I think. I answer ‘yes’ while wondering if you don’t touch me how the hell is this baby ever going to get out? For the next four days we yo-yo from the hospital to home.

Jump forward to Monday. Now I have to make a decision: to sign and confirm it’s OK for him to stick a needle into my spine whilst I’m effectively being held down by midwives. My partner, who has a love of reading critical thinking books, can’t stay with me; the laminated handout given to him presenting the odds is just too much if this goes wrong. I read blindly, sign and effectively agree. I’m so exhausted I don’t even notice my partner leave the room. The assassin mobilises. He administers the epidural and is gone.

The hours roll by. At some point Monday turns to Tuesday. I am now relaxed and no longer scared. I have a surreal conversation around 3am with my midwife about our cycle trip along the west coast of California. My partner who has been awake with me since Thursday finally gets some sleep beside me on the hard floor. But then in a blur of bright lights I’m being wheeled into theatre. The assassin is back. Tears stream down my face: I’m scared again. We've been here five days, and now I'm being told I'll be having my baby in three minutes – by emergency caesarean.

Fast forward to Friday 3pm. Finally, we are leaving with our baby. I am so relieved. As I stand waiting for my partner, I see a very pregnant bridesmaid emerging from a car. She's followed by the rest of the bridal party, tops and tails flapping. I have a flashback: I wonder whether she will meet the assassin too – or if for her, he will be her saviour, her knight. Either way he will be waiting. I breathe a sigh of relief and look at my baby. It’s time to leave, and start the next chapter together.

***

The Assassin by Charlie Wakefield appears in the Mothership Writers anthology Dispatches from New Motherhood. All 50 pieces from the book will be published here over the year to come, creating an online library of what it really means – right here, right now – to be a new mother.

#BADMUM by Maria Gutiez Dueñas

This week’s Dispatches from New Motherhood piece is #Badmum by Maria Gutiez Dueñas. In this deeply relatable and spirited account, Maria writes of the ideas of ‘bad’ and ‘good’ mums, and how social media can perpetuate those images; how fear of judgement can be detrimental to mental health.

Maria says, ‘I struggled. I struggled a lot. They say being a mum is not easy but it comes as a natural thing BUT I truly believe every single mum in some point has thought: "I have no idea what I am doing." I wrote this piece because I wanted to share that feeling and remind everyone that #weareallinthesameboat (and for the laughs).’

Maria’s important piece is a rallying cry to be whatever kind of mum you want to be. Enjoy it here.

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#Badmum

Maria Gutiez Dueñas

Am I doing it right? Does anybody know the answer for that? #nope.

I used to overthink everything and compare myself to everybody. I used to worry about how motherhood should be, and about how other people were doing it. I used to be terrified of such little things as going outside, of the baby crying on the bus, or of feeding her in a coffee shop – all because of 'the look'. The first time someone gave me 'the look' I was on a plane and I cried all the way to France #cryingmumsleepingbaby.

The younger me used to make jokes that if one day I got pregnant I'd make a dotted line on my belly that read ‘open here’. I'd say my boobs were just decorative. When I found out I was pregnant I was sad; not because I was expecting, but because I was unhappy that I wasn’t happy. I was miserable because I thought this wasn't how I was supposed to feel. And I had an awful pregnancy  #nothelpful.  Then I chose to have a C-section and to bottle feed and people were like #whaaaat.

People might not say you're a bad mum directly but we still feel it. It's in the small remark in the health visitor queue, it's in the well-intended advice on how to deal with temperature, it's in the 17 links to blogs about how to cook healthy food for your toddler in the Spanish mums WhatsApp group #theheartofdarkness. All of this escalates in your brain, making you reconsider everything you are doing. 

#badmum 37k posts #badmummy 17.5k posts. Most of them just banter, mothers celebrating their kids playing with their phone so they can shower, or #pizzafordinner again. However, there are many mothers that really feel bad. As if they're inadequate. As if they're failing. Why do so many of us use that hashtag? Why do we worry so much about what others think?

Try to remember that behind every #proudmummy #besttimeofmylife #lovebeingamum there is also #haventsleptforamonth #hidinginlootopostthis or #haventtalkedtoanadulttoday. And, above all, try not to compare yourself to the idea of the #goodmum.  #goodmum plays with her kid with wooden blocks. She only eats organic food. She reads a book at bedtime after brushing her child's teeth every night. She recovered her pre-pregnant body by running for charity. She always looks great, is really good at crafts and her Instagram acount has 4000 followers. She even manages to have sex from time to time.

I'm a #survivorproudbadmum and here's what I think: a good mum is not about all that stuff. A good mum is YOU. It's me. And we do our best; we do our unique and awesome parenting. We care, we cry, we sleep on the floor, we have crumbs in our hair, we are constantly tired and we wear maternity clothes long after we've had the baby but ... so what?

We are #greatbadmummies and we rock.

***

#Badmum by Maria Gutiez Dueñas appears in the Mothership Writers anthology Dispatches from New Motherhood. All 50 pieces from the book will be published here over the year to come, creating an online library of what it really means – right here, right now – to be a new mother.

SWEET SERAFAEL by Sarafina Finch

This week we’re back to sharing pieces from the Mothership Writers anthology, Dispatches from New Motherhood, a book that contains work from the pilot programme of Mothership, that ran in 2019/20. SWEET SERAFAEL is a beautifully rhythmic and heartfelt poem by Sarafina Finch. It’s a song of praise and self-discovery, spanning the first year of her son’s life, and the first year of her motherhood.

Sarafina says, ‘Sweet Serafael' is an ode to the light of my life, my first born son. It was one of the first pieces I wrote with Mothership Writers and honestly my absolute favourite. Serafael was born in April and was around six weeks old when I wrote the first three stanzas. The warmth and freshness of spring had well and truly arrived. I was experiencing the beauty of new motherhood, whilst also dealing with the big feelings that single motherhood brought upon me. The inner turmoil kept me dancing between joy and confused devastation. That being said, Serafael so effortlessly gave me the opportunity to grow and develop my wisdom. The final four stanzas were my gift to Serafael for his first birthday. We'd both grown so much and I wanted to capture this in words that memorialised more than a photo ever could. Serafael had shown himself to be an absolutely incredible soul. My confidence as a Woman and Mother had grown through guiding him. Maya Angelou's 'Phenomenal Woman' gave words to my bloom. Ultimately, 'Sweet Serafael' is a poem of my pride and joy for the life I created. It acts as a time capsule for the precious moments that often slip from our memory as time passes and our sweet babies grow. I’m hoping to find the time to add to the poem to mark his 2nd birthday. Mothership helped me birth a tradition, for this I am forever grateful.’

Enjoy Sarafina’s radiant poem here.

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Sweet Serafael

Sarafina Finch

In the twilight zone between awake and asleep we exist,
Me and you … you and I. 
A space in the bed once saved for your father 
Has now become the space saved for you, 
Sweet Serafael. 

Awake, I nourish you with everything I have. 
I am yours entirely. 
Asleep, I protect you and keep you warm. 
Mornings are filled with the purest love, 
Sweet Serafael. 

Thank you for bringing the mornings to me, 
For opening my eyes to the wisdom of the sunrise. 
Each day brand new. 
Your endless possibilities
Wipe away the troubles of the previous day,
Sweet Serafael.

Almost a year on,
As the sun rises upon the horizon,
Still in the safety of my bed
You spring awake,
Ready for the adventures of a new day,
Sweet Serafael.

As the early bird catches the worm,
I notice the subtle passing of Winter.
How the light dances through the window,
With a greater presence 
Than the weeks just before.
Spring has sprung 
And so have you,
Sweet Serafael.

You’ve inspired me.
As I search for an inner calm,
To counter your outer charm.
I hold gratitude in my heart for you,
Sweet Serafael.

Thank you for choosing me.
For guiding me to be
The Phenomenal Woman,
A title that was always meant for me.
It is and always will be
An honour and a privilege to guide you
In this life and the next,
Sweet Serafael. 

 ***

Sweet Serafael by Sarafina Finch appears in the Mothership Writers anthology Dispatches from New Motherhood. All 50 pieces from the book will be published here over the year to come, creating an online library of what it really means – right here, right now – to be a new mother.

BEHIND THE WORDS

Since launch two weeks ago, Born in Lockdown has amazingly been dowloaded 4,500 times and raised more than £5,700 for Sands. We’ve been featured on BBC News, and were also the lead story on Positive News – happy days indeed. The southwest's biggest independent magazine Bristol 24/7 helped spread the word too (they were a project partner way back when Mothership first launched in 2019). Meanwhile we had a wonderful and very personal blog review from Aniqa's Attic, with Aniqa writing, ‘For the first time in a very long time, I've felt the world has spoken the words I couldn't speak, and there are those who understand me.’

If you haven’t read Born in Lockdown yet, you can download it here.

We’d love you to meet a few more of our Born in Lockdown contributors, and hear from them why they wanted to be part of our project and make their voices heard.

MEET KIA. Kia says, ‘As a first time mum who gave birth during the early weeks of the pandemic I struggled with not having any visitors, I felt as though I was entering motherhood without a support network. Later in the year the opportunity came up to join the Born in Lockdown project. It allowed me to share my voice about the realities of having a baby in lockdown. Through the project I wanted to let other mothers know through solidarity we would survive this difficult time and I also wanted a way to mark that I was part of history as one of the mothers who gave birth during the pandemic. Born in Lockdown gave me a reason to write every day, it gave me a way to channel my emotions and it gave me a way to reflect on my own personal motherhood journey. Born in Lockdown was my village.’

MEET ANJALI. Anjali says, ‘When I first heard of Born in Lockdown, I knew it was something that would help me put down on paper how I was feeling about the whole experience of having had a baby during a very unusual time in our lives. Something had been simmering in my mind for a while – I wasn't quite sure how long or exactly what, but I knew I wanted to communicate it in some way. So it was a brilliant coincidence that I heard about the project when I did – it lifted a part of the weight I felt I'd been carrying around.’

‘I'd had a hard time conceiving, and was lucky enough for IVF to have worked despite my age (I was 39 when I had Tarun last August). I was incredibly grateful, but after the physical and emotional trauma of multiple rounds of IVF, I was nervous the entire time I was pregnant. Thankfully, I had a fairly smooth pregnancy. Then lockdown hit, and between having to attend appointments alone and coming up with multiple scenarios of what to do when I went into labour, I felt really lost and down for a large chunk of it – I especially missed my parents. Reading the finished Born in Lockdown project was a realisation that so many of us have done it in a way we wouldn't have ever chosen to, but we did it because we had to and we have these amazing babies in our lives as a result.’

MEET ZOE. Zoe says, ‘The project gave me the push to take my minutes with my thoughts. I didn't think writing was "my thing," but when I put pen to paper, things started to flow and it felt powerful that my experiences of becoming a mother during a global pandemic were about to be heard. Trying to learn the role of being a mum with little support has been lonely and overwhelming at times, but reading through the completed book made me feel so proud. Proud of myself, and all the other 2020 mums, for getting through each day. It has been a big confidence boost, and something I will kept referring back to when times get tough. I hope to continue writing my experiences down so that when my twins are older, I can read them segments about the things we went through together, the good, the bad and the pandemic!’

MEET SHIPRA. Shipra says, ‘Experiencing pregnancy and becoming a first-time mum during lockdown has definitely been a journey. Luckily I’ve never felt lonely or isolated, I knew instantly that I had to change my mindset. I enjoyed the moments, as no-one could control what’s going on in these crazy times. Worrying and being anxious wouldn’t help me, my baby or my experience. I wanted to look back and still have wonderful memories and not feel like it’s been tainted! It was not an experience I was willing to give up because of coronavirus!’

‘But I too experienced challenges and for me the biggest challenge was experiencing that hospital environment, I’ll be honest, it was quite terrifying at first – doing it alone, seeing midwives masked and gowned up, the black and yellow tape around to enforce the two metre rule. It was all so odd and so clinical. The hardest part for me and my husband was that he wasn’t allowed to attend all my ultrasound and hospital appointments but I was thankful that he was allowed to join me during childbirth.’

‘We are both in ways thankful for lockdown, as we’ve learned to slow down and enjoy the simple things in life so much more. Whilst this isn’t at all what we would have wished for my pregnancy, it was in some ways a blessing in disguise for me and my husband Tyrone as we have been able to spend quality time. Thank you for letting me share my experience and for bringing all these strong women together. Well Done To All The Mummies Out There!’ 

MEET NATASHA. Natasha says, ‘I was eight months pregnant with my first child when I moved house to a new area. It was two weeks before the first national lockdown. I thought that I’d meet local mums during maternity leave in the usual ways of baby classes and activities, but all these lifelines suddenly vanished. I was ecstatic to have my baby, but I also felt bereft, isolated and lonely. Moreover, this one precious year off work was flying by without much to commemorate it for my daughter – no new people, no new places, no adventures, nothing to make one monotonous lockdown week different from the next. I felt a compulsion to record this time somehow, so that I’d have something to show for it. Born in Lockdown gave me the opportunity to be part of the community and activity that I craved. Writing helped me feel purposeful where I had felt powerless, and it gave me a sense of validation to feel involved in creating a document of true cultural value.’

MEET GEMMA. Gemma says, ‘After Nina was born, I had started writing letters to the girls once a month, doing this gave me the chance to identify the positive whilst processing and coping with things that were difficult. Born in lockdown gave me an opportunity to share my experience and help build something for others to read and relate to.’

‘I imagined that my maternity leave would be filled with playdates and baby classes - I couldn't have been more wrong. Navigating through a pandemic with a newborn and toddler was challenging to say the least! I'm sad our friends and family have missed out on the first (almost) year of Nina's life, and watching her and Maya's special bond. But we've been able to do everything at a slower pace and savour it. We didn't have people over every minute of the day when she was born, so we didn't have to ask people for space. We didn't have anyone saying, "What do you mean you've not left her yet?" when we wouldn't have been ready to, as the restrictions meant we couldn't. Yes, so much has been lost, but I feel like we've gained even more.’ 

MEET ROSE. Rose says, ‘Being heavily pregnant, during a heatwave, in a national lockdown, with a hyperactive toddler, was intense! I don’t know how we made it through those 10 weeks before I gave birth. It was a very unique experience and not something I would like to repeat.’

‘One of my toughest days came two weeks after my baby was born, my eldest daughter became really sick. No one was allowed in the house to help and our GP wouldn’t see her in person. She went to A&E without me because of the risk to the new baby. I felt helpless and very alone. ‘

‘For me the Born In Lockdown project was a way of creating something beautiful out of such a challenging time. It’s an incredible account of the courage and determination of women. It demonstrates that although we have been apart during this pandemic, we have come together as members of the new Lockdown Motherhood.’

MEET ZOMUANPUII. Zomuanpuii says, ‘I took part in the Born In Lockdown project after I joined the Instagram group of Mothership Writers run by Emylia Hall. I am grateful to be able to contribute to this amazing project. After reading the completed ebook Born In Lockdown, I thank Emylia for uniting us mums to share our experiences during these strange times of the global pandemic! The stories shared by other mums in the same situation reminded me that I am not alone. I felt heard, supported, and encouraged.’

‘One particular challenge for me as a new mum during lockdown is that I am not able to share our journey and special moments with family and friends. My parents and siblings who live 5000 miles away in Mizoram, a small state in north east India, have not yet met our son who’s nearly a year old now.’

THANK YOU to every single one of our 277 writers. And thank you to Kia, Anjali, Zoe, Shipra, Natasha, Gemma, Rose and Zomuanpuii for sharing your stories here today.

BORN IN LOCKDOWN IS OUT IN THE WORLD!

Today is launch day for Born in Lockdown, our one-of-a-kind story with 277 authors and one shared experience: becoming a new mother in 2020. You can download it HERE. As a book, Born in Lockdown is an important piece of social history; as a project, it’s testament to the power of creativity to help us through tough times, and the cathartic benefits of writing. We couldn’t be more proud of it.

As Mothership founder Emylia Hall writes in the introduction to the book, ‘as you read, you’ll be hearing 277 different voices from all across the UK (including a few from overseas too): overlapping, echoing, and sometimes opposing. No single author’s fragments appear side by side. All the writers’ words are verbatim and unedited – and every single one deserves to be read.

You’ll notice the recurring themes of the missing ‘village,’ of isolation and uncertainty, and the extra pressures on mental health, just as you’ll also read of silver linings, new connections, and incredible gifts. Altogether, our book is a remarkable record of new motherhood at this time; an unflinchingly honest and moving account, where – despite the pain and hardship – such love and hope shine through.’

While Born in Lockdown is free for anyone to read, if you can afford it, we’d love it if you’d make a donation, however, small, to the brilliant charity Sands.

We’re very grateful to the 277 new mums who put pen to paper through the 2nd lockdown, establishing a daily writing practice, and trusting us with their stories. Let’s meet a few of these amazing writers, and hear why they wanted to make their voices heard …

MEET JULIETTE from Bristol. Juliette says, ‘Sands is a wonderful charity very dear to my heart. In autumn 2018 my son Daniel was stillborn and Sands provided invaluable support to me at this time and throughout my subsequent pregnancy.’

‘Pregnancy after a loss is incredibly stressful and with the onset of the Coronavirus pandemic the anxiety was often overwhelming. Throughout my pregnancy I was suffering with PTSD which made hospital appointments and scans extremely triggering. As the pandemic progressed I had to face these and the early stages of labour alone. With immense gratitude and a tremendous sigh of relief our beautiful daughter Chloe was born safely in May 2020. A little sister to our beloved Daniel.’

‘The Born in Lockdown project for me was a way to process what I had been through in pregnancy and as a new mum during the pandemic. Contributing to this creative and collaborative project was an opportunity to document a very unique moment in time. It also provided a wonderful feeling of community during what was, and still is, a very isolating time as a new mother.’

MEET ROXY from Manchester. Roxy says, ‘Becoming a mother for the first time in 2020 was the most bizarre and unexpected experience! I’ll never forget having to wear a mask throughout my emergency c-section and walking out of the hospital to security guards and barriers.’

‘Being isolated as a new parent had been my worst nightmare, so it was tough for it to have come true. With the added stress of our baby being readmitted to hospital for surgery at seven weeks old, and later, my Dad dying from Covid-19, I developed postnatal depression. I think, as a Neonatal Nurse, people just expected me to know what to do, regardless – and I probably expected it of myself, too! ‘

‘I feel lucky that a Health Visitor at the SureStart centre drew my attention to the Born in Lockdown project.  Everyone has been facing their own unique challenges during the pandemic, so I felt the pressure to put on a ‘brave face’.  The Born in Lockdown project gave me the chance to express myself more honestly and to feel that bit more connected to other mums in a situation where the ‘normal’ places to get together have been taken away from us.’

MEET JADE from the South-East. Jade says, ‘We often hear how 2020 was an unprecedented year. From the pandemic to the BLM movement, the way in which we interacted with each other and viewed the world changed beyond comprehension. ‘

‘For me 2020 was also an unprecedented year emotionally. Being pregnant, raising a toddler and then giving birth, amongst news stories stating how the pandemic was disproportionately affecting black communities and black mothers, added an extra layer of complexity and emotional strain I didn’t think was possible.’

‘So when the opportunity came to document what it was like to be a mum in lockdown, I jumped at the chance. I saw this as an opportunity to begin to verbalise the different emotions I was experiencing as well as understanding the experiences of other mothers too. It was a chance to reflect not just on hard times but the many blessings I had encountered during this time.’

MEET CHARLOTTE from Hertfordshire. Charlotte says, ‘I saw the Born in Lockdown project shared on Instagram and felt compelled to get involved and share a fragment of my experience as a second time mum in 2020. I suffered with PND after my first baby and wanted my experience to be so different this time, however the challenges and isolation of 2020 hit me hard. They say ‘it takes a village’ to raise a child and my village was unable to be with us. I was left navigating mothering a newborn and two-year-old alone, severely sleep deprived whilst my husband worked all the hours possible to recoup losses from 4 months of being unable to work.’

‘I am sure my story is not unique, nor am I alone in experiencing PND or grieving for what my 2020 motherhood journey could have been without Covid-19. I wanted to share a small snippet of my journey in the hope it will help open up more honest conversations about the challenges of motherhood and maternal mental health in 2020 and beyond.’

MEET LISA from London. Lisa says, ‘I was six months pregnant when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I gave birth prematurely in early 2020 then started chemotherapy a month before we went into lockdown. In the six weeks between diagnosis and birth, I’d come to terms with my second experience of motherhood being very different to my first; what I didn’t anticipate was how different it would be for so many. ‘

‘When pregnant, I joined a group of other soon-to-be mums online, a community which became an unparalleled source of support during an unprecedented year, and it was in this group that one of our members shared the Born in Lockdown project. I’m an avid reader and former bookseller, but as an adult I’ve only dabbled in creative writing. I felt like I had things I wanted to say, but no idea how to find the time between nappy changes and hospital appointments to start saying them - this project seemed a good place to start!’

‘I still have a lot to process from a year (and counting) of parenting and being a cancer patient during a pandemic, but being part of this amazing collaborative work has been cathartic, inspirational and humbling. I can’t wait to read it.’

MEET FARRAH from London. Farrah says, 'I heard about Born in Lockdown through Twitter while I was still in hospital with my twins. Due to some complications we had a protracted stay and even though I was exhausted I'd woken up while they were sleeping so was mindlessly scrolling. My first thought was ‘I don't have time, I've got newborn twins and a toddler at home’ but my second was ‘I'd really like to.’ I love to write as much as I love to read. I'd found audio books a sanity saviour with my eldest and thought maybe these short pieces could be my gateway back to writing and clearing the chaos in mind with three kids under three during lockdown 2. I asked if I was eligible given the twins weren't my first and Emylia's reply was so quick and kind I thought OK, I'll try. She sent such comprehensive guidance even my frazzled mind could follow and so I did.’ 

‘As I recalled and recorded my experiences, I felt the fog of nappies, feeds, concerns about the dreaded latch lift. For a few minutes, by writing a few sentences I was me again. Not a mum of three but Farrah.’

‘I found out I was pregnant just before lockdown 1 and gave birth in lockdown 2.  Having a high-risk pregnancy isn't ideal anytime but the pandemic added a layer of fear I couldn't shake, no matter how wonderful the NHS staff were. I'd sit alone in waiting rooms knowing my loved ones were, WiFi willing, a few buttons away but technology cannot replace touch. ‘

‘In the weeks leading up to their birth I was submerged in a world of worry as I saw Covid cases rise. Some of those worries became reality and others fizzled away replaced by new ones. Who could safely look after our toddler if my husband came to the birth? Would he be allowed? If so, for how long? Was it fair to ask anyone to look after our toddler, given we'd have been more exposed to people at the hospital? The questions whirled and as the news got worse my anxiety rose. Logically I knew I wasn't alone experiencing this, I saw pregnant women at every appointment, heard them on the labour ward and their babies cry on the postnatal ward but it has felt lovely being part of a collective wanting to write about it.'

MEET TESSA from Somerset. Tessa says, ‘I’m an older, single, queer, parent by choice who got involved with Mothership Writers after the birth of my first child back in 2018. Those regular meet-ups provided a structure through which to document the intensity of that time which otherwise felt too vast to channel through something as focussed as the nib of a pen. Those fragments will journey with us through my firstborn’s life, and I’m so grateful to the Mothership for getting us there.’

‘As that course culminated, I had gotten pregnant with my second and was getting to grips with that as a life choice and finding faith in the decisions I’d made as a person with a precarious life and a lot of responsibility. I wrote Alarm Bells Sound then (included in the Mothership Writers anthology Dispatches from New Motherhood). In this next project, Born in Lockdown, I gave birth to my second in surprising circumstances and enjoyed feeling part of a collective voice in this time of isolation. Mothership helped us document this journey.’

MEET NAOMI from Oxfordshire. Naomi says, ‘When I started my second (and likely final) maternity leave last July, I was still under the delusion that things would be back to normal soon and I would have so much ordinary time with my son. However, it soon became clear that that wouldn't be happening, with a traumatic, lonely labour, limited visits from grandparents, baby groups on Zoom, and months where the only thing allowed to break the monotony was a walk with the buggy. My friend suggested that I start to write, and passed me the details of the Born in Lockdown Project.’

‘Writing my fragments really helped me to organise my anxieties around having a baby in the pandemic. It also helped me to pick out the small positives in each day, and knowing that there were 276 more 2020 mums writing for it too helped me feel part of a community and less alone in my experiences. Since the project finished, I have continued to use writing as an outlet, and believe this to have had a positive impact on my current mental health.’

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THANK YOU to every single one of our 277 Born in Lockdown writers. You are all amazing. We hope that our book helps new mums feel less alone, while letting the rest of us understand what it was like to become a new mother in 2020. And to remind us, ultimately, that we’re all in this together.

ANXIOUS, OVERWHELMED, LONELY AND LOST by Kimberley Dean

This week’s offering from Dispatches from New Motherhood is ANXIOUS, OVERWHELMED, LONELY AND LOST, an incredibly powerful piece from Kimberley Dean. It charts Kimberley’s journey though early motherhood, focusing in on key moments where she’s felt each of the emotions from the title. Its honesty and self-awareness is so moving, and her closing paragraph – her closing line – goes to the very heart of what Mothership is all about.

Kimberley says, ‘Becoming a mum had a real effect on my mental health, how I felt about my body, my confidence and my self esteem and I wanted to focus on this in my piece. There were a few key experiences that had stuck with me and I wanted to write about them as honestly and viscerally as I could. I found it really hard to write as it felt so raw and because I didn't have any confidence in my own writing. I found the time when Ralph napped to just write and the piece slowly came together. Although I still find it painful for read, it is by far one of the best things I did on my maternity leave and has helped me get my confidence back!’

We’re proud to share Kimberley’s piece here, and hope that in reading it other mums will feel less alone in their feelings.

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Anxious, Overwhelmed, Lonely and Lost

Kimberley Dean

Anxious, overwhelmed, lonely and lost.

Ralph is six days old and I’m standing in the kitchen, surrounded by fish and chips. I hear visitors’ voices in the living room and all I want to do is cry. The smell of salt and vinegar is all-consuming. I’m shovelling fish and chips into my mouth as fast as I can even though eating is the last thing I want to do right now. The house feels so small and full and I just want everyone to leave.

Anxious, overwhelmed, lonely and lost.

Ralph is six weeks old and I’m having lunch with my NCT group. The conversation turns to breastfeeding but I can’t join in. It never worked for us, and it was making me so unhappy I took the hard decision to stop for my own wellbeing. Rather than feeling proud that I was able to breastfeed and keep my son alive for five weeks, I see myself as a failure. I don’t feel able to share this. Ralph is starting to fuss so I use it as an excuse to leave the lunch early. It’s a sunny day, which I’m grateful for as no one can see that I’m crying behind my sunglasses as I walk home.

Anxious, overwhelmed, lonely and lost.

Ralph is six months old and I’m heading down East Street. ‘You’ve got your figure back quick!’ shouts a random stranger. I smile politely and walk on. I get home and look at myself in the mirror. All I see are droopy boobs, a saggy tummy, a double chin, stretchmarks and an extra stone of weight. This isn’t the body I used to have. A third-degree tear during labour, followed by a couple of hours in theatre and months of physio has meant I’m still not able to do any type of exercise yet. I feel like my body is no longer my own. All I want to do is put my trainers on and run, to be me again, but I can’t.

Anxious, overwhelmed, lonely and lost.

Ralph is nine months old and I’m sitting in my living room trying to write this piece. I’m finding it really hard to figure out what to say. I want it to be visceral, emotional and real but I can’t seem to find the words. I’m crying as I write and debating whether to send anything in for the anthology. I don’t feel like my experience is unique or that anyone would want to read what I have to say. I’ve lost all my confidence. Since having Ralph, this has become my new normal. No longer knowing who I am or even who I used to be.

But I get the words down anyway. Because if becoming a mum has taught me anything, it’s that I do deserve to be heard.

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Anxious, Overwhelmed, Lonely and Lost by Kimberley Dean appears in the Mothership Writers anthology Dispatches from New Motherhood. All 50 pieces from the book will be published here over the year to come, creating an online library of what it really means – right here, right now – to be a new mother.