Sandy Jorgenson

Griping about adulting is a fun thing that we like to do, I know.

Life is hard work, and I think we all know this with varying degrees of certainty. It’s grueling, it’s relentless, it’s at times unforgiving, and it is always a damn hustle. So if you want a piece of coffee cake, get that cake, girl.

Everybody who’s a parent can attest to the fact that the lives they once knew are far behind them.

Sitting now on the cusp of my 35th birthday, I find myself taking stock of my life thus far, shoving my youth under a microscope while I ask myself this one thing: Am I careening full-tilt toward my final days on this earth, or am I only just getting started here?

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I didn’t start out as a particularly easygoing person.

So, women, I’m talking to you — give yourself permission to love every inch of you. Honor your body, and meet it where it is. To those of you who’ve given birth: you’re forever changed. Relinquish the idea that you need to get your body back to looking the way it did before your baby was born.

Based on my experience, I can tell you with confidence that there exists a list of perfectly reasonable ways to cope with that endless stream of bullshit that your kids are pumping out on the regular. None of this stuff is going to bring you the blessed satisfaction that comes with screaming out all your favorite swear words while you tear off your clothing in a fit of rage and flush yourself down the toilet, but until such a time arises, this list will at least provide some healthy alternatives to deep-diving through your city’s sewer system when you need relief most.

My daughter was just reaching her first birthday before the dense fog of postpartum depression started to lift off of me. I didn’t realize it right away, though – and I certainly hadn’t even realized I was suffering from PPD at all.

I know motherhood is hard. Especially new motherhood — those early days are a fog of tears, confusion, and helplessness. But I also know that yearning for something you can’t have, particularly with regard to children, is a feeling far worse. I’ve lived through the pain of childbirth, of a 3rd-degree tear, two related surgeries and a year of recovery, of postpartum depression, of miscarriage and of infertility and my god; I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat if it meant a chance to… Well, to do it all over again.