Your Body Is Not an Inconvenience
Redefining success means refusing to abandon yourself to ‘bounce back’.
I’m sharing this newsletter in a different style today. Not one with a format or structure that guides you to actions or steps. Not something neatly wrapped in a bow, but that’s raw and human.
Because I’ve been sitting with something lately that I can’t sum up with a few bullet points, and because I know I’m not the only one quietly carrying this.
If you’re a woman building a life of ambition and meaning, especially after pregnancy, fertility issues, birth, or any other major health event, women’s health isn’t a side topic. It’s the foundation beneath everything.
The part we don’t say out loud.
There’s a version of success that looks great on the outside after having a child: you’re back at work, back on your feet, back in motion, back producing.
And then there’s the quieter reality many women live with.
Our bodies have changed, our nervous system is more on edge, and our sleep patterns are different. Our digestion is off, and our pelvic floor isn’t what it used to be. Not to mention the hormones—oh, the hormones.
But more importantly, our relationship with our own strength is different.
Of course, you’re grateful. You love your child. You’re proud of what you endured. But also, you’re struggling with what happened next.
And that doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you honest.
Birth can be miraculous and traumatic.
An emergency C-section is not a “quick delivery.” Let’s call it what it is: major abdominal surgery.
Not just any surgery, but one performed during one of the most vulnerable moments of your life. It’s filled with fear, urgency, pain, and shock. And, unfortunately, the expectation is to bounce back immediately, with scar tissue healing normally, and a simple do-and-don’t list being enough.
But that’s not my story, and I suspect that’s true for many others, especially when having children later in life.
What I’m still learning is how much pregnancy and C-sections can affect your body long after leaving the hospital.
Scar tissue and adhesions.
Uterus, fallopian tube, and ovary malfunction.
Pelvic stability and incontinence.
Posture and back pain.
Nerve sensitivity.
Sexual health.
Emotional processing.
And then there’s the reality that many women have to fight for basic post-surgical support. It’s the only major surgery where standard care doesn’t automatically include physical therapy. That weight has been heavy on my chest.
Because if we’re honest, a lot of women’s healthcare still operates as if we should be “fine” after whatever the ordeal, but for many of us, we’re not.
The identity whiplash no one prepares you for.
I also want to share something that’s hard to say out loud: I wasn’t the one who spent my younger years dreaming about motherhood.
I’ve always identified more with being ambitious and focused on my career. I enjoyed building, growing, and becoming. I loved my work and the feeling of momentum.
Then I became a mother—and it wasn’t just my schedule that changed.
It was my identity.
It was how I related to my body.
It was my sense of control.
It was my definition of “capacity.”
It was the emotional weight of being responsible for another human life.
So when postpartum recovery wasn’t straightforward—when I was still processing what happened, still advocating for care, still trying to feel normal in a body that didn’t feel like mine—it was disorienting.
Many things can happen at the same time: gratitude and grief, joy and exhaustion, love and resentment.
And if you’re living through that duality, I want you to know you’re not alone.
Women’s health isn’t a niche issue.
I’m writing this within a project about redefining success because so many of us have been taught that success means pushing through, that discipline means ignoring your body, that strength means silence, and that resilience means bouncing back to normal as quickly as possible.
But if your body is the foundation of your life, what does it mean to create a definition of success that requires you to abandon it? We need to stop treating women’s health as an afterthought.
We must be honest about reality:
Pregnancy and birth can change your body.
Perimenopause can start earlier than most realize.
Menopause isn’t something to be ashamed of or only discussed in whispers.
Pain is often dismissed.
Postpartum support varies greatly.
That’s why managing your symptoms feels like another full-time job (on top of everything else you handle daily).
If you’re an ambitious woman trying to lead, parent, partner, create, and contribute, your health shouldn’t be seen as an inconvenience. It should be a priority.
Shifting from a ‘what’s wrong with me’ mindset.
If you’re going through the aftermath of a miscarriage, C-section, hormonal changes, hysterectomy, menopause, or just a body that no longer feels familiar, it can be easy to dismiss yourself to focus on others. It might be hard, but instead of resorting to what’s comfortable, ask yourself, “What do I need?”
The best way to do this is by taking time to check in with yourself and honestly ask:
What has my body been trying to tell me that I’ve been ignoring?
What kind of support am I missing that I shouldn’t have to fight for?
What would it look like to see my healing as part of my success, not separate from it?
What do I need more of this month: strength, softness, rest, information, care, community?
Who can I talk to who will believe me without making me prove it?
No perfection needed. Just honesty.
This very honest post is for women like me.
I know I’m not alone in experiencing these feelings and often keeping them inside. So, I offer you (and myself) grace because it’s important to lean on others.
Women who are grateful for their children but struggle with the toll it takes on their bodies.
Women who feel they are behind because they are still healing.
Women who hide symptoms silently.
Women who are doing everything “right” but still feel off.
Women who sense something’s wrong but keep being told they’re fine.
You are not dramatic. You are not weak. And most importantly, you are definitely not failing.
I feel this. My daughter is almost 10 and I still feel like a new mom. I love being at work because I know what I’m doing there and I know I’m good at it. I feel like I’m winging motherhood. My kiddo was very much planned, wanted and loved but if I grieve my former self, it’s looked at like I didn’t want to be a mom.