Delicate Condition

by Danielle Valentine

I think we all believe, somewhere deep in our bones, that darkness is fickle and easily placated with small gifts. My favorite superstition is the one that says more women deliver during a full moon than at any other time of the month. Transforming into mothers instead of wolves. Howling like wild things.

Women I’d never seen before and women I saw every day; women much, much older than I was, and a few who were younger, barely in their teens.

There’s this thing that happens after you give birth that people don’t talk about, or at least they don’t talk about enough: all the hormones that have been building in your body for nine months come crashing down at the same time, and it makes you feel like you’re in the darkest, most intense depression of your life. People call this “the baby blues,” which is just so condescending I could scream.

They tried to convince you that your suffering was fine, that it was normal. They tried to control your body because they were afraid of what your body could do.”

With all the willpower I had left, I forced that voice to just shut up. I was tired of pretending I wasn’t in pain. I was tired of being strong just because it made things easier for everyone else. I was tired of calming down.