"No 'good mum' ever gets angry at their child." The shame of post-birth rage.

Any woman who has ever been pregnant will vehemently confirm that nine months is indeed a very long time. A long time to be growing life, to be without soft poached eggs or wine, and a very long time to dream of the day your baby is in your arms.

Like most mums, I dreamed my postpartum days would be full of cherished memories; snuggles, slow mornings, grounding walks and pretty swaddles.

I was sure I would remember every crinkle of their palm, the way they scrunched their nose, and every coo they ever called. But I don’t.

The weeks after the birth of my second son are a blur and without photo memories, I don’t think I’d remember much more than the crushing guilt and shame I was left in after every rage outburst I had.

Watch: Superwoman is dead. Story continues below.

After an intense and unplanned ambulance transfer away from home, an emergency c-section, and an awful ward experience, we finally stumbled home as a family of four. 

My husband went back to work, as good husbands do. Long hours of hard, messy work all so he could provide financial stability for us. He’s always been a wonderful and present dad despite his huge shifts and long swings at work. 

I love him, dearly, but every time he came home from those days I was burning with resentment.

How dare he get to wake on his own time? How dare he only have to feed and dress himself?

How dare he toilet alone and go to a workplace where he is listened to and respected?

How dare he live life totally unchanged by these babies of ours?

How dare his body be healthy and strong?

How dare he want to run and move?

How dare he have his freedom?

Logically, of course, I knew that wasn’t the case. He was providing stability for our family by sacrificing moments with them, and so began the tango of guilt and confusion that danced with the anger. 

I’m still not sure which of those feelings is worse.

When I wasn’t longing for him to be home sitting in this sh*tshow alongside me, I was fumbling over unrelenting hurdles.

Managing a baby and a toddler without an established or local support network.

Spending every feed in tears of agony as my hungry baby struggled to latch to my bleeding nipples.

Wearing an unsettled baby and swaying an overtired toddler well beyond my c-section 'no lift limit' because I simply had no other option.

Immediately after the birth. Image: Supplied.

Actively working to suppress the psychological birth trauma I held after being separated from my husband and newborn baby for what should have been our golden hours together.

And while my husband was away on those long work days, my babies saw me struggle to manoeuvre it all. 

They saw me slam doors and clench my jaw; they heard the bellows of defeat and threats, as well as the sharp hissing while I begged for silence.

They crawled into my lap as I sobbed and spiralled behind a closed bathroom door because no 'good mum' ever gets angry at their child. 'Shame on you,' I thought.

Overwhelmed, overstimulated, alone, lost, under-supported, dysregulated, exhausted, depleted, traumatised and physically unable to do all I needed and wanted to, is it really any wonder my nervous system defaulted to rage? 

Is it really any wonder that ANY mum feels anything other than bliss when falling into a world that isn’t designed to catch them let alone guide them?

As mums in martyr mode tend to do, I battled on. Until I realised that the intensity of my experience was impacting my quality of life and the relationships within it. 

After feeling like no one truly understood, I went to see my GP. In that appointment not only was I offered validation of my feelings and experience, but I was also encouraged to do less. 

To take time off work, to have hours and days to let all the balls stop juggling. He recommended we start anti-depressants to help support my frazzled body and mind, so that we could then step toward the strategies and interventions we knew would help. Things like time to myself, nights without constant waking, checking my physical health with blood tests, time to exercise in a way that I enjoyed as well as that all important self care we preach mums access. 

Once my pain felt visible and understood, I was able to talk more openly with my husband and my village. 

Listen to Mamamia's parenting podcast, This Glorious Mess. Story continues below.

I accepted offers of help to take the kids to the park, or for our educator to watch my son for a little longer. I welcomed my mother-in-law folding my washing without me asking and my parents travelling to help watch the boys in our own home so I didn't have to experience the guilt of leaving them. 

I outsourced food with meal delivery services and we pencilled in takeaway nights that gave me a reason to leave the house and not stress about shopping and cooking. 

We hired a cleaner to take that one task off my plate. I recognise that a lot of these options come from a place of privilege and aren't accessible for every family. 

But when mum suffers, the whole family suffers, which is why I've worked so hard in my own space and with charity The Nurtured Village Hampers to bring back the village and re-establish community support. Because mums were never meant to do this on their own.

Kaitlyn and family. Image: Supplied.

Thankfully, as our family grew once more I could identify all those triggers and pressures and communicate more effectively with my husband and my children. 

I worked hard to create a village for our family and I stepped into the unfamiliar space of asking for and accepting help. While welcoming a third baby in pandemic times absolutely left me with moments of sheer overwhelm and navigating familiar bouts of intense anger, those weeks of my fourth trimester were much softer and warmer than the previous. 

The only solace I can take out of the darkness of those days that I snapped and screamed and slammed doors is that I now know I was not alone.

Because nestled among the linen-clad mums, the hot-mess mums, the responsive mums and the rise-and-grind mums are the angry mums. 

Mums who love their kids and partners AND feel blinded by rage.

Mums who are gentle and loving AND resentful.

Mums who are learning that their anger isn’t theirs alone.

Mums like me.

Kaitlyn Bywater is the director of The Nurtured Village Hampers and co-host of the Nurtured Village podcast.She is also a mum of three boys. 

Find out more about Kaitlyn and her work on Instagram @holding_mama

Feature Image: Supplied.