Ah, those first few weeks with a new baby! A beautiful time of rest, bonding, and respite from the working world. A time to step back, relax, and reevaluate what really matters in life. Sounds good, right? And popular culture props up this beautiful scene with language about "blissed out" new mothers and peacefully snoozing babies. With that kind of image in our minds, some people—especially those without kids—might find themselves feeling a little envious of this break from the 9-5 (or 6 or 7 or 8 …) world.

I've been talking about this dynamic with my facebook community of new parents. The first reaction is usually a deep belly-laugh at the idea that parental leave is some kind of vacation. For the most part, they're bone-tired of the pervasive myth that new parenthood represents a restorative time with a delightful newborn. But it's more than merely annoying: This portrayal of new parenthood creates an escape hatch on doing anything to meaningfully support new parents in America.

This portrayal of new parenthood creates an escape hatch on doing anything to meaningfully support new parents in America.

The myth of the totally fine new family gives us a sense of comfort and ease. It tells us that new parenthood is beautiful and easy, so we don't need paid family leave. It tells us that babies have a parent with them at all times, so we don't need affordable, safe childcare. It tells us mothers and fathers are physically and mentally fine, and not in any way deserving of societal support during one of the most transformative and difficult periods of a family's life. It tells us that new mothers don't need to heal from my physical wounds or that moms and dads alike require time, rest, and support to lower their chances of  developing a postpartum mood disorder.

The reality is, well, much more real.

Here's mine.

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That's me, in 2010. In this moment, I had mastitis (an infection of the breast that causes fever and swelling) and a painful C-section incision. It was just two days after I'd been hit by the lightning bolt of loving this small person. Five weeks before I would be felled—truly taken to the ground—by postpartum anxiety (mostly related to my looming return to work) that spiraled into the most terrifying period of my adult life. Eleven weeks before I'd go back to work. Nineteen weeks before I'd get on a plane, to Nepal, without my son (but with my breast pump).

I shared this photo on my facebook community, and fellow parents have begun sending me their own postpartum photos, each of which is honest and beautiful.

Andrea sent a photo of herself, her baby, and her loyal dog, at three weeks postpartum.

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In this photo, Andrea had her "first clogged duct, a severe case of postpartum preeclampsia, scary postpartum anxiety that wouldn't let me sleep unless I was holding my baby and gave me panic attacks every time the sun went down, and the beginning stages of an infected C-section incision."

Kate shared this photo, and an incredibly raw story.

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"I labored for 39 hours. It became apparent after several more hours that my son was stuck and he was unable to be turned. We had no choice to but accept a cesarean. I had labored so hard for so long that he was wedged between my bones. I would go on to be discharged less than 48 hours later with a catheter because my bladder was damaged during surgery from the force needed to get my child out. I was given no pain medication when I left. I struggled with breastfeeding and screamed through the first couple of weeks from the pain of it. 

"I was suicidal at two months postpartum."

"I had my first flashbacks and panic attack at six weeks postpartum. I was suicidal at two months postpartum. I was later diagnosed with postpartum depression and PTSD from the birth, which was exacerbated by a child who screamed 12 hours a day for 15 months and me getting about four hours of sleep each night for a year. In the end, I remember very little about the first year, just as I remember very little about this photo. I was struggling to survive moment to moment in what felt like life-threatening terror. As a result my husband also developed depression and anxiety. The first time I felt love like parents talk about, my son was about 18 months old. Let that sink in: I nursed and cared for a child that I did not particularly love for a year and a half. In the end I did fall in love with him. I nursed him for 25 months. I found the strength to carry a second child. Parenthood is nothing like what people told me (except for the part about sleep deprivation―that sh** was real).

"I was struggling to survive moment to moment in what felt like life-threatening terror."

Cristin sent this postpartum photo.

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At this moment, Cristin was "sneaking a nap in a messy living room while baby sleeps, and my neglected cat sneaks in for some much missed cuddles." Not pictured: her four-year-old, just off-camera.

Jacqueline sent me her years-old photo of her and her eldest child.

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Here, Jacqueline's baby "was in the NICU. I hadn't showered for a week. I had just nursed him one of the handful of times I would be able. He wouldn't latch well due to a tongue tie that went undiagnosed."

Sid shared this image at the end of a scary night. 

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"This was after baby spiked a 104 degree fever out of nowhere and we spent six hours in the PICU. My husband captured us collapsing to sleep right after getting home."

Cara sent me her hospital snap of her and her baby. 

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"This was a day after a C-section in which I regained sensation
during the middle of surgery. I was throwing up from the Percocet (puking with
an abdominal wound is pretty fab) and nursing every 90 minutes, round the clock,
for the first four weeks. But I'd still rather relive that day than the day
before I returned to work." 

Sydnei shared this photo.

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This was shortly after my chunky monkey was born. We had a crazy night of cluster feeding. We were taking a mid morning nap to try and catch up on sleep.

***

This is maternity and paternity leave: a time of terror, joy, fear, wonder, pain, blood, and tears. A time of leaking breastmilk and sleeping for no more than two hours at a stretch. A time of your partner having to lift you out of bed.

In an era of highly curated selfies, it isn't easy to show the world what we look like at our most raw. But we want the world to see us, and know us, like this. No, we wouldn't trade a moment of it, and no, we're not complaining. We are simply showing the emotional, painful, joyful, unreal realities of new parenthood. We're doing the work of humanity, and we're asking you to see and value that work for the beautiful mess that it is.

This post has been updated.