We’re all in Trouble, Fleishman.

A few weeks ago I had quickly jotted down a Blog Post Idea in the Notes section of my phone. I do this because I am scatterbrained. (Yes, like every other 30 something mother I am convinced I now have undiagnosed ADHD, when in reality I probably stare at my phone too much and have an excessive amount of responsibilities to juggle. This is also why I feel every thought needs to go into a separate parentheses section, like my brain with too many tabs open.) I check my Notes again. 

“Parenting is hard, so we focus on the minutiae to keep from focusing on the big stuff.” …? No, not that one. Ah, here it is. 

I’ve written 6 words: Fleishman Is In Trouble. HOLY CRAP. 

I haven’t stopped thinking about this new limited series, based on the book of the same name by Taffy Brodesser Akner. I’ve watched the entire thing twice. I mentioned it to everyone I know. I’m currently ⅓ through the book. 

“What is it about?” everyone wants to know. “It’s about marriage, and motherhood, and parenting, and different sides to every story, and depression and feeling fucking unseen and not understanding yourself and I dunno, maybe it’s about choosing the wrong path?”

I’m usually about 6 months or 6 years behind everyone else when it comes to new shows, podcasts or movies. This time I’ve caught on right when the internet seems to be currently obsessed with both the show but more importantly, boiling it down to its basic themes. Some have argued it’s about the upper class and the feeling of envy and stress they have as they race to reach the top, others say it’s about divorce and infidelity, and other times it’s about the ennui of suburban housewives wishing and hoping for more or to somehow go back in time. 

And now, and now…and now.

I can’t help but feel, the most important theme is the one I’m not hearing about.

Granted, maybe it’s my history. I didn’t exactly have easy postpartum experiences with either of my kids. But more likely it’s my job, having worked with hundreds (now maybe even thousands) of families as they move through the milestone of welcoming new babies into their lives. 

I have both been Rachel Fleishman and I have also seen her with my own eyes time and time again. 

The scenes being brought up everywhere I turn online: Rachel’s scream at the yoga retreat, or the moment when Libby finally lays eyes on Rachel sitting on a park bench. Don’t get me wrong- those are some powerful scenes that made my heart race. But, the moment that made my heart drop to the bottom of my soul was the series of scenes of Rachel as a brand new mother:

Faced with holding her new baby girl after a deeply traumatic birth, the sadness and shame that washed over her as she took her new baby, feeling like… what, a monster? No, an imposter.

Standing in the hallway, in her sweats, completely overwhelmed and exhausted and terrified and alone, watching as her husband Toby heads off to work likely days after the birth. 

Approaching a group of moms from her prenatal yoga class in the park, only for them to shun her, politely but with such obvious middle school intent, leaving her humiliated. 

I don’t believe in trigger warnings as a general rule, but my first thought was, these scenes are going to break a whole lot of women out there. This is too real. If anyone wonders what it’s like to be a brand new mom, for many of us this sums it up too well. My face burned with her shame, felt her hopelessness, and remembered all too well the feeling of the days passing by without the feeling of achievement or even contentment, the most basic of feelings. 

Like I said, I know postpartum because I’ve both been there and watched it unfold. I’ve seen the Rachels of my city, with all the resources, money, good intentions and well-meaning partners absolutely crumble after having a baby. I’ve seen project managers, lawyers, teachers, film-makers, accountants, sales directors, you name the profession and I have seen motherhood break them down into tiny crumbs of who they used to be. But there is no space for that in this world. There is only doing, being, winning, achieving. You can’t want something so badly and then not be great at it. Bridget Casey (“my Instagram money girlfriend” as I call her, because she is a financial investment guru for women) writes, “(this book) is about the experience of millenial women in 4th wave feminism trying to win capitalism. We were promised the prize, but nobody told us the cost- because nobody knew the cost.” As the first generations of women who are expected to have it all, do it all, and enjoy it all, we’ve been given no roadmap, less than zero resources and most of our partners are still under the belief that we should be able to manage it all. 

And so, we put on our heels and our lipstick, or we pack up that stroller and that diaper bag, and we head back out into the world. We pretend we are fine. We act like we are sleeping just perfectly, thank you very much. Because the truth is too hard to say. We don’t dare say, this is too hard. I hate this. Being alone all day with a baby is so boring. Who am I, and as the author writes, how did I get here? 

I stayed away from postpartum work for the first few years of my career as a doula mostly due to not wanting to revisit that nightmarish time, and now, it’s one of my business’s main focuses. Because all I want, my whole mission really, is to make the postpartum period NOT SUCK. To let new parents know that it might, and while that’s not how it should be, it’s how it is a lot of the time. For so long we’ve been fed the story that bringing a new baby home is just the most magical time, and if you truly lean into it everything will be wonderful. Enjoy this time! … but what’s hiding behind that are generations of people who just got through it. They did it and survived, and so can you! I can’t imagine a more toxic approach to supporting new families.

Rachel Fleishman was in trouble from day one and it took her 11 years until she finally let go.

It shouldn’t have to be that way. Except, I don’t know what the solution is. It should be to find a village, to have more resources and support, to make better laws about maternity and paternity leave (especially in the US, don’t get my Canadian self started). But, those will take too long. 

For now, all I can do is scream:

IT’S OKAY IF YOU’RE NOT OKAY. TELL SOMEONE YOU’RE NOT OKAY. STOP PRETENDING SO THAT WE CAN HELP YOU AND SEE YOU. BECAUSE WE’VE BEEN YOU, WE ARE YOU.  YOU’RE NOT ALONE, RACHEL FLEISHMAN.