The In-between I Didn't Want to See

People tried to warn me, but they didn't warn me about this...

JOY IRL: My parents enjoying grandparenthood as much as I love watching it

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Lately, I’ve been doing hard swings between intense temporary bursts of joy and unpredictable, unshakable grief. This is not abnormal for a postpartum mom, or at least the moms I know. In fact, it seems to be the norm. One moment you’re absolutely stricken by the exhaustion, depression, and the grief of a life you once knew. Then, unexpectedly, your little one laughs his first HARD belly laugh at some random fart noises you’re making on his delicious double chin, and magically, all of the bad shit just disappears.

But, like any high, it doesn’t last… and when my dopamine drops, what keeps coming back to meet me is the same soul-crushing, intrusive thought:

My mom is going to die.

It is like a punch in the gut every time it appears and I feel insane because I’ve never had this thought before having my baby, and in a way… duh?? Aren’t we all going to die?

And though I read about intrusive thoughts related to postpartum hormones, I didn’t expect it to be this relentless or impact my nervous system this badly.

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For those who don’t know what intrusive thoughts are, here’s how to identify them (according to an article from Harvard Medical School):

“The thought is unusual for you. An intrusive thought is usually very different from your typical thoughts. For example, it might be uncharacteristically violent.

The thought is bothersome. If a thought is disturbing and it's something you want to push out of your mind, it might be an intrusive thought.

The thought feels hard to control. Intrusive thoughts are often repetitive and won't go away.”

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As I reread this list I’m saying to myself, “Check✅, check✅, check✅!”

I will have the thought about my mom, have multiple violent nightmares, find myself crying as though she has already dropped dead (she’s alive, folks), which leads me to think about all of my regrets or questions I should have asked but never did (but still could… cause did I mention, SHE’S STILL ALIVE?).

So, yes, Kelly Bilodeau from Harvard Health publishing, my thought is abnormal, disturbing, and repetitive AF. Like nails on a chalkboard, but on loop.

The first time it happened was about a few weeks postpartum. My parents were spending the night to help with baby Bear so my mom watched him while the rest of us watched Alien: Romulus. I started getting intense anxiety during the movie (I love action/horror films, usually) and for some inexplicable reason my fingers, hands, and arms were suddenly achy… the kind I imagine arthritis feels like.

As the pain escalated, I also felt a panic attack coming (something that rarely happens) so I ran over to my mom’s room, curled up into the fetal position like a shrimp, and cried hysterically into her lap (something that also rarely happens).

Surprisingly, the former(?) Tiger Mom was comforting and sweet. She didn’t inadvertently criticize me or try to fix my problem or make it about her feelings. She just rubbed my back and said what I was feeling was normal and temporary. It was the version of my mom I had long wished for. And for the first time, I genuinely felt I was able to fully receive her support (thank you, years of mother healing and therapy).

While I sobbed in her arms, feeling like a little girl again, I realized 3 things:

1. The mother in me needs mothering.

2. My fingers, hands, and arms were aching from countless hours of clutching the side rails of my hospital bed- bracing for each painful contraction and push.

3. My mother (this woman who also went through an excruciating labor process to have me) is going to die, eventually.

And so I’ve been carrying this third (very intrusive) thought for 7 months now, and it still hasn’t let up. Because the harsh reality is while I’m celebrating the birth of my son and the start of one life, I’m also quietly bracing for the eventual end of my parents’. That strange, uncomfortable truth is a hard pill to swallow. And when I let the intrusive thoughts win, I can feel emotionally and physically frozen.

IT SUCKS.

No one I know warned me about this kind of in-between. The delicate, disorienting see-saw of grief and joy…of life ending and life beginning. And yet, here I am. One arm cradling new life, the other clinging to the people who gave me mine. Literally holding a birth certificate in one hand and a living will in the other. Laughing one minute, feeling completely sad and overwhelmed the next.

I guess this is what it means to be human, isn’t it?

Messy. Nonlinear. Beautiful. Brutal.

And maybe that’s why I keep coming back to this idea of a Joy Rebellion. Because too many of us are still waiting. Waiting for things to calm down. For the grief to pass. For the conditions to finally be “perfect” before we let ourselves feel good. To feel alive. To feel joy.

But if I’ve learned anything lately, it’s this:

Joy isn’t what you feel instead of grief. Joy is what you dare to feel even with it.

This isn’t about denying pain or the reality that life blows sometimes. It’s about refusing to let the hard parts be the only thing we make room for.

What if we spent as much time thinking about the stuff that’s going right as we did complaining about the shit that’s going wrong? NOTE TO SELF: Put this on sticky note in bathroom. Maybe get a tattoo on my forehead.

And if you’re in your own weird in-between right now, I hope you’ll remember this too: intrusive thoughts don’t get smaller when we hide them. They get louder.

BTW, what’s been helping me isn’t trying to “positive think” my way out of them or pretending they’re not there. Personally, I’ve spent years alternating these as coping mechanisms and I’ve gotta say they don’t work long-term.

What’s been most helpful for me has consistently been the following actions (not backed by science, but my own life experience):

1. Admit the intrusive thought out loud to myself. Name it. No matter how bizarre or shameful.

2. Get over how cringe I’m being and admit the thought to someone safe. Personally, this is the scariest part because it always feels so vulnerable; however, there is nothing more joyful to me than being witnessed and held space for when I’m feeling my worst.

3. Eat. Sleep. Nap. Touch grass. Whatever feels good to my nervous system for grounding.

4. Allow myself to mourn whatever else comes up. Letting the grief, fear, etc, move through my body instead of letting it build a permanent home in my chest.

It’s not a perfect fix, but every time I give myself permission to feel it all (to name the thought, to cry, to breathe) it loses just a little more of its power.

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Questions of the week:

What thought has been stealing your joy, and what would it look like to meet it with compassion instead of judgment?

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Whatever your answer is, know you’re not broken for having these thoughts. You’re just human. A human who loves deeply, who feels everything all the way to the bone, and who is learning, day by day, that even the heaviest moments can make space for a little light… and maybe even a little joy.

💛Drop your answers in the comments. Let them be raw, unfinished, hopeful, or all of the above. This Joy Rebellion is built on voices like yours. Your story might be exactly what someone else needed to read today!

One brave, messy step at a time,

June, your Joy Guide