Post partum rage. This was new to me. And I think it peaked after I went back to work and my kiddo went into daycare. This is also where most of my weight gain happened. I look back to those early months, 6,9,12 and while my kiddo’s sleep was terrible, I was making do.My weight was normal-ish and I had et descended into the dark abyss of postpartum rage.
But them I went back to work. Then I had to get up every morning, while doing all the nights with my kiddo (who still wasn’t sleeping) and go to fucking work. Then I had to come home and do all the house chores because my partner works in the office. So I was constantly working and I just blew my top.
Maybe part of it was that I went into a caregiving role. A friend warned me that it would be hard caregiving all day and then coming home and doing the same thing. Day in and day out. Cleaning homes, holding babies then coming home to absolutely no one doing those things for me. Now granted I’m up here in Canada so I was able to go back to work when my kiddo was 18 months. But from 2023-2025 I put on a lot of weight. And then I started hitting things.
The rage would well up in me so quickly and then literally erupt. I had to be strategic where it erupted, because I was in danger of damaging my hands from striking the wall so hard. So closet doors where a good choice. They also made a fabulous “boom” that felt good. But it freaked my kiddo and my partner out. It got so bad that I made an appointment with my dr to talk about it. I was either going to start hitting my partner or my kid. They were of no help.
But you know what I did? I stepped back. I stopped caregiving. I wanted to work in tech again and I needed to move my body.
I didn’t realize how integral exercise was to my mental health until I could not do it anymore. It was critical. I’ve also been a bit intense, either training for a marathon, triathlon, tennis, boxing, or biking riding. I am not the type of person who can just sit to relax. No, I need to pound the pavement, hit things, or run for miles and miles until my energy runs out and then I am happy.
I tried tennis again. I have played for years and there was a court near me where I could easily book a match with their tennis court booking software. But it wasn’t enough. I found myself wanting to pound my racket into the cement instead of playing. Just fucking pound it until I bent the frame and made a fool of myself.
So, then I tried boxing. And babe… I found it. This is the safe space where I can just fucking let it out. I started at Rumble. I could hit the bag as hard as I could, over and over and over and over and over again. It’s a wonder I didn’t damage my hands, thank god. But I could finally extinguish my rage into something much safer.
So yeah. Postpartum rage. I wouldn’t recommend it. Fuck that shit.
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