What No One Tells You About Postpartum Pain — Until It’s Too Late
By Dr. Nutan Pakhare
A few weeks ago, I received a message that brought both joy and anticipation.
One of the beautiful mamas I had supported through her pregnancy had just delivered a baby girl.
As a prenatal guide, each birth feels like a culmination of breathwork, rituals, affirmations, Ayurvedic nurturing, and emotional holding.
Naturally, I felt the urge to visit her. To celebrate. To check in. To see how she was doing.
Her husband warmly agreed.
But she… said no.
That single word felt heavier than I expected.
I had been part of her journey. I had seen her hopes, her doubts, her sacred dreams. Why would she not want to see me?
I respected her decision. But truthfully, I was disappointed. I questioned myself.
Did I say something wrong during our last session?
Was she distancing herself?
Or had something gone painfully off-track?
I wouldn’t know until 40 days later.
The Call That Changed the Story
On her 40th day postpartum, she called me.
There was softness in her voice, but also something more profound: the weight of unspoken emotion.
She invited me to visit. And when I did, she opened in a way only women in postpartum silence can.
She had been going through a phase so many new mothers face but few talk about: Postnatal Depression — wrapped in cultural silence, masked by baby photos, and tucked beneath polite smiles when guests visit.
Here’s what she shared:
- She had to go through a C-section, though she had envisioned a gentle, natural vaginal birth. It wasn’t medically urgent in the traditional sense — but her labour had been induced before her due date. Her body wasn’t ready. And it broke her spirit a little.
- She felt like she had disappeared after birth.
Everyone around her was focused on the baby. Her pain, her stitches, her mental fog — all seemed secondary. - So many guests came to “see the baby,” she said, “it felt like she was a display item.”
People cooed over the newborn, but barely asked, “How are you?” - Breastfeeding had been a nightmare.
She struggled with latching, had severe UTI pain, and yet the comments flowed:
“You’re not trying hard enough.”
“This generation gives up too fast.”
She felt unseen, unheard, and unworthy.
And so she shut the world out — including me.
What I Did — and What She Needed Most
That day, I didn’t come with advice.
I didn’t come with baby toys or flowers.
I came with something small, but symbolic: a beautiful, soft, feeding-friendly dress. For her.
She cried when I gave it to her.
It wasn’t about the dress.
It was the first time, since birth, someone had brought something for her — not the baby.
Then I listened.
No suggestions. No, “you should try this…”
Just space. Just presence. Just a pause in the noise of judgment.
When she shared her pain over the unplanned C-section, I gently offered the truth:
“You didn’t fail.”
“Your body didn’t betray you.”
“You were induced before your body’s natural readiness — and that affected everything.”
“And still, you birthed your baby. That is a strength.”
She nodded with tears.
Then she said something else:
“I wanted to stay at my in-laws’ home after birth… but now I just want to be at my mother’s place.”
I looked at her and said:
“Then go. Your healing space is yours to choose.”
And in that moment, something inside her softened.
After we spoke and the emotions slowly settled, I asked, “Can I take a few pictures?”
Not her baby, but
Of her with a baby.
Using her phone, I clicked a few soft, unfiltered moments — her eyes, her quiet strength, her holding space for herself.
She looked at the pictures and smiled for the first time in days.
Then she turned to her husband and said with a playful laugh,
“Dekho, meri ma’am ne mujhe gift bhi diya, aur photo bhi aise liye… tum bhi kabhi aise karo mere liye!”
In that one sentence, she didn’t just reclaim a piece of her joy —
She reminded everyone in that room:
She is still a woman.
Not just a mother. Not just a patient.
A woman worthy of being seen, celebrated, and remembered.
Ayurveda & the Forgotten Fourth Trimester
In Ayurveda, we call the postpartum woman Sutika —
A sacred identity that begins not after birth, but as soon as the body starts preparing for delivery.
She is to be held — not judged.
Restored — not rushed.
Honoured — not overlooked.
But in today’s modern settings, mothers are pushed into crowded rooms, bright lights, harsh expectations, and endless comparisons.
We tell them to “bounce back.”
To feed perfectly.
To smile at visitors.
To entertain guests while battling internal tears.
In the process, we lose the most critical healing window of her life.
The fourth trimester — the last 40 – 45 days after birth (for vaginal birth) and 90-100 days(for C-section) — is not just a physical recovery phase.
It is emotional, energetic, and deeply spiritual.
It shapes how a mother bonds with her baby… and herself.
What This Experience Taught Me
Mothers don’t always need advice.
They don’t always need checklists, swaddles, or baby oil.
They need:
- Space to feel
- Words of reassurance
- Someone to see them, not just their baby
- A safe room — not just physically, but emotionally
Postpartum care isn’t about perfection.
It’s about presence.
And healing doesn’t come from outside — it begins when a woman is finally allowed to choose what feels safe, accurate, and aligned for her.
To Every Postpartum Mother Reading This…
You are not alone. You are not failing.You are not invisible.
Whether your delivery was planned or not…
Whether breastfeeding worked or didn’t…
Whether your emotions make sense or feel wild…
You deserve support, not shame.
You deserve a space that says,
“Welcome back to yourself.”
“Take your time.”
“We’re still here for you.”