No one ever tells you about the birth of a mother. No one ever tells you how she comes to be, instantly, and at the same time, gradually. There is no handbook, no manual, no recipe to follow. Just a slew of marketing messages targeted at mothers that have nothing to do with motherhood. You’ll find “10 nursery must-haves” or “What’s in your hospital bag” but not “10 ways to not fail as a parent” or “10 horrible things that happen during pregnancy.” Everyone talks about the birth of a child, but the birth of a mother is a secret no one ever wants to share.

I have never viewed myself as an animal. I was out of touch with my primal nature, tied to earth and gender. And why wouldn’t I be? I was educated, shopped for shoes, traveled the world. I thought I knew everything about being a woman. I thought I was comfortable in my own skin. That was until the day my motherhood birthed into being. It was as if this part of me had suddenly awakened. This primal, animalistic part of me, the part in charge of producing offspring, just like any other mammal, showed up. No one talks about how this happens. Boutiques show off cute belly bump mannequins in polka-dot style. No one ever tells you what’s hiding beneath. No one tells you your body will never be the same. Lines will cross like tiger stripes across your belly, hips widen, feet swell. Suddenly, you begin to take shape. No one ever tells you your back will ache or that you will probably pee when you laugh. Then of course, no one ever tells you about labor. It’s either highly dramatized or glossed over. You see it in the movies, you hear about it from others who spare you the details because it’s inappropriate or grotesque. After all, when is it really a good time to bring up vaginal tears and pelvic floor prolapse? At a dinner party? At a lunch meeting? I had always assumed labor was something to get over, to be done with, to be tolerated and suffered through. But for me, it was so much more than that.

No one tells you when you labor, you go back to the earth, to what your physical body is made for, made to do. No one ever tells women to trust their bodies—that you were made to expand, take on, house, protect a child and your body has fat and hips for a reason—to spread, to give life. No one wants to acknowledge a woman’s strength, and acts like childbirth is something to be afraid of, that pain is something to avoid altogether. I’m not proposing unmedicated births, but someone should tell you that natural and medicated labor are two completely different experiences. When I labored naturally it felt raw and empowering. When I was medicated (although a welcome respite), it felt clinical and sterile. No one tells you you might know your child even before you know it. My child sleeps the same way now at 20 pounds as he did when I was 3 months pregnant and his little body was the length of my pinky—with his little right arm raised next to the side of his face. Then, no one tells you what comes after. Mostly it’s all a blur. No one tells you about the babies that wake in the night every 10 minutes. I dozed for 10-minute increments for a total of 2 hours throughout the night that first week after delivering. No one tells you about cluster feeding, when a newborn suckles for 16 hours straight. No one tells you about humanity in its infancy stages. Of the nourishing powers of colustrum, of the different colors and stages of baby poop. No one tells you how to change a diaper in a bathroom without a changing table. Or how to shut the whole world out in order to hear your maternal voice. As soon as you become a mother, you’ll learn that everyone has an opinion.

No one tells you that as a mother you will fail at absolutely everything because there just aren’t enough hours in the day to get things done. Mediocrity will seem to be your new best friend. You better get used to doing everything half-assed, half-dressed and, at times, half-heartedly. And yet even in the chaos, in the unknown, no one tells you of the fullness you’ll feel when you meet yourself for the first time as someone’s mother. No one tells you that you’ll suddenly feel like you’re in this secret club you never had access to and finally, you get in because you just get it. No one tells you how connected you will feel to the circle of life. When I gave birth, my first realization wasn’t just how much I loved my child. It was the realization of how much my mother loved me.