the body after birth: navigating sensuality in motherhood — mariah maddox
our bodies are our resting place. the one space that holds it all—our emotions, our desires, our tendencies, our sensuality. it grows and it changes with us throughout the seasons, over the years, through trial and error, through victory and defeat. and for that, our bodies should receive our utmost praise.
via unsplash.
our bodies are our resting place. the one space that holds it all—our emotions, our desires, our tendencies, our sensuality. it grows and it changes with us throughout the seasons, over the years, through trial and error, through victory and defeat. and for that, our bodies should receive our utmost praise.
but sometimes, unintentionally, we replace praise with condemnation. after giving birth and entering my journey of motherhood, condemnation became almost second nature. my body did not feel like my own. it became full of unease. i became a foreigner of my own skin. it felt like i’d completely fallen out of touch with myself, with my sensuality, not believing that “mother” could co-exist with all that entailed of “feminine being.”
intimacy was not the same. my yearning was not the same. i didn’t feel connected to my rooting place, the one place where i could unfold, bud open, lean into my urges, and satisfy my tides.
it didn’t feel like “mother” and “sensual being” could share the same space, within my body, and for a long time i struggled to overcome that false belief.
sometimes people believe that once you become a mother, you are nothing else. every previous piece of you fades away. but over the years, as i’ve become more in tune with who i am as a woman, i’ve learned that is far from truth. a lot of your previous self is still there, waiting and hoping that one day you’ll return.
that’s how my sensuality was. she was patient with me as i adjusted to my new identity, but there was always a gentle nudge from her, reminding me that she was still there. reclamation came when i started to understand the complexity of my being. that though my body has grown and birthed a child, a home for another being, though my body has fed and nurtured this child from the wells of her nourishment—it is still my body. my resting place. the one space where i can lean into my yearnings, dance with them, blossom through them, and own them.
navigating my sensuality as a mother looks different, as it should. i would say that i actually have to be more intentional about nurturing my sensuality as much as i nurture everything and everyone else around me. it comes with creating intentional spaces, or pockets of time, that allows me to answer to my yearnings. when i look at the physical evidence of how my body has changed, and when i examine the physiological ways in which my mind processes those changes, there is healing that needs to be done to return to a space of praise. i acknowledge my body as holy, but i know that i must also acknowledge its complexity and the way it holds space for more than one thing.
BY MARIAH MADDOX
(SHE/HER)
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mariah maddox is a passionate + dedicated creative who, through her work, strives to cultivate beautiful portrayals of the black community and the spaces in which they exist. her work is solely focused on navigating the narrative of black womanhood/sisterhood/motherhood while seaming together her own existence as a black woman, mother, and wife. mariah is a photographer, writer, and author of poetry books “beckoning of the wind: an ode to motherhood” and "to wilt and bloom," which are available on amazon.