What Postpartum Looks Like at 20 Months

20 months postpartum.

By now, the world stops asking how you’re doing. The freezer meals are long gone, the check-ins have faded, and life seems to expect you to be “back to normal.” But the truth is, postpartum doesn’t have a deadline. It doesn’t end at six weeks or even six months. I’m 20 months in, and I’m still living in it every day.

At this point, it’s not so much about recovering from birth as it is about rebuilding from the inside out. My baby is no longer a baby. She runs, plays, says words I never taught her. She’s growing so fast it feels like time is mocking me. And yet my body is still healing. My identity is still shifting. My brain is still learning how to carry both her and myself at the same time.

My body isn’t what it used to be. I carry her on my hip, I get on and off the floor all day, and some days my joints ache in ways I didn’t expect at this age. I find old clothes in my closet and wonder if I’ll ever feel like her again the version of me that used to wear them. I see glimpses of her sometimes in photos, but she feels like a ghost.

Postpartum now looks like waking up tired and going to bed even more tired. It looks like multitasking until you forget what you were doing in the first place. It looks like carrying guilt for feeling overwhelmed, even though you’re doing everything you can. It looks like feeling rage over little things, then feeling shame because you love your family so deeply it physically hurts.

Some days I feel proud. I keep this little human alive. I teach, I love, I create, I clean, I laugh. I do a hundred invisible things before noon. But other days I feel like I’m unraveling. I snap. I cry in the bathroom. I scroll my phone just to feel a second of escape. There are days I don’t recognize myself not because I’m broken, but because I’ve been remade into something entirely new. And that’s a strange thing to grieve and celebrate at the same time.

I’ve learned that joy and depletion can live in the same moment. That you can be grateful and still need help. That you can love motherhood and still miss who you were before. It’s okay to admit that.

At 20 months postpartum, I’m learning how to pour into myself again. I go for walks, not always because I want to, but because the air outside reminds me I exist beyond these walls. I make time for things that bring me joy, even if I have to force it at first. I say yes to connection, even when I feel like isolating.

I’m learning that being “out of the newborn phase” doesn’t mean I’m done growing. Or healing. Or needing support. I still have days that feel impossible. I still feel like I carry more than my share sometimes. I still get touched out, burned out, and fed up. But I also see a new strength in myself I didn’t know I had.

Postpartum doesn’t end. It evolves. It’s a constant unfolding, a deep reshaping. And if you’re still in it like I am, whether it’s been 20 days or 20 months,you’re not alone. This season is real. It matters. And so do you.