A Tale of Motherhood and a Velvety Orange Pillow
BY LEESHA MONY
Photo Courtesy | Leesha Mony
In the late months of pregnancy, I found my exhausted, growing, and worried self staring down the aisle at a consignment shop in search of the thing that, in my mind, would solve all of my problems. A new throw pillow. I have heard the tales of pregnancy obsessions, whether it be with food, rituals, baby gear, but for me, it was a new throw pillow for my expanding bed. I can smile at myself now and remember the unmet yearning for everything to be just right. The deep fears around not having enough and not being enough were blaring. The fear that I was utterly unprepared for a new baby seeped into my psyche quite loudly, and towards the end of my pregnancy, the noise and my fear became difficult to shut out.
I was aware of this feeling and have heard the stories of other expecting mothers becoming obsessed with the idea of needing to have everything just right. At a time where all control is out of reach, and all that you are left with is surrender, it makes sense. Distraction becomes fuel, and for me, I found the perfect distraction in a deep dark velvet orange pillow.
With a divine sense of accomplishment, I left the store that day feeling a bit more hopeful and confident, like maybe I could do this after all.
I brought the pillow home, eagerly awaiting to try it out. I placed it on my bed to see if it was just the type of addition I was searching for. When I arrived home, I rested it on my bed. The color was unlike anything that I had purchased before. It was bold and confident, like the qualities I was searching for as I awaited the birth of my new baby and the birth of me as a mother.
I showed my husband with excitement. Trying to do his best, he smiled and softly shared that he liked it. Inside I knew that he was not feeling the same fulfillment that was racing through me, but not many people were feeling much of anything that was racing through me at that time. He looked up after what I could tell had been a long pause and cautiously shared, “I think these pillows usually come in pairs.” As he nervously awaited my response, I couldn’t help but begin to sob. The tears of fear trickled down my cheeks, and at that moment, the pressure of pregnancy and preparation for birth all seemed to spill out in an instant. We were navigating such a big transition and all I seemed to want at that moment was a felt sense of completion. My sweet husband was prepared for my response. He did his best to share his thoughts softly. He held me and told me it was all going to be okay and then kindly drove me back to the store to get the other half of the set.
To my luck, they had one of the velvety orange pillows left. We took it home together, and at that moment, I was reminded that although the journey of pregnancy was often a lonely place, I was not alone in it.
As I continued to grow, so did my need for an easement. Towards the end of my pregnancy, comfort did not come easily. Like so many, sleep became more and more difficult, finding the right positions seemed like an immense effort, and trying to find the right pregnancy pillow always felt unsatisfying.
Even rest was greeted with exertion, and finding ease was not an easy task. As my belly was growing, so was my discomfort. During one night of intense, restless sleep, I grabbed one of my beloved orange pillows and placed it under my belly. It was just the support that I needed. I felt the velvet glide across my skin, and in some magical way, it brought the ease I was begging for. My precious throw pillows now transitioned into support for my pregnant belly, and somehow, I found sleep again, for a bit.
There was no feeling of completion in my postpartum. Instead, I was up against so many nuances. Some met with difficulty, while others were just new learning. Like so many, I struggled with breastfeeding. I remember feeling incredibly isolated and alone during this time, with all of the typical self-criticisms and judgments racing through my mind, telling me how unequipped I was to mother. It wasn’t until I joined a postpartum mother’s group that I learned that I was not alone and that so many were navigating that path I was walking.
Although the beginning of postpartum is short, it felt anything but. Nothing seemed to be helping my son and I get into the groove of breastfeeding. Once again, all the breastfeeding pillows didn’t seem to be right, all of the positions seemed too complicated, and all of the supports felt exhausting. I was left with an enormous feeling that there must have been something wrong with my body. This was quite a trying time for my family. The biological need to provide food to my child was surprisingly ragging in me. A desire to try anything I could to be able to breastfeed came over me, and I fought it until something worked. While under this type of stress, ordinary moments can feel as though the whole world is shattering. I would hear my son’s cry and the feeling of helplessness would create a whirlwind that affected every cell in my body.
One night when I knew I was at capacity, my son began to cry. All of the millions of breastfeeding support pillows that didn’t seem to work were nowhere to be found. I remember telling myself to breathe. My eyes caught a glance of the sun pouring into the room, and a soft breeze was carried in by the gracious wind. It landed on my face, and I remember experiencing the same warm feeling as when I made contact with the velvet that I loved on my pillow. I quickly grabbed it off of the floor of my room because, during this time, there was no need ever to make my bed. I placed the pillow on my lap and rested my son’s head upon it. A deep hope that he, too, would experience the sensation of warmth and comfort rushed over me. From that day on, my orange pillow became my breastfeeding pillow. It seemed to work and provide comfort to both of us in a time of great need.
As my son grew a bit older and our breastfeeding journey ended, our velvety orange pillow was reunited with the bed. Now that I was able to make the bed a little bit more frequently, making my bed became a lovely ritual to return to. Like so many things in the early years of parenting, this ritual did not last very long, and before I could become too comfortable with my neatly arranged bed, something changed. My son began to wake up in the middle of the night from his crib. Two working parents navigating sleepless nights was brutal and for us; what worked was to bring our son into our bed.
My son grew older, and so did his needs, and sure enough, he was ready for a pillow. In the middle of the night, he would make his way towards my pillow to rest his head. Some parents I know love to be close, intertwined, and cuddly with their children. I am not one of them. I enjoy my space, and sharing a pillow was not something I wanted to pursue. So one night, in a sleep-deprived state, I grabbed the closest thing to me, the velvety orange pillow that lay next to me on the floor. He used that for a while until I found a more appropriate toddler pillow.
As he continued to grow, so did his energy. My son is not a calm sleeper. He thrashes his body and finds himself in positions in which I could not even imagine getting myself in. After what felt like a lifetime, the lack of sleep began to get to me. My focus, concentration, and presence were all suffering. I was living in some type of daze, parts of me here and parts of me somewhere else completely unnamable. I remember the familiar feeling of helplessness, for I couldn’t imagine ever sleeping again. In an effort to find any solution, I reached down to the floor, grabbing hold again of my orange pillow. This time, however, I decided to use it as a barrier. I placed it close up against my body, shielding me from my son’s wild limbs. It was a barrier of love, and the first time where I could understand the deep need for separation. Slowly my son entered his own room, but on the nights and early mornings when he finds himself back in our bed, my orange barrier of love remains.
Years ago, when I found myself staring down the aisle at the consignment store searching for the perfect pillow, I could never have imagined what I would find. I did not find answers or something that was going to last forever. Instead, amid the chaos that comes with transforming, I found a life raft. I found the opportunity to improvise, be flexible, and utilize more than what I was prepared for. I found the ability to mother while sleep-deprived and in stressful moments. What I did not find was anything that was perfect or just right. Instead, I found a lot of struggles, difficulties, and creativity. But in the end, I found trust in myself as a mother.
Today my deep velvety orange pillow rests upon my bed which these days is mostly made. I look at the pillow with enormous gratitude and grief for how quickly time passes. In this season of Motherhood, I no longer need my beloved pillow in the same way as I once did, and for now, I will find joy in being able to neatly place it upon my bed and continue to hold space for all of the lessons it has yet to share.
LEESHA MONY is a mother, writer, and somatic therapist who recently arrived to Seattle, WA from the Bay Area. Leesha specializes in perinatal mental health and supports survivors navigating the intersectionality of trauma and birth. For Leesha, writing has always served as a way to more deeply explore and understand her world, and the worlds of others, while also mending past wounds. Leesha’s writing holds the intentions to try and give voice to the often unnamed experiences that mothers navigate, in hopes that other people will find pieces of themselves and their truths reflected in her words.