Blogs by Ella Fisher

Let's be honest. Life isn’t always sunshine and roses. Sometimes it’s cloudy with a chance of thunderstorms, and we're all guilty of putting on a sunny face when things feel anything but sunny inside. I mean, who hasn’t played the “fake it till you make it” game, putting on a brave smile even when we feel like curling up in a ball? Is it healthy? Who knows. Maybe it is, maybe it’s not. But here’s the thing: you don’t have to share everything with everyone. Everyone has issues—whether it’s stress at work, challenges in relationships, or just life being a little extra chaotic. And sometimes, let’s face it, we make problems seem bigger simply by turning them over and over in our minds until they’re taking up way more space than they deserve.

So, here’s my little corner of honesty. Picture this: I’m pregnant with my first child—a girl—and everything is set to go. I’m nervous, sure, but ready… at least, as ready as you can be for something you’ve never done before. Then, out of nowhere, I’m told that an unplanned C-section is necessary. Unplanned, unanticipated, and absolutely, gut-wrenchingly terrifying. It’s hard to explain what that feeling is like, but if you’ve been there, you know. Outwardly, I probably looked like I was handling it okay. “Ella’s strong, she’s got this,” people might have thought. And hey, sometimes we’re really good at acting when the occasion calls for it, right? But inside, I was not feeling tough. I was feeling more like that lone houseplant in the corner you forgot to water—frazzled and just barely hanging on. But sometimes, we feel like we have to look strong even when every nerve inside us is on high alert.

So there I was, numb from the waist down, feeling my breathing go wild, hooked up to an oxygen tube because my blood pressure had decided to take a nosedive. And let’s just add some extra mortification to the scene: apparently, I babbled some very embarrassing things to a cute intern hanging over my head to check if everything was going okay.

Then came *the* moment. My daughter was brought into the world, pulled out in that strange way C-sections happen. The sensation is so surreal—like watching someone else’s life, feeling your body shift without feeling the pain. It’s like your body is a separate entity, just a witness to what’s happening. And once the numbness wore off, the real pain started. Now, I’m not saying I’m new to pain—I mean, I’m covered in tattoos, and as my daughter would proudly tell you, “My mom is a super tough metalhead with tattoos!” So yes, I have a decent pain threshold. But this was different. The only way to describe it is… well, imagine being sewn back together like a Thanksgiving turkey. You’ve got fresh stitches, and every movement feels like something might just… pop open. Not a pretty feeling. But the truth is, the physical pain was nothing compared to what was coming.

The hardest part? That was mental. I remember it so vividly. Standing by the hospital window, my hands on my belly, feeling… empty. Just minutes ago, I was pregnant, feeling every kick and hiccup, and then… I wasn’t. I was just me again, with a baby somewhere over there in a bassinet. My whole life had just flipped upside down, and instead of the instant joy I’d read about, I felt alone, hollow, and honestly? Sad. I’d look at my beautiful daughter sleeping peacefully and wonder why I couldn’t shake that empty feeling. This was supposed to be the happiest time of my life, right? But instead, I felt like I was drifting, disconnected. In hindsight, I think that’s when the “postpartum blues” started to sink in.

I’m usually a glass-half-full person, the type who finds the humor in things, and probably the one in my friend group people can count on for a laugh. But those first weeks with my newborn felt strange and heavy, and I couldn’t just laugh it off. I became hyper-protective. If someone wanted to hold my daughter, I’d feel uneasy. Visits had to be carefully scheduled, strictly timed. At the time, I thought I was just being a good mom. Looking back now, I see it was much more than that. I wish someone had pulled me aside, looked me in the eye, and said, “Ella, something’s not quite right here. Let’s talk.” But that didn’t happen, and not because people didn’t care. My family and friends probably just thought, “Oh, she’s a new mom, and this is all new for her.” 

And that’s part of the issue. We don’t talk enough about the tough parts of postpartum. We hear about the “baby blues,” sure, but we’re rarely told that sometimes, those blues can feel a lot darker. I now realize that my emotions were part of something bigger, and it wasn’t just the normal “new mom” jitters. I was in a bit of a hole, and I made that hole even deeper by overthinking it. When you’re alone in your thoughts, things can spiral. I found myself avoiding friends, making excuses to skip gatherings, and just not wanting to be around people. My brain, bless it, was doing its own thing, convincing me that this was just who I was now.

So here’s my reason for sharing all this: to let any new or expecting moms know that what you’re feeling, no matter how strange or off, is okay. If you’re feeling low, empty, or not like the “best mom ever” Instagram keeps selling, you’re not broken, and you’re not alone. In those first few months, I was lucky to have family and friends who eventually helped me get through, but not everyone has that. And not everyone feels comfortable reaching out, especially when you’re already feeling vulnerable. For me, it took time and patience, and learning to give myself a break (still a work in progress, by the way). 

My advice? Keep an eye on yourself, and let your loved ones know how they can support you. It’s okay to not “bounce back” or “snap out of it.” You’re not a superhero—you’re human, and this whole motherhood thing is a wild, sometimes painful, always unpredictable ride. Some days are wonderful, some are tough, and some are downright scary. But that’s okay.

So to anyone who’s been there or is about to be there, just remember: you don’t have to be perfect, you don’t have to have it all figured out, and you’re allowed to feel what you feel. Let’s make space for those real, unfiltered moments. They’re as much a part of the journey as all those cute baby photos, if not more.