"I Passed the Test": How Postpartum Perfectionism and a Pediatrician Crushed My Mother's Intuition

At my son’s one-month check-up, I was handed a postpartum emotions checklist to fill out.

I was sleep-deprived, barely functioning, barely getting out the door on time, and doing this appointment solo. Still, I did what I’d always done: I performed. I filled it out “correctly.” Said I was fine. Everything was fine. I was fine.

The pediatrician skimmed it. Didn’t look at me. Then said, casually, a little smugly:
“Seems like you’re doing just fine postpartum. Your assessment looked good.”

Good, I thought. I passed the test. I did good.

What he didn’t see — what I hadn’t even fully admitted to myself — was that I was having suicidal thoughts. That our son wouldn’t sleep unless he was physically on me. That I was in a constant panic spiral trying to figure out whether he was eating enough, sleeping enough, or if I was doing enough. That I was on edge every waking second, convinced I was ruining him.

But I passed the exam. So I must have been fine. Right?

The Shaming That Changed Everything

That appointment wasn’t neutral — it was scarring.

My son screamed the entire time. The pediatrician was visibly annoyed. He looked at me and said flatly, “He’s either tired or hungry.”

I said, “Oh, he’s not tired. He slept on the way here.”

“How long?”

“Maybe 25, 30 minutes.”

“That’s not enough,” he said, condescendingly. “He should be sleeping for 2–3 hours. In his crib. Alone. He shouldn’t be sleeping on you. And he should be on a schedule.”

I felt my body tense. My nervous system spiked. My inner “fixer” — the overseer who’d served me well in high-stress jobs and high-pressure systems — took over.

This was the plan now. Get him on a schedule. Alone. In his crib. This is how we fix it. This is how I win.

Because apparently, what I’d been doing — holding him while he slept, letting him nap on me, coexisting in a messy rhythm — was all wrong.

Never mind that he was colicky, gassy, and feeding inconsistently. Never mind that I was still bleeding, barely sleeping, and navigating the overwhelming burden of my partner’s own postpartum struggles. Never mind that I was keeping him alive and myself afloat.

I had failed. And I needed to correct course.

The Fallout

Over the next several weeks, it was just the two of us — my son and me — holed up in his nursery. Trying and failing to force him into a crib nap routine.

Every missed nap felt like a moral failing. Every scream confirmed that I wasn’t doing it right. I couldn’t “figure him out.” I couldn’t “solve the puzzle.” And so I turned the frustration inward.

Why can’t we do this? Why are we failing? You’re not doing what you’re supposed to be doing.

Eventually, I cracked. I said fuck it.

He slept on me. I watched TV. I worried I was ruining him with screen time. Occasionally, we dozed off together on the couch — and I panicked that I would suffocate him in my sleep. But we survived. Barely.

I kept searching online for advice, for answers, for rules. And what I found was endless noise. Conflicting guidance. Guilt-inducing “experts.” Judgment dressed up as help. And nowhere — nowhere — was there space for the actual lived experience of postpartum. The not-knowing. The darkness. The full-body ache of it all.

Why, I wondered, could I access a dozen types of lactation consultants… but no real help for surviving postpartum?

The Crushing of My Intuition

That pediatrician appointment planted a belief in me:
That I didn’t know what I was doing.
That I wasn’t cut out for this.
That I lacked the one thing everyone said would come naturally: maternal instinct.

So I shoved down what little inner voice I had. I stopped trusting the quiet nudges that told me it was okay to hold him, okay to do what worked. I let someone else’s script override my own — even though their version of success was breaking me.

That wasn’t intuition failing. That was intuition being injured.

It took me nearly seven years to realize that. Seven years to understand that I wasn’t deformed — I had been judged, overwhelmed, unsupported, and shamed out of my own knowing.

And Then… the Light Came Back

That light — the tiny seed of intuition — did exist.

It just got buried under layers of sleep deprivation, shame, pressure, and the crushing weight of a system that does not care if we survive postpartum, only that we perform well enough to pass the test.

But now I see her. That little intuitive one. That baby seed of a mother. She was there all along. She was never broken. She was just silenced.

And I welcome her back with curiosity, with grace, with love.

Welcome, little one. I’m so glad you’re here.

To Anyone in the Thick of It

If you're there now — raw, tired, unsure — this is for you.

You don’t have to pass the test. You don’t have to fix it all. You don’t have to follow the script. You’re not failing — you’re adapting. You’re surviving.

And you’re allowed to be vulnerable. You’re allowed to scream, to sob, to say, “I can’t do this.” That is not weakness. That’s truth.

This system is not set up to support us. But that doesn’t make you the problem. You are the light. You are the fire. You are doing so much better than you think.

And your intuition? She’s still in there. Let her speak. She knows the way home.

If any part of this feels familiar — if your nervous system is buzzing or your own little intuitive one is lighting up — I want to offer you something. Consider joining my Matrescence Group Coaching Cohort, a space designed for mothers and birthparents navigating identity shifts, overwhelm, and the messy middle of becoming. It’s a place to tell the truth, find clarity, and reconnect to your inner wisdom — in community, not isolation. You don’t have to do this alone. Learn more: https://www.imhmo.com/navigating-matrescence