I Don’t Want You Around Right Now

There’s a certain kind of overstimulation that doesn’t get talked about enough — the kind that comes after you bring home a newborn.

Not the kind that comes from crying or sleep deprivation or your baby cluster feeding at 2 a.m. for the third night in a row. That kind, I expected.

What I didn’t expect?

Was how deeply I’d crave quiet. Stillness. Space.

And how overwhelmed I’d feel… not from the baby, but from everyone else.

Even the people I love most.

The Hardest Thing to Say as a New Mom: Please Don’t Come Over.

Let me start by saying this: my mother-in-law is truly wonderful. She’s been my right hand during some of the hardest moments of this journey. She’s supportive, helpful, and kind — the kind of mother-in-law people dream of.

I could almost call her a best friend.

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But even that didn’t protect me from the storm that is postpartum anxiety.

My husband is a neurosurgery resident, which means his “work hours” don’t really follow the rules. He’s on an academic calendar, so he had to use up a few extra vacation days before the year ended — which, to me, translated to bonus days together as a family. Just us.

So when my mother-in-law offered to come down again — which we had originally planned for when he returned to work — I thought we were all on the same page. She even said she’d come when he was working, so she could be the most helpful.

Perfect.

But then I got a text: she planned to come earlier — to spend time with her son.

Now listen. I get it. I genuinely get it. She misses him. She wants time with him. But I had just spent several days spiraling alone while he worked night shifts, and the only thing that was getting me through it was the idea of us finally having a stretch of time together.

So I told him how I felt. He agreed. We’d reclaim those days — just the three of us.

I texted her, explained it gently, thought it was done. She asked me to call. And that’s when my anxiety kicked in.

Because for me, texting was already a huge leap — I’m barely holding it together most days. Phone calls? Phone calls feel like a performance. And in postpartum land, I’ve got nothing left to perform.

But I called. We talked. She agreed to come later in the week — Thursday. But then she said the thing that every anxious person dreads:

“I could always come Tuesday…”

And I just… didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I had nothing left to give.

So when I got a text a day later saying she would come Tuesday, I nearly lost it. I had already asked my husband to talk to her — he hadn’t. I snapped. He finally stepped in, and she moved her trip back to Thursday.

I sent a quick text, saying sorry for the delayed response, we had family over. But I was left with a pit in my stomach. Did I offend her? Was she hurt? Does she think I don’t want her here?

I do. Just… not right now.

Because when she’s here — as helpful as she is — she holds the baby constantly. For days. And I miss my daughter. I miss her smell. Her weight on my chest. Her coos. I feel guilty for that, and then guilty for feeling guilty.

Then My Best Friend Offered to Come — And My Chest Got Tight

You’d think having people offer to help would be comforting. But in postpartum?

Even love can feel like a demand.

My best friend, someone I adore, offered to come visit. She said she’d bring her nieces — toddlers. Loud, curious toddlers. I said no. She said to think about it. I told her I was overstimulated — that toddlers in my home right now would be a sensory nightmare.

My baby hasn’t even had her first full round of vaccinations. She’s not even eight weeks old.

I asked about vaccines, and she said she had them — but then casually mentioned she’s been traveling a lot for work and fun, and “isn’t the cleanest of clean right now.”

I didn’t respond. Because what do you say to that?

She later offered to visit when the baby is “less fragile.” And even that sentence broke me a little. Because my daughter isn’t fragile — she’s just new. I’m fragile.

And I wish people understood that.

This Is What Postpartum Anxiety Looks Like — And It’s Exhausting

Postpartum anxiety isn’t always loud or obvious.

Sometimes, it looks like obsessively washing pump parts at 1 a.m.

Sometimes, it looks like crying because someone made a phone call instead of texting.

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Sometimes, it looks like dreading visits from people you love because you just don’t have the bandwidth to host, perform, share, or even sit upright.

And when people say, “Let me know how I can support you”? The honest answer might be:

By not showing up. Not yet.

The Support We Need

Right now, I’m trying to protect my peace. I’m bonding with my daughter. I’m working part-time. I returned to work a week after giving birth. I write — it’s one of the ways I try to help provide for us. And I pump. And I rock her to sleep. And I try, every single day, not to drown in this tidal wave of new motherhood.

If you want to help — truly help — consider checking out our baby registry. It’s full of items that make this new life a little easier, and your support means more than you know.

Because what I really need isn’t more company. It’s more understanding.
More grace. More room to breathe.

And the permission to say — out loud, boldly, without guilt —

If you’re not my baby or my husband, I probably don’t want you around right now. And that’s okay.

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UPDATED BIO:

Hi, I’m Fiona — a writer in the midst of an unexpected chapter.

In April 2024, I lost my job. Since then, my husband and I have been getting by on his modest income as a medical resident. After stepping away from IVF, we were shocked — and overjoyed — to find out we were pregnant naturally. While it was the happiest surprise, it also brought new financial stress as we prepared for our growing family.

Then, our baby arrived early — on April 29th, 2025, instead of the expected due date in late May. With no paid maternity leave and no room in our budget for childcare, I’ve returned to part-time jobs and writing just a week after giving birth to help cover essentials like groceries, bills, and a few things for our 🌈 miracle baby.

If you’d like to support my writing — and by extension, our little family — your kindness would mean the world. Every bit helps: $1, $2, whatever you can give.

💸 Donate here — Venmo

🍼 Baby Registry — Or if you’d prefer to help more directly, we’re also gratefully accepting support through our baby registry — every burp cloth, diaper and/or bottle goes a long way.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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