Consider this picture with me…

It’s the Summer of 1983, and 67-year-old Fernande is sitting in her parlor in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, West Indies. She is accompanied by her 27-year-old daughter, Maggie, who has traveled to visit her from Boston, Massachusetts. Though short in stature and advanced in years, these are merely matters of time and genetics. Fernande’s appearance more prominently shows to be full of vitality and wit. Behind her stands a younger lady (possibly in her early 20s), who is plaiting Fernande’s hair as the older woman enjoys a leisurely chat with her beloved visitors… the matriarch’s two-month-old granddaughter can also be seen in this picture, looking on from a baby carrier. 

Forty-one years after that first encounter with my grandmother, I can't help but remember the fullness and wholeness that she embodied right up until her brief illness and passing in September of 2000. Now a wife and mother myself, that picture speaks to me differently than it had throughout my childhood. 

Then, it was merely a photo taken during our family trip to Haiti. Now, to me it portrays the culture of matriarchal care and support that benefits many women in the Caribbean and around the world.

In such countries, postpartum support isn't something to be coveted, planned, or its costs weighed and measured. Postpartum support is simply a given. Whether urban or rural, wealthy or poor… the community shoulders the load of providing food, healing treatments, a listening ear, or even haircare (among other forms of assistance) to the new mother… and that support often continues for decades as the woman’s duties increase. Without prompting, the once newbie-mom organically assumes the role of the maternal mentor… the matriarch.

The cooking of aromatic, made-from-scratch, ethnic dishes that promote healthy lactation and hormonal balance… the administering of herbal baths and massages that tighten the muscles and remove excess fluids… The real-time bequeathing of centuries-old wisdom that empowers the new mother with confidence and grit… Women who live within these contexts tend to experience a fullness that the majority of women in the U.S. don't grasp so easily. Rather, if even aware of our need for them, we often seek to piecemeal these sorts of experiences, regarding and paying for them as luxury costs.

What if we appropriately treated postpartum recovery as support for the whole woman (and family)? What if postpartum support was comprehensively approached and backed by our loved ones, healthcare providers, employers, and social communities alike? If you have ever asked yourself these questions, what if your answer is Nenen?