It was April 2017. I had been a parent for almost three years, and I was treating myself to a solo birthday trip to New York City.
I slept, luxuriously, with podcasts in my headphones, on the bus from Portland to New York. My sister met me, and we began a packed itinerary of record store browsing, clothes shopping, Broadway viewing, and eating.
So much wonderful eating—arepas and vegan Japanese feasts and Egyptian spreads. And with eating, comes drinking. I enjoyed chrysanthemum tea, boba, bitters-heavy cocktails, and other delights.
And then came the peeing.
As regular city-goers might know, finding a restroom open to the public in Manhattan can be tricky. But every few blocks, I needed one. I debated bushes and side streets. My sister was determined to not let our weekend be derailed by my arresting bladder, so we doggedly entered Kroger’s, Starbucks, McDonalds, and anywhere that seemed likely. We bought unnecessary pastries at Pret a Manger. I practiced my most urgent expression.
I’ve always had a small bladder, and most of our home video footage from family trips in the 1980s is of my sisters and I going in and out of various public restrooms. But, as my sister said to me with some concern, this seemed pathological.
I began a journey to figure out just what had gone wrong in my body during pregnancy. It wasn’t just my bladder – earlier I’d strained a muscle from always holding Pen on my right hip. A lot of hair had fallen out when I was about six months postpartum, and I’d had no idea to expect that. Weaning had been a quagmire of physical and mental pain. I come from a family full of doctors, so I’d assumed I’d been fully informed about the proverbial “what to expect.” So why hadn’t I had any of this information ahead of time?
I began a journey to figure out just what had gone wrong in my body during pregnancy.
I started seeing a pelvic health physical therapist. But I also looked for a book. Any book that might explain what was going on in my body. After all, I had books about pregnancy, books about labor and delivery, books about feeding a baby, books about baby sleep, books about baby brain development.
There was nothing. A void in the bookshelves where a book specifically about my postpartum body might be. So I figured, I’m a writer, I might as well be the one to write it.
In 2019 I started a doc called “Postpartum Body Book” and made a list of my ailments. Well shoot, I thought when I was done, I still don’t know what to do about any of it.
I knew someone who did. Ruth Macy, PT, DPT. I’d met Ruth when we moved to the island—her soon-to-be husband worked with Bill plumbing for Rex Crockett. They had moved off island where she could fulfill her career as a physical therapist and had started specializing in pelvic health.
She was the person I went to with my questions, someone who had repeatedly helped me with a simple touch, a suggestion as to how to change a movement pattern, or where to find additional health care support.
Without her, I wouldn’t have known what a pelvic health physical therapist was, when I needed to seek one out, or what to expect. So, in 2021, I popped the question and asked her to be my co-author.
And luckily, she said yes.
Around the same time, I joined LinkedIn for a variety of not very clear reasons, but it seemed like something adults did. I happened to notice Anna Worrall’s profile—she was someone I knew from the summer community, and with whom I had spent a little more time during the pandemic year when everyone just stayed on the island.
What I hadn’t previously known was that she was a literary agent. I had been trying to get representation for years! I sent her a note and asked if she would read a book proposal.
Not that proposal, though. Ruth and I were nowhere near that point. I sent her a proposal for a memoir about moving to North Haven (it’s still up for grabs if anyone thinks that sounds fantastic!). She read it, gave excellent feedback, passed on it, and asked a fateful question:
“So what else are you working on?”
I listed a few other projects—a perpetually revised middle-grade novel, a children’s book. Then there was this thing Ruth and I were working on—a book about postpartum recovery.
Anna snapped to attention. “That’s the one. Put all your energy there. Let me know how I can help.”
Thus mandated, Ruth and I began conducting hundreds of hours of interviews with postpartum people, experts in the field, and instructors and coaches of various athletics. We completed a proposal with Anna’s support and representation, and she deftly had it in front of prospective publishers and sold in what seemed like a startlingly short amount of time.
~ ~ ~
The real work began. We interviewed, researched, wrote, and revised for a year. We hired an illustrator to create the first-of-their-kind illustrations of pelvic floor anatomy that we included in the book. Bill spent a hilarious afternoon with us photographing various exercise demonstrations on the Waterman’s stage.
We went through several passes with the editors, then a copy editor. We approved the design and hired a voice actor for the audiobook.
We’d had some good advice from writer friends and our agent about how weird it might feel to have the book out in the world.
And then, we waited. And finally, on June 4, 2024—seven years since my trip to New York—every postpartum person could finally hold in their hands what I had wished for back then: a book just for me, about me and my postpartum body, a field guide to what the heck had happened and how to make it all work a little better.
We’d had some good advice from writer friends and our agent about how weird it might feel to have the book out in the world. All the parts we could control—how it was written, what we included, the book cover, the voice actor—were done, and now we were at the whims of the public.
Would there be any backlash around the fact that I, a public school teacher, had my name on a book that included a chapter on returning to intimacy? I had a lot of personal anecdotes about bodily woes in there; would those come back to bite me in some way?
Happily, so far, we’ve heard positive responses to the book, usually something along the lines of how much people wish it had been out when they were newly postpartum, or expressing gratitude that it now exists.
With each podcast episode, Instagram post, and review we are reaching more and more people for whom the book will hopefully offer some empowerment and healing.
Courtney Naliboff lives on North Haven with her husband Bill Trevaskis and their daughter Penrose, where she teaches music, writing, and drama. She also plays in the band Bait Bag. She may be reached at Courtney.Naliboff@gmail.com.
