In Chinese culture going back for generations, new moms practice confinement, also known as zuo yue zi, or “sit the month.” Confinement occurs the first month immediately after birth and requires the new mom to not do anything for those first 30 days.
My birth was atypical (a natural, non-medicated breech delivery—a different story for another day), but I had minimal interventions, and the biggest issue was a second-degree tear. I arrived home after two pleasant days in the hospital and my husband and I were “on our own” for only a few hours before my mom arrived. And for the next 30 days, my mom became my primary caretaker, mothering the new mother as I entered my confinement.
When my mom explained it to me, she shared how the new mom does not wash her hair for 30 days (seriously?!), she eats pigs’ feet with black vinegar and ginger (what’s black vinegar?), and she does not go outside or have visitors (so essentially she’s under house arrest).
None of that seemed very appealing, but there was one core benefit of confinement my mom emphasized that solidified my decision to do it. In Chinese culture, it is believed that the postpartum body is in a very weakened state. Birth leaves the body with a huge void in the womb, a space filled with air, where the baby once was. That space, or what my mother would call “wind,” leaves the new mom susceptible to any number of future ailments, such as unstable menopause or body aches if she does not have a proper postpartum experience. On the flip side, with the proper nutrition and healing practices, a new mom has the opportunity to reset her body, and the care and support it receives during the recovery period can set up the new mom for good health in the long term.
Confinement is called “sit the month” because the new mom is meant to literally sit in bed while her caretakers manage everything for her—this includes laundry, cleaning, cooking, caring for younger kids, and whatever else may need to be done in the home. And so that’s what I did (or rather did not do) with my mom’s support. I could not have imagined experiencing postpartum life without my mom by my side and without the structure and “limitations” of confinement. The first days after the birth of my daughter were a whirlwind. It was a relief not to have to worry about “real-life” things like cooking, cleaning, errands, laundry, and yes, bathing.
My mom was acutely focused on keeping me warm with an absurd number of layers of clothing and blankets and on preparing specific foods for me. My meals consisted of cooked, warm, protein-rich dishes, and pretty much everything was studded with minced ginger. Protein, often in the form of chicken, pigs’ feet, or eggs, helped my body rebuild. Ginger warmed up my body and also helped usher that wind out of my womb, helping it return to its original state. Additionally, I drank gallons of bone-broth-based soups simmered with medicinal herbs that helped with lactation and strength recovery. Before bed each night, my mother would fill a thermos with hot soup and leave it on my side table so I could sip it whenever I woke up to nurse my daughter. My eyes swell with tears just thinking about the tenderness of that act, which became an evening ritual for me.
The one part of confinement that horrifies most people when I discuss it is not my consumption of pigs’ feet but the choice not to bathe or shower. But it is believed that wet skin and hair bring dampness to our bodies, into our empty wombs and deep into our bones, which then leads to health issues both immediately and in our later years. I wiped my body with a warm washcloth every few days and held out for as long as I could without washing my hair, but after about 25 days, I told my mom I couldn’t stand it anymore.
The next afternoon, she made me a bath with hot water steeped in ginger, which filled my bathroom with its aroma, making it feel like a mini spa. The bath felt like the unofficial end of my confinement, the water cleansing and renewing me, a beautiful way to mark the end of the practice.
The physical healing was transformative. By the end of the 30 days, I felt strong enough to take care of my baby, and my uterus, vagina, and pelvis felt on track to becoming fully healed.
In my mind, the focus of confinement had always been about my physical health, but I had never accounted for the psychological benefits.
Clearing my plate of responsibilities those first 30 days gave me the time, space, and permission to establish a healthy attachment to my daughter. I had this new person in my life whose safety and well-being I was responsible for. I had to adjust to her schedule, learn her cues, and show her that life on earth was safe. Without knowing it at the time, I was laying the foundation for our lifelong relationship and setting her up to develop physically, mentally, and emotionally.
Having that time was crucial for my mental health as well. At birth, my identity completely shifted: one moment I was a pregnant lady and the next I was a mother to a physical child. The transition to motherhood is unlike any other, and it is a lonely and rushed one for many women. There is little time to truly sink into the experience, reflect on what just happened, reevaluate priorities, and ponder what is to come. Confinement allowed me to do this and to transition into being “Mom.”
During those late nights, thoughts materialized out of thin midnight air as my newborn gently suckled. This reflection might be a distraction to a mom who had to wake up early to get ready for work or to clean the house before friends came to visit. But for me, who had support in the morning to sleep in and ease into the day, I pondered and wondered and mused to my heart’s content. My imagination stretched and processed who I was as a mom and who I would become.
Because of confinement, I was able to become a mom in peace, not in chaos. My body was able to heal in the crucial recovery period after birth. I was able to integrate my identities as daughter and mother and became a newer, truer version of myself. I realized the uphill battle that moms face in our society and how support and love should be, but aren’t, the foundation of our motherhood journeys. Above all, I learned to trust my instincts and I became a confident mother. Just like my mother, who was there every step of the way.