How my horror-heavy TBR is calming my postpartum anxieties
I often get served some weird looks when I walk into a bookstore and ask where the horror section is.
I guess I get it. I wear floral patterns. I’m often holding the hand of a four-year-old cutie pie or bouncing an infant in his carrier. I don’t wear my macabre interests on my sleeve. Horror isn’t supposed to interest mainstream women. True crime? Sure. Mystery? Absolutely. But horror is for edgy girls or men.
On the other hand, I absolutely do not get it. Why is it that “horror fan” and “women” or especially “mother” don’t seem to go hand in hand when the feminine life is full of so many anxieties that are amplified once there’s a baby in the mix?
There’s something about pregnancy and new motherhood that makes the world frame the mom as soft and bland. All the flavor is boiled out of her; a soggy mush is the only thing left. Don’t believe me?
Take a gander at nursing tops someday. It’s all full coverage, boring colors, tiny pastel flowers. Clothing for Sunday school teachers or little girls.
Or Google “gift for new mom”. You’ll find links to super soft robes or soup of the month clubs, or a pastel pink memory book that no new mom will ever have time to fill out. Are moms chronically ill? Is a 19th-century doctor about to diagnose us with hysteria and send us away to lounge around and take the waters? I thought I just proved that I was badass by bringing forth new life? If someone is going to give me a robe, give me wizard robes ala Gandalf post-resurrection. Anyway… I digress.
There’s a part of me that bought into the boiled down mom sentiment. I thought, when I was nursing, I should be reading something peaceful. Something calming. I had nature books and the seventh Harry Potter book at the ready. But I couldn’t concentrate on those while I tried to stay up nursing my newborn through the night. I needed something with grit. I needed my old standard, spooky fare. I needed horror.
The thing is, I felt bad about wanting to read about the macabre with my little innocent baby nestled in my arms. What was wrong with me that I needed fear in my life? Then it hit me, I needed my reading material to meet me where I was.
My Midnight Companion
Postpartum anxiety is the ultimate monster under the bed.
It’s there, lurking around every corner. Creeping in the shadowy corners of my brain. The more I try to ignore it, the more I push it down, the gnarlier it gets when it surfaces.
I don’t even think it’s just hormones because our modern world is designed to encourage anxiety in parents.
When I set my baby in his bassinet, specifically designed to avoid the dangers of co-sleeping that all western experts lecture about, I’m met with a glaring warning that features horrifying sentences such as “babies have sufficated” in bold text. These types of messages are printed on almost every product meant for my child during the most vulnerable time in his life.
My Facebook feed is triggering, too. It’s flooded with children suffering horrible fates and parents who have messed up in unimaginable ways. The algorithm started feeding me these disturbing news stories as soon as my son was born. SIDS, kidnapping, falling, dog attacks, and car accidents. A deadly sickness that this mother discovered just in time, most parents would have overlooked this one little symptom… There are a million reasons to be afraid. Something terrible is bound to happen. And it will most likely be my fault. And that’s just now, when he gets older and goes out into the world, those anxieties simply morph into more complicated monsters.
Motherhood is filled with little horrors. It makes sense that I’m craving fiction that projects those fears into something bigger, more outlandish, more visible, and really, a lot less scary.
Before I had my second baby, I banished myself from scrolling on Instagram to lower said anxiety. No more parenting advice that I won’t be able to remember when the time comes. No more scary headlines. As long as I stay off Facebook, it’s working all right. Instead, I’m doing my best to keep paperbacks around. I ordered a whole stack from ThriftBooks. Because I read them whenever I’m sitting down to nurse, I read a few at a time. They’re scattered around the house, surrounded by spit cloths and baby wipes.
Each of these books is either written by women or features a strong female voice. They are with me at all times of the day, whenever I need a companion to help me keep my real fears at bay. Witchcraft for Wayward Girls has a spot under the bassinet; it’s too big to fit on my tiny bedside table because they sent me the large print version (which is honestly perfect for midnight nursing/reading sessions in low light).
Downstairs, I’ve been reading The Things We Lost in the Fire, a short story collection by Argentine author Mariana Enriquez, one of my current favorite writers. Her stories have bite. They reach out and cut to the quick before I even know what happened. They are bloody and real and never fail to wake me up a little.
I’m rereading The Haunting of Hill House when I’m rocking Raymond to sleep in my little rocking chair in the office. Truthfully, I’ve only ever listened to the Shirley Jackson classic. Reading the paperback has made me empathize with Nellie more than ever before.
Then there’s Lone Women, by Victor Levalle, which combines my love of Western historical fiction and horror. It captured my attention so well that it traveled around the house under my arm for a few days until I reached the very end. As a result, it has a nasty coffee stain that will make it hard to trade in at my local paperback exchange. Just as well, I think this book will be making the rounds with my family and friends.
The women in these books get me. They see me. They might be facing literal demons of their own, but they know what it is to be judged by society over what they do and what they don’t do. They know what it is to carry a big sack of ever-changing anxieties around that they’re supposed to pretend isn’t there. The ghost on the stairs, the witches in the forest, the demon in the shadows, all of them are innocents compared to the news in my feed. For a while, I’m lost in otherworld drama, and that feels nice. These darker images are the only ones that can calm the anxieties that loom large in my sleep-deprived mind.
I do have my spooky limitations. I am trying to avoid any stories that touch on the death of children (Beloved will have to wait). And apocalyptic stories strike too close to home, now that I’m raising a family in a world that seems increasingly unstable. It’s the books about things that go bump in the night that hold more appeal for me than ever. There’s no lack of female-centric horror to add to my TBR. Women in horror is a tradition that goes way back. Mary Shelley, Shirley Jackson, hell, even Jane Austen has a book with spooky vibes.
I have two more stories to read in Enriquez’s book of short stories. I have a third of Witchcraft for Wayward Girls left. Then I’ll be moving on to The Silent Companions by Laura Purcell and drum roll please… Northanger Abbey by our girl, Jane. It’s safe to say that my Haunting of Hill House book tote from my Page Street Designs Etsy Store will be getting a lot of use this fall, as I carry my paperbacks to and from work. And for now, all this discussion of ghouls and ghosts isn’t keeping me up at night. In fact, it’s helping me sleep. At least as much as my boy, Raymond, will let me.
A New Chapter
It’s my second time taking this harrowing trip through mothering an infant. So far, the journey is a little more familiar. I’m not falling into the same traps. I’m staying active, staying somewhat social. I don’t jump up to grasp my baby to my chest every time he makes a sound in the night.
Long story short, my anxiety isn’t in an upward spiral like it was with my first. But honestly, I can’t fathom mothering without anxiety lurking in the back of my mind. The trick is, calm it long enough to fall back asleep in the middle of the night. That’s where my final girls and fierce heroines come in. There’s nothing like reading about ghosts to calm my demons.
That’s that. Here’s where I am at the start of my new chapter. Want to go back to read about my pregnancy journey? Check out the ways I kept myself mentally well prenatally in my rituals article. Fellow horror fan? Drop your recommendations or recommendation requests in the comments. Support me by checking out my Etsy shop. I drop fresh horror and literature-inspired designs regularly.
And thanks to Raymond for letting me finish this post. I might have to do it one-handed while bouncing your butt, but it’s great to be back at the keyboard.