When a baby arrives, the world expects you to carry on. Eat, move, clean, socialise, as if nothing’s shifted. As if your entire body didn't just completely open up to bring forth a whole little human! But across many cultures, there exists a deep, beautiful understanding: a new mother needs time to rest, to heal, and to slow down. Many traditions reserve a period of confinement - often 40 days - during which the mother is sheltered, supported, and allowed to recover fully. These traditions whisper of wisdom we need more than ever in modern motherhood.
In southern Asian, in the 40-day confinement is often referred to as Challi or Chilla, a new mother stays home, avoids house chores, and is fed healing foods while family members step in to care. In Latin America, there’s la cuarentena, a six-week period when a mother is meant to rest and let others tend the household. In China, zuò yuè zi (“sitting the month”) demands rest, warmth, special foods, and minimal exposure. In Nigeria, it involves maternal grandmothers caring for mother and baby during the first 40 days and in many parts of Asia, such as in Korea, mothers are supported for 21 to 30 days, with mandated rest, nutrition, and avoidance of cold.
These rituals don’t exist because women are weak. They exist because birth is sacred and savage. Because bodies need time to stitch, regulate, and strengthen. Because hearts need time to reorient. Because trauma hides in the seams.
My own experiences differed with each child. With my first, I rejected tradition. I thought I could “do it all my way.” In hindsight, I see just how exhausting that was. I set boundaries, yes, but stole moments of rest only when forced. With my second, I tried to honour the 40 days of home rest - but I still moved through rituals of daily life, chores, outings, half-measures. Recovery came, but stretched thin.
By my third, I embraced a deeper rest. For 40 days, I paused. I limited going out. I fed and slept on demand. I allowed the world to wait. I had the support of my mum and mother-in-law with the older children. Though postpartum depression found me in month two (tied to stress over my dad’s health and a build up of anxiety and stress from the lockdown years), I still feel the third recovery was far gentler on my bones and my spirit.
I wish women would be given choice - not guilt - around these rites. I wish we knew that honouring rest isn’t weakness. If your home isn’t an option for full rest, lean on community. Hire a doula or postpartum helper if possible. Ask your sisters, cousins, aunties. Invite neighbours. Find someone to prepare meals, wash dishes, tend children so you can lie down.
If you’re reading this, pregnant or postpartum, consider this: make your 40 days your own. Take a deep look at what resonates - and never be ashamed to adapt. Pause the world. Believe that your body needs space. Let your rest be loud. Let your peace be non-negotiable.
Because in slowing down, you don’t fall behind - you come back to yourself.
Your healing matters. Your rest matters. And in honouring your pace, you give yourself the full weight of permission to be whole again.
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