The Bounce Back that Took Four Years

Words by Sofie Pavitt

I got pregnant with my first son at 35 and was immediately labeled a “geriatric pregnancy.” Rude. My mum was 21 when she had me, so I always knew my experience would look different, but being framed as an “old mum” from day one still caught me off guard.

A month after Nico’s first birthday, I found out I was pregnant again. I cried for two weeks. Not because we didn’t want another child. We did, but because I wasn’t ready. My body hadn’t settled, my nervous system was still catching up, and the idea of doing pregnancy all over again felt overwhelming.

Before my first pregnancy, movement was a huge part of my life. I didn’t drink, I ran often, I loved structured workouts. Exercise wasn’t about control, it was about how I felt good in my body. My first pregnancy was relatively smooth, and even though my body changed dramatically, I still felt strong and capable.

My second pregnancy was a completely different story. I was sick immediately. I had a subchorionic hematoma and bled heavily throughout the first trimester, which meant months of constant anxiety. I could barely function, lived on cereal and toast, and spent most days in bed. Everything felt fragile.

The stress didn’t stop there. Rocco was breech, which meant endless appointments, interventions, and uncertainty. When I realized, shockingly, that I’d been in labor for hours without knowing it, I ended up having a late-night C-section a month early.

I left the hospital five days later, during COVID, with a fresh surgical recovery and two kids under two. That moment, walking out into real life, with no family support ( I didn’t see my family for two years in the UK because of travel restrictions), felt like being hit by a bus.

And then there was the newborn stage. Rocco struggled. Feeding was hard. Nursing, which had been easy the first time, felt unbearable. He had reflux, a dairy intolerance, and colic, and I was exhausted and depleted. When we finally switched him to a specialized formula, everything shifted, for him and for me. Sometimes choosing yourself is also choosing your child and I feel zero guilt about it. Isn’t it amazing how much anxiety we have over these trivial things when they grow up and only eat chicken nuggets regardless?

When Rocco was six months old, I slowly began working with a personal trainer. Slowly is the key word. This wasn’t the kind of movement I used to love—it was methodical, unglamorous, and frankly boring. Progress took time. A lot of it. And that’s okay. It took forever to feel strong again, my muscles were soft and moldable like butter for the first few months. Pregnancy is wild.

What no one really tells you is how long it can take to feel like yourself again. For me, after my second, it wasn’t months, it was years. I’d say it wasn’t until Rocco turned three that I truly felt like me. I don’t want to freak anyone out but I felt so brain rotted and stupid for the first two years postpartum after my boys. I would forget people's names, where I put my keys—the fog is so real.

When you’ve been someone who felt physically strong, then you move through pregnancy, surgery, breastfeeding, sleep deprivation, and sheer survival, the mirror can feel unfamiliar. I didn’t mind that my body had changed, it had done something extraordinary. Having a baby is the most physical interpretation of a miracle I’ve ever witnessed. But my face looked different and less like the person I felt.

Pregnancy does a number on you. Whether it’s getting pregnant, IVF, birth control, coming off of birth control, taking out the spironolactone to get pregnant, postpartum, I think it’s such an individual experience. Some people look amazing pregnant and some people absolutely hate it, look awful and feel awful, and their skin goes crazy. It’s a very humbling experience for some people who’ve never had these issues before and now all of a sudden, they have this tiny baby and they don’t recognize themselves anymore.

As a facialist and esthetician working alongside dermatologists, I understood my options clearly. I knew that skincare alone wasn’t going to give me what I wanted, and that was okay. Surgery wasn’t about erasing motherhood and being a mum—I just wanted to look like myself again. So I booked in for my surgery with Lesley Rabach.

In August 2024, I had a lower neck lift and upper blepharoplasty. I prepared my kids, told them I’d look “crazy” for a week, and they took it in stride. Recovery was harder and longer than I expected, but I’d do it again tomorrow. The feeling of recognition was immediate. I feel so much better and aligned with how I feel. My husband was super supportive and I was extremely transparent about the whole process with everyone. I didn’t hide it.

I didn’t realize my neck would be such a thing for people. After The Cut article, people were angry. But I didn’t do it for anyone else. I did it for me. And people were like: Actually you didn’t do it for you. You did it for “the male gaze.” I’m like, oh my God, I’m 43 years old. I’ll be married for 12 years. I have two kids. The last thing I’m trying to do is present myself for the male gaze.

Am I vain? I don’t think so. Women, especially mothers, are constantly judged, compared, and pitted against one another. I didn’t do this for anyone else. Not for approval, not for the male gaze (which, honestly, feels irrelevant once you’ve had kids). I did it to feel like myself again.

Sofie Pavitt is a licensed esthetician and is known as “The Acne Whisperer.” She is the founder of the Sofie Pavitt Studio and Sofie Pavitt Face, an acne-safe skincare brand designed to bring you expert-level results at home. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband and two sons, six and four years old.