A: After giving birth, my hormones changed, my husband kept telling me that I smelled bad: “You smell sour, sleep on the living room sofa” I only had one answer that made him speechless and embarrassed…
I am Tessa, 29 years old, just gave birth to my first child three months ago at St. Luke’s – BGC. My husband is Marco Santos, the marketing manager of a company in Makati, handsome, sweet-tongued, from a wealthy family in Quezon City. Our wedding went “viral” on Facebook; Everyone said I was lucky. Just three months after giving birth, my life fell into the abyss.
After giving birth to Basti, my body changed: I gained almost 20kg, my skin became darker, and the thing that gave me away was my strange body odor. I showered thoroughly, used body mist, but the smell still lingered—probably because of postpartum hormones. I know that many new mothers have this problem, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing—especially when Marco starts acting up.
One night, I was breastfeeding when Marco came home, frowning. He sat down on the living room couch, looked at me, and said bluntly:
“Tessa, you smell sour. Just sleep on the living room couch tonight, don’t share the same bed.”
I was stunned. I tried to explain: “You just had a baby, your hormones are changing…” I tried to take care of you.” He brushed it off:
“Don’t apologize. I’ve been stressed all day, and when I get home I can smell it. What kind of woman are you?”
That night, I slept with my baby on the sofa, my pillow wet with tears. Marco started leaving early and coming home late, using work as an excuse. I was suspicious, but I kept quiet.
Nanay Rosa—my mother—came from Bulacan to visit her niece, and when she saw me looking haggard, she asked me. After listening, she didn’t get angry but just patted her on the shoulder:
“Calm down, son. Men often don’t understand how hard it is for women after giving birth. “Don’t worry, let her see that she was wrong.”
I kept quiet, but the fight only grew worse. Once, when we were at home, in front of friends, Marco spoke:
“Tessa is like an old maid now, her body smells—I can’t stand being around her.”
Laughter and laughter. I was embarrassed but for the sake of my daughter, I gritted my teeth.
Then one night, she came home late, her breath heavy:
“Look at yourself: fat, smelly—who could stand it? Marrying you was the biggest mistake of my life.”
Tears welled up in my eyes. I remembered what Mom had said: “Don’t answer with words. Let your actions speak.”
The next morning, I opened the drawer and took out the box containing letters Marco had written when they were in love—one of them said: “No matter what happens to you, I will love and protect you.” I scanned/photocopied all of this and bound it into a book. I wrote another letter: about my pregnancy—the backache, the swelling, the stretch marks—the night of the birth in the operating room, every contraction, every tear; about the shame of being kicked off the couch by my own husband because of my body odor.
Next to the letter, I put a USB—a clip I had recorded right in the hospital when I gave birth to Basti: shaking with pain, crying and calling Marco’s name, praying for his safety. I wrote one line:
“This is the ‘stinky’ woman I once swore to love.”
That night Marco went home. He flipped through the letter, then plugged the USB into the TV. The clip played. I stood on the edge of the corner, silent. He collapsed, covering his face and crying. A moment later, he knelt in front of me:
“I made a mistake, Tessa. I don’t know what you’ve been through. I’m a bad husband.”
I didn’t immediately forgive:
“Do you think I want this body? I gave birth to your child, this family. You’re humiliating me in front of others. If you don’t change, I’m leaving—because I deserve respect.”
Marco hugged me and repeatedly
apologize. But I know it’s not easy to mend my heart.
At that moment, Nanay Rosa revealed a secret: she secretly took me to an endocrinologist at the Philippine General Hospital (PGH). The result: I had postpartum thyroiditis—rare but treatable. Nanay put me on medication and monitored me. After just a month, my body odor and health improved dramatically.
But things exploded when I posted a long post on Facebook, telling the whole drama: my husband had humiliated me, pushed me onto the couch, and how I responded in a letter + video. I said,
“It’s not trash. Body odor, weight, are a result of childbirth—no reason to be ashamed. If you’re not respected, don’t be silent. Let your actions speak for themselves.”
The post went viral; many mothers texted to share similar stories, some tagging their husbands in the post. The Santos family was in turmoil; Mom, the usually difficult mother-in-law, also called, apologizing for not being on my side from the start.
Marco offered couples therapy at a clinic in BGC, sent a schedule for childcare on Saturdays and Sundays, volunteered to sleep in the living room during my treatment so I could sleep more soundly, and accepted a “new dads” course from an NGO in Quezon City. I set three conditions:
Actually, not at home or in front of strangers.
Evenly split childcare and housework (the schedule was posted on the refrigerator).
Respect the doctor’s orders—no random “the smell is because of laziness” claims, no interfering with treatment.
He agreed, signed the “house rules” paper. I gave him time, no rushed promises.
After a month, my weight began to stabilize, my thyroid was under control, my skin was clearer, and my body odor was gone. Marco quietly went to the grocery store, learned to bathe Basti, and set an alarm to keep me awake all night. He left a small envelope on the table—a printout of his old words next to a new piece of paper:
“I will love and protect—not in words, but in deeds.”
I didn’t need flowers. I needed respect. And this time, I found it—from the kitchen, to the washing machine, to the baby bottles, to the therapy room.
At the end of the article, I said:
“Hormonal changes after giving birth are real. If you smell a ‘sour smell,’ it may be a sign that your body needs help—not a reason to kick your wife off the couch. A good man is not someone who ‘talks nice,’ he is someone who sits down, apologizes, and relearns how to be a husband.”
And what I used to respond left him speechless and embarrassed—not an argument—but evidence of past love, compared to present, combined with a medical diagnosis. He was forced to look in the mirror, and forced the entire family to look at women after giving birth with pity.