Healing after a Traumatic Birth
After the birth of my oldest it was recommended to me to write her birth story. Initially, when I was asked about my daughter's birth I would simply say "she's healthy and that's all that matters." I lied. I hid my birth story. I hid because it was more comfortable. I hid because I couldn't let it go; I couldn't accept the feelings I felt or the thoughts that overwhelmed my mind. I hid because I couldn't be honest with myself. I hid because it was more comfortable.
From the outside looking in I had an amazing birth; I was in active labor for less than seven hours, I pushed less than ten minutes and my beautiful daughter was healthy. I only needed two little stitches and I was up and walking hours later. Physically, it was great. Emotionally, I was left in shambles.
I had my birth plan/preferences that was based on knowledge and what I wanted for myself and my family. I was hopeful and determined to follow it and if changes needed to be made I wanted those changes to be made based on knowledge and respect. I was your “typical” first-mom. Around 3pm I was having contractions that weren't too bad - I could walk, talk, move, laugh, and even go to the neighbor’s garage sale. BUT they were five minutes apart and I was so excited to head to the hospital to meet my little one that we did. When we arrived at the hospital I was zero centimeters dilated. I was also met by a nurse who openly dismissed and ridiculed my birth plan. There was hard-core judgement in the fact I wanted minimal intervention. She went as far as telling me that she didn’t understand why anyone would go without an epidural…”the only people who don’t get epidurals are the ones that screwed up and came to the hospital too late.” When we discussed that I would prefer moving and taking a shower, she rolled her eyes and called me “one of those moms” as she told me it makes more work for her if I don’t have an epidural. I don’t remember everything she said, but I remember how I felt. I went from excited, empowered and ready to defeated and scared. I felt like I failed and I hadn't even started.
Two hours later we returned to the hospital and at this point I was 6cm dilated. I asked for the epidural I didn't want. The only thing I could think of was that I didn't want to be treated like a failure or a nuisance. Less than five minutes after the epidural, my blood pressure bottomed out along with my baby's heartbeat. I remember looking at the nurse as she told me "I need you to breathe, in just a moment there will be doctors and nurses joining us to help." I wanted to cry and run away but more importantly I wanted what I couldn't have- to take back time. I wanted to go back to the birth plan I made out of knowledge and love rather than fear and judgement.
My daughter was in distress with her heart rate dropping to 40 beats per minute regularly. There was meconium in the amniotic fluid and she wasn’t recovering like she should between contractions. I pushed six times but I also was forced into not pushing during contractions because her heart rate slowed too much. In the end, I had the vaginal birth I had wanted but it wasn't a victory. I had to watch my daughter from across the room for over 17 minutes as she was evaluated by the NICU team. I didn't get skin-to-skin, I didn't get to hold her or smell her. I was on the sideline...helpless. I stared across the room as they helped and the only thing I could think was "I did this. I am the person that hurt my child before she was even born. I let fear win and she ended up being born into fear rather than love. How can I love myself when I hurt my own child?"
The next couple of weeks (months really) were hard. I didn't trust myself to not hurt my daughter again. I second guessed everything I did. I was living in fear. I shut myself out from most of the world, cutting those who love me out of my reality. My reality was messy. It was scary. My reality was emotional chaos. Childbirth was suppose to be this amazing and fulfilling experience and instead I was left hating myself so I hid. I hid from my friends, my family, my husband. I hid from reality so I didn’t have to feel it. In that time I saw a psychologist who I felt comfortable enough with to open up to, but I still hid from those around me.
Thankfully, I found a group of women and friends who had what I needed- a judgement free, loving community that was there to listen and provide support. These women didn't judge, they didn’t shame me for not enjoying birth. They didn’t minimize my feelings or change the subject because it made them uncomfortable. They listened and loved with an open heart. They helped me feel more comfortable with the uncomfortable, and helped me acknowledge my thoughts and feelings honestly. These amazing women helped me come out of hiding. There are still days where fear creeps in, but finding that support has helped me cope with those days and I know that I am worthy of self-love and loving others.
Writing your birth story is so much more than a narrative of how your child was born, it's about how you felt. It’s about how you currently feel. As we heal, our stories can change from something we fear or avoid to something that provides comfort and support. It’s a journey of emotional healing. It's about being honest with ourselves. I am here to provide that space for you - so that you too can feel comfortable with the uncomfortable, to feel, and to live honestly with yourself.