Thoughts on Birth and Words

I have a lot brewing in this head of mine. Mostly about the problematic discourse of natural childbirth and how us "birthy" folks get caught up in a convoluted mess when we start explaining or defending natural birth. We need to redefine (actually dismantle) the cultural and institutional ideologies around birth, and for that matter, women, before any real changes can be made. Otherwise you're birthing against the grain, and like me in a completely radical way, where home birth folks point fingers at me, as well as medical folks, for the way I gave birth to my pre-term baby. This reminds me of something that I wrote when I was almost four months pregnant in August 2009: here goes.

Re-reading my thesis on birth I have come to really hate it. Despise it really. Not only was I pushed to write something I only half-heatedly believe in, but also I had to do it in a way that removed my voice and the voice of the women I interviewed. I feel like I have done a great disservice to those women – and something very un-feminist, but completely and disgustingly scholarly. On the other hand, I truly believe in what I wrote – that there are pieces of it that frame and highlight natural discourse in way that displays how rigidly aligning with one way of thinking can be damaging. That life is fluid – malleable – and ever changing and we, as humans who have created this reality, have to have the flexibility to shift along with it. Our culture – in America – doesn’t allow or honor fluidity but rigid and linear structure - a hardened clay left out to dry.

What I realized is that the words we have to describe birth are not adequate in meaning. We use them (natural, the urge to push etc) because there are no other words to adequately describe the reality of birth. Our culture and language has never had the ability to describe the emotional meaning and reality of birth. Unfortunately this western culture lives by words, and as I am humbly coming to recognize there are no words strong enough or succinct enough to encompass what birth is and how women live and do it. It has been taken away from us, and I can’t begin, or have the energy, or even feel important enough, or cocky enough to begin to theorize or intellectualize about when this stripping of reality has begun – I just know it exists I am living it. Having only 15 weeks of pregnancy under my belt and how this reality of growing a baby is so utterly different than I had ever imagined, I realized during a moment of defending my decisions thus far, that to describe what I hope to achieve in birth as “natural” is an inadequate a word – but it’s all we’ve got. Because right now – in this emotional moment this whole experience feels so very strangely foreign, unreal, and completely unworldly. That to think about it or describe this feeling as “hormonal” is simplistic, and almost insulting. I am not sure what I need to do to express myself in this moment and the many other moments I’ve had about birth... would it be better to sing it or to perform it, to dance to show my emotion, I don’t know – but for now all I can deliver are words – inadequate and culturally weighted words.

Overcoming Fragility

It's raining here and all of the snow is melting away leaving a thick fog. It feels very sobering; melancholy really. And as the earth outside my window is shedding her winter coat, I too am shedding some emotional baggage that has been weighing me down.

I have read a few birth stories recently that required some emergency interventions (for lack of a better term), both home births, one of multiples, requiring a transfer of the Mama for hemorrhage and the second, a surprise unassisted home birth where the Mama had to use resuscitation breaths on her newborn. While both women feel confident, happy, and unapologetic about their births (which they should be, being the amazingly strong and inspiring women they are) reading and seeing these births have shaken up that fragile glass orb of trauma that lives inside of me and has been lingering for 14 months.

Giving birth to Oliver was monumental, amazing, exhilarating, and superb. Our postpartum time was not quite so dream like. Our baby moon was full of ounce-by-ounce weight checks and breastfeeding nightmare. I am proud of myself, I pat myself on the back each day for doing what we did, for nurturing our son in a gentile way, away from bright lights and high NICU interventions (and all haters of this birth story, stay the FUCK away from me, you hear, this is a forum for healing, not hating, thank you!).

Our experience didn't leave me free from trauma, from the absolute vulnerability, and fragility of Oliver. Not until I took the time to reflect upon our postpartum time did I realize that I was going through some of the symptoms of postpartum depression (PPD), but what I like to refer to as postpartum trauma. Our postpartum time was full of heightened emotions and very little space for joy or celebration, we were head down focused on getting him to gain weight. The nights were long and dark and the days were full of ups and downs. During that time I tried my best to keep my emotions in check, being a "rock", so to speak. All of my worry, hard work to get him to nurse, and healing (both physical and emotional) my fragile emotional state was put on the back burner. My baby was fragile, I was hurting, and the outside world seemed so incredibly big and scary I didn't even want to step outside. I didn't think I was suffering from PPD at all during that time, I just thought it is what all mom's go through during recovery. Not until I connected with other new mothers did I realize my story didn't seem to fit into average postpartum emotions, or sleep deprivation and the like. It took a good three months to really get out of the haze of anxiety, but connecting with moms and getting out to moms groups really helped me find peace, I was able to talk about my struggles and find joy in being a mother. And here I am, 14 months later, working through my postpartum experience and coming to terms with my month long struggle with PPD and the lasting effects of the anxiety, a PTSD of sorts.

So now this trauma has left me with some quirks, if you will. I obsess over safety, mostly things out of my control like car seat safety or random watch or toy batteries that my child will ingest and die (one main reason we don't have toys with batteries). If I hear about or witness tragedy, or potential tradegy I immediately internalize it, shaking my core, creating an anxiety so deep that I can hardly breathe and I can't let go of it, obsessing about it. Those of you with any left over trauma, you know the feeling of being triggered. I wrap my arms around Oliver, and inhale his lovely scent, and thank all that is good for him. But the Mama Bear role won't heal me for much longer, it is a protective shield that has worked for the time being. I have to kick this fragile glass orb, kick it to the curb, and talking about, opening up about to othera who might be where I am, or have been where I am is one step in healing. It is in telling our story - of sharing our truth that can be liberating.