Everything Happens for a Reason
Jackson’s birth story & my postpartum healing journey.
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Over the past twenty months, I think I’ve written this about 100 times. Type, delete; type, delete. Birth stories can be traumatic and not many people pay attention to them, and that’s ok. But for me, I’m finally ready to share this as part of my healing. I’ve reached the point where I can be open and honest with you all and myself even about the path I took, and that it’s ok. It happened for a reason.
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When I first got pregnant with my son Jackson, I said I’d do everything “right” - I’d have a vaginal delivery and breastfeed as much as possible and supplement with formula if I really needed to. Because that’s how it’s done; that’s the natural and “normal” way to do it, right?
Sure. But not for everyone. I’m included in that bracket.
Around month seven, it hit me: I had to deliver this baby: he wasn’t staying in me forever! Cue the panic and crippling anxiety. Whatever the name is for cervical exam phobia, that’s what I have. The stirrups, the tools and the nauseating sanitizing smells send me over the edge. So when a midwife at my OBGYN’s office recommend I talk to a doctor about an elective Cesarian (c-section), I started to cry. Round one of “I am a failure.”
The next appointment, my husband and I met with the doctor who agreed I would be an ideal candidate for an elective c-section. She assured me that birth was supposed to be a happy & exciting time, not a traumatic one (I recognize this doesn’t always pan out). She had said I’d endured enough trauma and we began the process for preparing for the c-section. My husband and I signed the papers, got our COVID tests, and were given our hospital arrival date & time. Arrive on May 26, 2022 at 7:30 am; no food/drink after midnight. We counted down the days, and the day before was the final hurrah - clean everything, do all the laundry & stuff my face. Get one last night of good sleep (wrong). Tossed & turned, drank my allowed 5am orange Gatorade and head to Labor & Delivery.
My husband and I check in, nurses and noises everywhere. Ample blood work, heart rate tests, IV’s, catheters and an epidural the size of my forearm (zero exaggeration here, sorry). Two hours of prep go by and then it’s go time. Seven layers of me are sliced open and this strange, terrible feeling of my child being ripped out from inside me later and my son was crying on my chest. Healthy as ever. Thank God. I’m stitched up & left with the battle wound of the century and a nine pound newborn to show for it.
Looking back, I honestly can’t imagine pushing him out.
Looking back, I’m thankful for the team of nurses & doctors that advocated for me to have the c-section when I couldn’t find the words or solution myself.
Looking at my scar everyday reminds me what trauma can do to someone, but how beauty & love can still be found.
No, the recovery was not easy: I had just endured major abdominal surgery, let alone birthing a child. Say it with me now: Birth is birth. I couldn’t walk well, my stomach hurt like you-know-what and I got a UTI so bad it was almost to my kidneys (thank you, catheter).
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When it came time to feed, I had planned on normal breastfeeding & it being so easy! I took the virtual course & was ready! Round two of “I am a failure.”
Jackson didn’t latch all the time and I barely produced anything for him. We realized that in the middle of the second night when he was screaming for food and I had barely anything to give him. It hurt like you-know-what: my breasts and my heart. I wasn’t properly feeding my child. I wasn’t nurturing him. Round three of “I am a failure.”
We got home and I started pumping right away to increase supply. Round four of “I am a failure.” Produced nothing. The first bottle of formula was a rollercoaster of emotions: relief that I could take a break and he was getting nourishment, but sadness because it wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t right; I was so angry and hysterical and every other emotion.
I called the postpartum counselor first thing the next morning.
I (personally) was in the trenches during my first few months postpartum. I suffered heavily from depression and anxiety even before pregnancy; postpartum took it to a whole other level. “What if” thoughts circled my brain all day and all night; constant worry about Jackson and fear that I was doing something wrong consumed everything I did. My body continued to change (thanks, weight gain) and I regressed to destructive behavior. Between the delivery, not breastfeeding and having the “baby blues” I felt at my lowest.
Counseling reminded me that how we want things to go isn’t always how it will happen. Expectations don’t always play out and as parents we need to be ready to pivot, and that that’s ok. Talking to her throughout that first year gave me hope and helped shed a lot of light on my dark “first time mom days.” She reminded me that I’m not the only mom who doesn’t breastfeed her child. I’m not the only mom who had a c-section. I am not alone in this journey, in this recovery and in this future.
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Jackson is almost two now and he is happy, healthy and developing just as he should be. His personality and his antics shine through unapologetically; the world is his oyster. There are days where I look back and wish I had done things differently, that things had gone the way I wanted them to. It makes me sad and angry and still makes me feel like I failed in some way. I keep telling myself, “everything happens for a reason”; I don’t know what that reason is yet, but I tell myself that a lot anyways. I don’t know the kind of mother I would be today if it weren’t for this journey. Maybe the same, maybe not. Definitely not better because I know I give it my all each and every day, and that’s all we can hope for and do.
Everyday is another day of healing for me, and I’m so thankful for this journey I’ve been on. I like to think I’ve come out stronger and that I’ve learned a thing or two.
If you’ve made it to the end here, I thank you with my whole heart. You’re part of this journey for me, and for that I’m so thankful. Remember, everything happens for a reason.
