When Birth Breaks You – My Healing Journey Through Birth Trauma

Posted on May 9, 2023May 5, 2023 by MMHI

By Janean Doherty

Trigger Warning: Birth Trauma

Beautiful.

Sacred.

Natural.

Transcendent.

Golden Hour.

Perfect.

These are all words that would come to my mind when someone would bring up childbirth. During all my years as an OB nurse, I participated in probably close to one thousand births. I saw the good, the bad, and the ugly, and spent a lot of time dreaming about my future birth, much like we do as girls when we dream about our wedding day. I had a picture in my mind of how my births would go, and so once it was finally my time to have my first child, I held on tightly to that picture and did not want to let it go. I was excited more than nervous for my birth, despite it being the beginning of c*d, because I had spent so much time and effort preparing my body, mind, and soul for this experience.

Josie’s Traumatic Birth

However, after 48 hours of labor, very slow progression, no sleep for days, and 4 hours of pushing all without an epidural, I was feeling frustrated with my body, like it was failing me. In a last ditch effort to avoid a cesarean birth, I got an epidural, pushed really well for an hour, but still was unable to bring my baby’s head down past a zero station. Her head was asynclitic (head down but sideways) and stuck. But I was adamant about wanting a vaginal delivery. So, since my baby’s heart rate was still good, I asked my doctor to try a vacuum. I got a pudendal nerve block and a bolus of anesthesia in my epidural, which are both measures to prevent me from feeling any pain. From there, he attempted a Malmstrom vacuum extraction, which is an old powerful vacuum (most vacuums used by OBs are kiwis. However, there was a fluke complication with the vacuum and it tore me inside, which I felt, despite all the medication on board. So, after all of that, they rolled me back to the OR for a c-section, followed by an internal repair. Of the words I listed in the beginning of this post, I did not feel my birth was any of them. It took a while to process everything that had happened during the birth of my baby girl, but I did a lot of external processing with friends and gradually was able to accept it as our own unique story.

Dean’s Traumatic Birth

Fast-forward almost two years as I’m getting ready to delivery our rainbow baby, I had built this birth up to be my redemptive VBAC. I had spent the last year preparing for this, with weekly Webster Chiropractic visits and pelvic floor therapy, implementing Spinning Babies balancing practices, hiring my favorite doula, and doing mental preparation with prayer and positive affirmations. I knew that I had a small pelvis but did everything I could to avoid another major abdominal surgery. Everything started out absolutely dreamy, just as I had been imagining, but the same issues I had with my daughter’s birth began to arise, and I knew that a c-section was probably in our very near future. However, the fighter that I am wasn’t going to go down easy, so I asked for an epidural in the room to be able to give pushing one last shot. This was my last chance to ever be able to have a vaginal birth with any baby. But long story short, some negligent care turned my “redemptive birth” into an emergency c-section and left me with a whole slew of physical, mental, and emotional problems.

The Aftermath

I was so unwell that my husband was basically a single dad for the first two months of our baby’s life. I suffered from birth trauma, lingering medical issues from the poor care, bonding issues with my baby, postpartum depression and anxiety, and feeding issues. Things got so bad that we had to drop my two year old off at a relative’s house for a while because it was unhealthy for her to see her momma in such a bad state. I was experiencing intense, debilitating anger directed towards my birth team (besides my incredible doula!) while grieving the loss of my redemptive birth and ability to ever have a vaginal delivery. I was unable to ever breastfeed and we spend almost every day for the first few months at different doctor appointments. I remember feeling like an absolute monster because when I looked at my baby, I felt nothing. There were even days when my perinatal mental illness directed my anger at my baby, making me think, “You are the reason I feel this way, and the reason I can’t even be a good mom to my toddler right now.” It was one of the scariest experiences of my life. I was completely going through the motions as a mother and wife and hated my whole self- body, mind, and spirit- for failing me and my family. There was a part of me that knew from a logical lens that this season would not last forever, but gosh, that part was completely enveloped by despair most days.

Picking up the Broken Pieces

When I reflect back on those early months, it is honestly a blur. I felt robbed of the joy of having a newborn, of my maternity leave, and of the entire fourth trimester. I felt much jealousy towards women who had beautiful vaginal births and who could breastfeed and bond with their newborns as much as they wanted. I was angry for so long, feeling like my dream birth experience was stollen from me. I had nightmares about my birth, racing thoughts reliving the traumatic events day and night, and PTSD flashbacks from having been a helpless party watching negligent care happen to me. I will never forget the feeling of utter desperation I felt when listening to my baby’s heart tones drop down to 50/60 beats per minute but not being able to do a darn thing about it. I was unable to move, breath, or talk while my blood pressure was bottomed out to 50/30 – all from the anesthesia – in the terrifying moments leading up to our emergency cesarean. I felt like it was all a horrible dream, and I wanted so badly just to wake up and have a totally different story. I could not talk about it without crying for many months. I still cringe when I think about the place I was in for so long. It brings almost a palpable pain to my momma heart. I still worry that my kids will remember their momma sobbing and having anxiety attacks, but I trust that their young age and innocence will protect them from those memories, and that they have inherited some of my resilience. I hardly have any pictures of my baby from those early months, and even less of me/us. But maybe that’s a good thing. I was unwell for about the first 7 months of my Dean’s life, but my baby is 10 months old today, and I finally feel like:

“I MADE IT. WE MADE IT.”

Letting Go

There were countless times over those first 7 months that I asked God, “Why me? You know I don’t ‘suffer well’ so why didn’t you give me easier deliveries? This isn’t fair.” I was angry with Him for allowing me to suffer so much, especially because my suffering directly affected my family. I wasn’t able to be the mom/wife I wanted to be, or the mom/wife that my family deserved. I wasn’t able to be a good friend, especially to those whose experiences I envied. I had to say “no” to most things during that time, including play dates, church events, meal train sign-ups, and outings, which would make me feel guilty. And I never knew if a good day would turn into a terrible without any warning and the thought of risking it was too much for me to handle. In fact, most things felt like “too much.” I didn’t know if I would ever understand why all of this happened to me in this lifetime. BUT God put something on my heart that changed my whole perspective:

“God does not waste our suffering.”

Finding Meaning in Suffering

I have been able to rewrite many “ANTs” (automatic negative thoughts) with this revelation. It’s all making so much sense now. My experiences have brought me an incredible amount of awareness, empathy, and compassion to a population that is pretty gaslit. Now that I am on the “other side” of it, I can totally see a piece of God’s plan for my life. With my professional and now personal experience in the world of birth trauma and perinatal mental health, I know that I can use my suffering to help others. I can help be a voice for those who suffer silently and help bring awareness to the effects that these struggles have on women. In my current line of work as a counselor at a pregnancy center, I pull from my experiences daily to help women. I am even creating a FREE online postpartum education course that will have TONS of education and resources for women on everything postpartum, but especially birth trauma and perinatal mental health. I can honestly say that I feel the best I have ever felt in my whole life. I have peace, joy, and energy every day, and a love for my family that is so big it hurts. Though I wish this season of happiness would last forever, I know that our lives are made of different seasons- easy and hard ones. But it’s the tough ones that shape us and bring about truly beautiful things. I was just talking to a mom friend who is currently in a difficult season and who was feeling guilty because she has to say “no” a lot and cannot make it to play dates and outings. I felt for her because I was just in that season not too long ago. I told her:

“We do what we can, when we can.”

Having Patience with Myself

Sometimes it’s all we can do just to get food on the table. Sometimes we can’t even do that and have to DoorDash meals and groceries. But, eventually, we will be able to do more than we ever dreamed possible. I am currently in a season where I can chase my dreams and make things happen. But I haven’t been for very long, and I know I won’t be forever. And that’s okay. Because through all of this, I have learned to appreciate the suffering, as much as I can appreciate the good times. Because it’s only through suffering that true beauty comes forth.

Occupational Therapy and Perinatal Mental Health

Posted on April 12, 2023April 7, 2023 by MMHI

By Mauly Her Lo

Trigger warning: brief mention of stillbirth

I found out I was pregnant exactly one month after I graduated with my master’s degree in occupational therapy. Beyond graduation, there were plans to study and take the National Board for Certification in Occupational Therapy and be employed full-time. Plans changed when I was filled with repetitive thoughts and fears of losing my pregnancy.

“You can do anything when you put your mind to it.” A phrase that we often hear too much. You can be pregnant and study, take the boards, and apply for a full-time job. I (my mind) did not feel healthy enough to take on too much. Witnessing my mother go through depression, a sister’s ectopic pregnancy, and another sister’s placental abruption that led to stillbirth was something I knew I did not want to experience. Fortunate enough to have an occupational therapy and healthcare education background, (1) I knew the risk of having depression increased because of my family’s history and (2) I had some knowledge of how to broadly care for my mental health.

What is Occupational Therapy?

You are probably wondering, “What is occupational therapy and how does it relate to perinatal mental health? Is it about getting a job?” Or maybe you know someone who had a stroke and had occupational therapy to work on dressing, feeding, bathing, and toileting skills and don’t know how it relates to perinatal mental health.

The mosaic beauty of occupational therapy supports the physical, psychosocial, and mental well-being of every individual across the lifespan – from those who are not yet born to elderly adults. Occupational therapy uses a client-centered, holistic approach to empower and support individuals to regain independence in all areas of their lives. By taking into consideration the whole person and their strengths and abilities, occupational therapy also recognizes the need for both the body and mind as well as other factors (age, gender, cultural values, beliefs, environment, etc.) that influence their participation in meaningful activities.

Simply put, occupational therapy uses meaningful and daily life activities to enhance engagement, participation, and health at home, in the community, at work, and in other settings.

Where does Occupational Therapy fit in with Perinatal Mental Health?

Being a first-time mother or having a new baby is a major life event. This significant role change impacts the habits and routines that have developed over time. A mother’s sense of identity begins to evolve, as well as their beliefs and expectations of being a mother. The transitions during the perinatal period can influence their self-esteem and self-confidence with:

Self-care activities: personal hygiene, sleep, nutrition, or sexual activity
Parenting/Caregiver activities: feeding (bottle/breast/pumping), changing, bathing, positioning/holding the baby, or playing with the baby,
Daily activities: meal preparation and cleanup, household chores, shopping, or religious and spiritual expression
Play/Leisure/Social activities: family and friend relationships, sports, exercises, reading, or arts and crafts
Work/Education activities: bending, lifting, sitting, standing, typing, or writing

Occupational therapy practitioners have the knowledge and experience to conduct screenings, assessments, and evaluations, deliver treatment and interventions, and measure progress and outcomes. Considering their strengths and abilities, daily routine and habits, motivation, interests, meaningful activities, and social supports, we can collaboratively establish individualized interventions and goals.

Perinatal Period	Examples of Occupational Therapy Practitioner’s Role/Interventions
Prenatal	Maternal mental health screening, preparing for a change in role, facilitating home modifications before arrival, pain prevention, education awareness for perinatal mood and anxiety disorders, supporting groups for parents/caregivers
Postpartum	Maternal mental health screening, postpartum recovery – personal hygiene after vaginal birth or Cesarean-section, enabling the development of healthy routines for themselves, functional and positional support during feeding, dressing, changing, lifting, and carrying the baby), breastfeeding support, supporting co-occupations between mother and newborn, self-regulation, and developmental milestones, returning to sexual activity, returning to work, supporting groups for parents/caregivers

Overall Benefits of Occupational Therapy in Perinatal Mental Health

With the support of an occupational therapy practitioner, mothers can

Become more aware of perinatal mood and anxiety disorders,
Advocate for their health and well-being by identifying resources and community support,
Increase their self-esteem and self-confidence in their roles and abilities as a mother/caregiver, partner, worker, and/or student,
Establish a secure co-bonding relationship with their newborn,
Create a safe and healthy environment for themselves and their family, and provide grace for self-care, daily, play/leisure/social, and work/education activities

Through our holistic lens, we advocate and work on what matters to you, your health and well-being, and your family.

Learn more about OT & Perinatal Mental Health! Join Mauly & MMHI for an Instagram Live on April 14th at 1:30 p.m.

I Didn’t Know

Posted on June 27, 2022January 27, 2023 by MMHI

By Megan Wahl, MDT | December 16, 2019

Trigger Warning: Birth trauma, Postpartum OCD

When I had my first baby, I didn’t know you could feel love like that. I knew love, a deep and passionate, a challenging and beautiful love. But this was different. An all-consuming, I would die for you kind of love. As I lay in the hospital bed, staring directly into this little boy’s soul, I remember being in such awe. So this was wonder, this was joy. It was the most profound awakening I have ever experienced. I didn’t know it would be like this. This powerful, this soul shaking, this raw, this profoundly life altering. I didn’t know.

As the doctors rushed around me post-delivery, I didn’t know I would feel disconnected. I was on a euphoric high, floating above myself, looking down at the scene unfolding from above. I didn’t know that I wouldn’t hear them when they said my baby broke my tailbone during delivery. I didn’t know you could do that, break open in that way. I didn’t know.

I didn’t know that when we left the hospital it would be the longest and scariest drive of my life. That my knuckles would turn white with every turn taken too fast and every pothole not avoided. I didn’t know that when I got home and left my baby in the car seat to nap, I would experience the first full blown panic attack of my life; that when he didn’t immediately wake, I would never ever be the same.

I didn’t know that from that day forward I would see visions of him dying – graphic horrific visions. A horror movie on repeat. I didn’t know these visions would stop me in my tracks, that my heart rate would skyrocket, that I would start sweating and black out, seeing stars. I didn’t know that when I told my doctor I would be told to “get more sleep” and “see you for a follow-up appointment a year.” I didn’t know that the thoughts would get so bad that I’d have to pull over to the side of the road for fear I would drive into oncoming traffic. I didn’t know it would feel like a tunnel with no escape, no end, no light, no air.

I didn’t know that every time I saw a baby sleeping in a car seat I would feel compelled to walk over and touch it to make sure it was breathing. If only I could feel their chest rise and fall. I didn’t know the looks of panicked mothers would pierce my heart; if only they knew it was out of concern, out of love. I just wanted to make sure they were safe. If only they knew what was going on inside my head.

I didn’t know that when I unexpectedly got pregnant again, in the midst of that darkness, that I would feel terrified and as if I had been pierced by the most radiant light. That it would feel as if I was again broken open yet differently now.

When I birthed my second baby, I didn’t know I could feel so connected, so powerful. I didn’t know I could find a place never found before, despite already having done this once. I didn’t know that the second time would be just as profoundly beautiful as the first yet calm, steady.

I didn’t know that the thoughts would come later this time. I thought perhaps I was lucky, that maybe they were just a product of my first. I didn’t know…until that night. That night when I held him in my arms and watched his ribs suck in against his skin as I frantically rushed him to the ER. I didn’t know that when you show up like that they take your baby away and immediately get to work. I didn’t know that a 3-month-old could scream like that and turn wet with frantic, cold sweat.

I didn’t know that for the next week we spent in the hospital I would only put him down to go to the bathroom because I was so terrified of losing him. That he would sleep on my chest every night so I could feel his tiny heart beating next to mine despite the thoughts that swirled through my head and plagued my dreams. I didn’t know how to live without feeling the rise and fall, rise and fall of his tiny breaths.

I didn’t know that I would be physically unable to drive out of the children’s hospital parking lot a week later because I was overcome with gratitude that I was leaving with my baby alive. That he was still breathing, there in the back seat. I couldn’t shake the thought that some parents would drive this same road one final time with an empty car seat. I didn’t know that for the next 9 months I would be unable to sleep without my hand on his chest at night to feel him breathing. The comfort of the rise and fall, rise and fall.

I didn’t know that this would be my story. That someday I would own it without shame. That I would find healing in therapy, medication and in sharing the darkest times of my life. I didn’t know that this would pass, that the days would get easier and the nights longer. I didn’t know I’d be able to finally sleep without touching my children. I didn’t know that there was hope, that there was life beyond that darkness. I didn’t know that this would be the first step in my rising.

A Story of Hope: Talia’s Story – Love Takes Time

Posted on May 25, 2020May 25, 2020 by MMHI

Trigger warning: birth trauma

I watched my son as he fell asleep in my arms today. In a simple way, it was magical. The way he gazed at me as his eyes started to close melted my heart. He held my finger as dreams began filling his sweet head. Little puffs of breath floated against my chest as he drifted off.

And while I watched, I found myself enamored with this beautiful little soul who now trusts me to be his safe place. It felt like one of those unicorn moments of motherhood.

I cherished the moment as I realized I had experienced very few memories like that in the first part of his life. My postpartum anxiety, depression and PTSD robbed me of them all.

After a hugely traumatic birth experience and hospital stay, my early days of motherhood were filled with grief and rage. My son and I almost died in birth, and in those coming days, weeks, and months after his birth, the darkness that enveloped me made me wish over and over that I had died.

There was no light. There was no joy.

I recall taking hundreds of pictures of him as a newborn hoping that someday I’d actually care. I felt no connection with my son. Or with myself. I was supposed to be a mom now, but what did that even mean?

I was drowning in depression and anxiety. I wanted to escape from what felt like the prison bars of motherhood.

Every time my son cried, I cried too. For every passing day where I couldn’t put him down for even a moment, I felt panic grow in my suffocation.

I felt I was failing as a mom in every way. I knew I needed help. I couldn’t continue on like that.

I started seeing an amazing art therapist twice a week. I began to work through the trauma. I felt supported, and she cheered for me and supported me every step of the way.

I had to face my grief. My rage. I had to accept the work it would take to heal what felt so broken within me.

Slowly, and I do mean very slowly, the haze started to lift.

I’ve had to take motherhood day by day…most times, second by second.

My son will be 10 months on Wednesday, and I’ll be honest, I sometimes feel behind in my healing process. To my own disappointment, there are still dark days.

And yet, today was proof that I am making progress. I was able to see the beauty in that moment. There are now days when I can delight in my son’s giggles and watch in amazement as he grows. Now, no matter how dark the days, the connection I feel with him is unbreakable. It grows stronger by the day. And so do I.

When I became a mom, I thought I’d know what to do. I expected to instantly love my son in the way they talk about in movies. I believed I’d be over the moon with motherhood. It turns out that although my journey would be nothing like that, this broken and worn path I’ve had to take has ended up being even more exceptional and gratifying. Each moment…each milestone is even more meaningful now.

So if you’re somewhere in the middle of this journey, too, know you’re not alone or behind, Mama. You’re exactly where you need to be, and I promise, you’re everything your baby needs, here and now. There is light out there for you, even if you can’t see it right now. Sometimes the best things in life take time. Love. Connection. Motherhood. We’re all works in progress, and perhaps that’s where the magic happens.

–Written by Talia Granzow

I Didn’t Ask to be a NICU Mom

Posted on September 30, 2019March 10, 2020 by Alexis Bruce

I didn’t ask to be a NICU mom. No one hopes that the first time they see their baby that he or she is tangled in a web of medical tape and tubes. No one wants the first time they’re able to touch their baby to be through the portholes of an isolette or that the first time they feed their baby is by helping to connect a G-tube.

I also didn’t ask for my son to be 7 weeks premature. I can finally (yes, he’s almost 2) admit to myself that it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t eat or drink the wrong foods, use harmful substances, behave inappropriately, do ANYTHING to put my baby at risk…nonetheless, Leo was born at 33 weeks.

If I’m being honest, it took me longer to bond with him. Even after he was home, my subconscious told me I couldn’t get attached for fear that he’d be taken from me…his health too fragile.

But well before he came home, I assumed the undesirable role of NICU mom. I spent countless hours at my baby’s bedside while he lay lifeless. I listened to the staccato of alarms…his heart rate slowing, oxygen dropping, his inactivity all signaling alerts. While the alarms sounded, I sat, helpless and unknowing, waiting for staff to tell me if my son was okay, when to intervene, how to intervene. In these moments, I felt utterly and completely inadequate as a mother. I told myself how much Leo needed me but, truthfully, I don’t think I believed that. I watched nurses and neonatologists give him the care that I should have been able to give him. I showed up. I sat with him, read to him, pumped for him and held him when I was allowed but inside, I felt like I had already failed him.

He wasn’t the only one I thought I was failing. The pressure to balance it all was intense. With two other children at home, I constantly felt pulled in multiple directions feeling I should be home while at the hospital and at the hospital while at home. My husband, who also experienced trauma from my son’s birth, also tried to balance work, family and hospital life (albeit much better than I did). We’d steal a short kiss in passing as we’d switch roles allowing the other to go be with Leo. We had neither the time nor the energy to nurture our relationship or to comfort one another. My house was a mess, laundry piled up and we rarely ate regular, healthy meals (besides those so generously dropped off by friends or our church…which was a HUGE help!). And while all these wheels kept turning, I was silently…falling…apart.

And during those countless days, hours and minutes at my son’s side, not a single NICU or hospital staff member asked how I was doing. There was no acknowledgement of the traumatic birth I experienced, no sympathy, kindness or care. I tucked away the “do you know how lucky you are?” and the “this could have ended tragically” comments and slowly, they accumulated. I ridiculed myself for the fleeting thought that perhaps I did experience trauma and that I might also be deserving of some compassion. The thought seemed selfish and I forced it out of my head preserving all mercy for the baby in the crib labelled “Bruce”…the baby I felt I barely knew.

So it makes sense that studies consistently show that mothers of infants in the NICU experience PPD at higher rates with more elevated symptomatology than mothers of healthy infants. While more research is needed, these studies suggest that up to 70 percent of women whose babies spend time in the NICU will experience some degree of postpartum depression, while up to one-quarter may experience symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (International Journal of Women’s Health). Let’s also not forget the impact on a mom who’s suffering with postpartum anxiety. Caring for a premature, or special-needs baby, comes with unique (and sometimes critical) responsibilities. After my son came home, I realized just how dependent I had become on those nurses, monitors and alarms to tell me he was okay. When that responsibility was transferred to my husband and me, my anxiety skyrocketed.

It’s time to recognize that a NICU mom needs specialized care and attention just like her baby. We are doing a disservice to NICU moms and, consequently, their babies by not using time spent in the NICU to check-in with moms regarding their mental and emotional health. Sharing support, resources and implementing routine screenings (along with a clear plan for moms who screen positive for depression) should be standard of care.

While I may not have asked to be a NICU mom, it was a part of my journey as a mom and part of my special journey with my son. It took time, but what we experienced together cultivated an indestructible bond that serves as both a testament to our strength and resilience as well as a new understanding of unconditional love.

–Written by Alexis Bruce

Category: Birth Trauma