Healing and Self-Compassion After Birth Trauma by Kasey Burton
I heard the angry, full-hearted cry of my baby through a haze of tears and sudden numbness. I felt them place him on my chest, felt his sticky warmth against me. They told me he was a boy, and even though I had secretly wished for a boy I truly didn’t care anymore. The weight of the last few hours and the intensity of my experience had removed everything but a deep gratitude that it was over.
I gave birth to my first son in an Amsterdam hospital in April 2019, two days before he was due. I had a solid support system; my parents had arrived from Australia a few days prior, my husband had attended all the birth classes with me and I had been practicing hypnobirthing strategies for months.
I’d been having Braxton Hicks contractions for a few weeks, so when the cramps started to get worse I didn’t think much of it. I checked the contraction timer and they weren’t coming regularly, so I just relaxed and enjoyed the time with my family. That night at 1 am, I woke with sudden pain and my water breaking all over the bed. I was still relaxed about the whole thing, I knew from the childbirth class that it could take many hours or days from this point.
Over the next hour, the contractions were getting faster and faster, so I contacted my midwife to advise. Since they weren’t lasting for very long, and she was at another birth, she advised me to wait and let her know when they were lasting for 45 seconds to a minute. My mother helped me into the shower, which was total bliss. I may have been there for two hours. Suddenly the pain was intense, a heavy pressure on my pelvis. I was bellowing in the shower like a wild animal and my Mum and husband took turns rubbing my back. Living in a compact, century-old apartment block, I’m amazed my neighbors didn’t call the police. The midwife arrived about half an hour later and checked my dilation, which was five cm. Although I hadn’t been set on pain relief, I told her then that I wanted an epidural or any other possible pain relief, and she advised it was too late.
When we arrived at the hospital, the midwife couldn’t find my baby’s heartbeat. Suddenly, five or six doctors rushed in and I was hooked up to several machines. They told me that my baby was in distress, that I had to start pushing even though I wasn’t dilated enough. I heard all this vaguely as the pain had become unbearable. They performed an episiotomy on me and began to use a metal vacuum, all without pain relief.
Everything became a blurry nightmare. The doctor was telling me to stop screaming and push, said that my baby wouldn’t make it if I didn’t try harder. I kept pushing and trying, and eventually turned to my husband, crying and exhausted. ‘I want to die’ I moaned, meaning it with all my heart. ‘Please just let me die’.
That last part is what I struggled with for months. It wasn’t the pain, really, or the midwife making me feel like I was failing. I’ve never experienced that kind of total desperation, exhaustion, and despair all at once. My whole labor was about seven hours, and I was only in the hospital for one hour before my son was born. It was fast but excruciating. It ripped me apart and cost me the joy that I should have had when it was over. I felt guilty for not trying hard enough, for not being strong enough. I felt guilty that I wasn’t excited to have my baby with me. Those words and that feeling were a film that hung over my thoughts for weeks, muting everything else.
Luckily, the postnatal system in the Netherlands is amazing, with regular midwife checkups and a nurse that assists you at home for a week after the birth. My parents also stayed for another month, and my husband had paternity leave so I was able to try to work through my physical and mental recovery. The midwives encouraged me to write about the birth, to speak about it often, to consider therapy. I didn’t get around to therapy at the time, the amazing wild rollercoaster of parenting taking all my time and energy. I did work on the trauma though, through writing, meditation, exercise, and especially by talking to my loved ones. Conversation and connection eased me through the journey. My husband also struggled in the aftermath of the birth, so I encouraged him to explore his feelings as well.
I’m now 18 weeks pregnant with my second child, another boy. This time, I’ve started therapy specifically to talk about my labor fears, and I’ll continue that until the birth. I’m also considering a home birth this time, with a doula present, so that I can feel more in control of my surroundings and situation. Since the hospital is only five minutes away, home birth is a safe option (and quite common in The Netherlands) and I think the comfort and serenity of home may help me have a more positive experience this time.
I think birth trauma isn’t spoken about enough, isn’t understood enough. I know how lucky I am to have a healthy baby and to be physically recovered. It’s easy to feel guilty as a parent and to feel that we should view birth and parenting through rose-colored glasses. It’s not always that simple, and there should never be shame in seeking help and healing.
I also know that I was able to make it through last time, and I came out the other side, a little battered and shell-shocked, but still me. Pain and joy are often intertwined, and eventually, the hurt in the memory slowly lessened, and the love and happiness that I have with my family and my wild-hearted little boy made the trauma just a small part of the whole.
Kasey Burton is a writer who lives in Amsterdam with her husband and toddler. She loves exploring new places, history, and food. She writes about wine, art and travel at wastelandeurope.com and blogs about parenting and sustainability at bluebush.nl
Follow Kasey on Instagram @kaseysb