The worn blue chair in my therapist’s office is far from inviting. It’s not just the discomfort of discussing my overwhelming postpartum anxiety that makes it unwelcoming; the chair seems to swallow me whole each time I sit down. I sink so deep into it that rising again feels like a Herculean task. Right now, I wish I could escape.
We’re delving into the vivid, distressing thoughts that bombard me whenever I venture out alone with my two little ones:
- That guy looks suspicious; he’s definitely going to abduct us.
- What’s wrong with that woman? Why is she so close?
- If there’s an active shooter, where’s the nearest exit in the mall?
- What if there’s an accident, and I can only save one child?
- How can I possibly carry both if I need to run?
Tears threaten to spill over as I spiral into these dark imaginings, my heart races, and the weight of grief settles heavy in my chest.
As my therapist gently prompts me for more details, she inquires whether I feel this level of fear when my husband or a friend takes the kids out, or if it’s solely when I’m responsible for them.
“Only when it’s me,” I reply.
“And why do you think that is?” she asks.
“Because I don’t trust my ability to protect them in an emergency.”
“And what brings you to that conclusion, Emily?”
Without hesitation, I voice something I’ve never consciously acknowledged before, and I’m taken aback by my own words. “Because I can’t even be trusted to give birth without assistance, so…”
Suddenly, I’m choking back sobs. I’m blindsided by the honesty of my own subconscious.
Then it all spills out—a torrent of tears and emotion that’s hard to contain. I’m completely paralyzed in that chair, unable to reach for a tissue. Thankfully, my therapist hands me a box of Kleenex and allows me the space to process the gravity of what I just shared.
“Is this really what it’s about?” I ponder aloud, more to myself than to her. I don’t trust myself because, 3.5 years ago, my son arrived through an emergency C-section instead of a “natural” birth? My spiraling anxiety and fear of failing my kids stem from the fact that my childbirth experience didn’t match the Instagram-perfect narrative I had envisioned? And this deep-seated disappointment in my body is due to it not performing as I had hoped? If I couldn’t manage to give birth naturally—the one thing society insists a woman’s body should do—how could I ever summon the strength of a superhero to protect my children?
Suddenly, everything clicked into place. Although I’m still on my journey to healing, I finally understand the roots of my anxiety. Acknowledging this allows me to confront it. So here I stand, ready to speak out:
Let’s Put an End to This Nonsense
Ladies, let’s put an end to this nonsense—every birth is natural. It’s time to retire that word. Births can be medicated or unmedicated, vaginal or cesarean—each one is a natural experience.
The Oxford Learner’s Dictionary defines “natural” as expected, normal, or as you would anticipate. So, what should a mother do if her body has faced serious challenges for hours and an epidural is her only option for relief? Is it somehow unnatural for her to prioritize her own needs in that moment?
When a laboring mother’s doctor expresses concern over her baby’s heart rate and insists on an urgent C-section, should she distrust the medical professionals and refuse the necessary procedure? Mothers in labor face incredibly tough decisions, often in a matter of minutes, sometimes alone. In every case, what is more natural than a mother—guided by her instincts and her best judgment—doing what she believes is necessary for the health and safety of herself and her child?
That is the essence of motherhood. It doesn’t matter how the baby arrives. Birth is birth, and there is nothing unnatural about any aspect of it.
The language we use carries weight. It seeps into our subconscious and shapes our perceptions about motherhood and childbirth. It sets up expectations that can lead to shame, judgment, and anxiety when reality doesn’t meet them.
We need to stop imposing these harmful expectations on each other. Unmedicated mothers, you are warriors. Medicated mothers, you are fierce. C-section moms, you are courageous. Pandemic moms, you are nothing short of heroic.
For those who cling to the belief that there’s only one “right” or “natural” way to give birth, I challenge you: How will you respond to your daughter when her childbirth doesn’t go as planned? Will you shame her for her “artificial” birth through C-section? Likely not, because deep down, you understand the power of words.
So let’s choose our words wisely. All births are natural and beautiful. With every birth, a mother is reborn. And there is nothing more natural than that.
To explore more about the journey to parenthood, you can check out this insightful post on entrepreneurship at Home Insemination Kit. For those interested in enhancing fertility, Make a Mom offers valuable supplements that can help. If you’re looking for excellent resources on pregnancy and home insemination, WebMD is a great place to start.
In summary, every birth story is unique, and the journey of motherhood is filled with challenges and triumphs. We must embrace and celebrate all paths to parenthood.
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