Birth trauma
I’ve been wanting to share my C-section experience for a while, but I honestly haven’t really known how to put it into words. I think part of the reason is because I’m still processing it myself.
I went into labor on my own and ended up being in active labor for about 18 hours. I had always imagined that if I ever had a baby, I would go through labor, push, and then immediately have my baby placed on my chest. Obviously, I knew C-sections existed and that sometimes they were necessary, but I never really imagined that would be my birth story.
After 18 hours of labor, it became clear that my baby wasn’t going to be able to safely make it through my pelvis. I remember being told that we needed to do a C-section, and I had so many emotions all at once. I was exhausted and scared, but more than anything, I think I was grieving the birth I had pictured in my head.
The surgery itself was such a surreal experience. I was awake, but everything felt almost dreamlike. And then suddenly they told me she was out.
My daughter was born, and I heard her cry.
I thought that would be the moment when everything changed and I finally got to hold her.
But it didn’t happen that way.
Because of everything that happened after the surgery, it was about THREE HOURS before I was actually able to hold my own baby.
Three hours.
I know that in the grand scheme of things, three hours isn’t forever. She was safe, and there were reasons for it. But emotionally, those three hours felt enormous. I had just spent nine months carrying this baby, 18 hours laboring to bring her into the world, gone through major surgery, and then I was lying there knowing my baby was somewhere else and I couldn’t hold her.
When I finally got to hold her, I was completely overwhelmed. I remember looking at her and thinking, “That’s my baby.” I couldn’t believe she was actually here. After everything, she was finally in my arms.
But something I didn’t expect was how much I would struggle afterward with feeling like I didn’t actually give birth.
I’ve caught myself thinking, “I didn’t give birth to her. They took her out of me.”
And I know that’s not true. Logically, I know that I gave birth to my daughter. I labored for 18 hours. I went through major abdominal surgery. My body carried her for nine months and then went through an incredibly difficult physical recovery to bring her safely into the world.
But emotionally, it hasn’t always felt that way.
I think part of it comes from not getting that immediate moment I had imagined. I didn’t get to push her out and have her placed on my chest. I didn’t get to immediately hold her after she was born. I didn’t get that picture-perfect “baby on mom’s chest” moment that I had always associated with giving birth.
Instead, I woke up afterward with an incision, pain, exhaustion, and this tiny baby who I desperately wanted to hold.
I’ve had moments where I feel like my body failed me because I couldn’t deliver her vaginally. Even though I know that’s not fair to myself, those feelings have still been there.
I’m slowly trying to change the way I think about it.
My body didn’t fail me.
My body grew my daughter. My body labored for 18 hours. My body endured major surgery when a vaginal birth wasn’t safe. My body recovered enough for me to get up, walk, care for her, and become her mom.
I didn’t get the birth story I imagined.
But I absolutely gave birth to my baby.
A C-section doesn’t make someone less of a mother, and it doesn’t mean we didn’t give birth. Sometimes giving birth looks like pushing. Sometimes it looks like enduring hours of labor and then being wheeled into an operating room. Sometimes it looks like being terrified and trusting a team of people to get your baby out safely.
And sometimes it looks like lying there for three hours desperately waiting to hold the baby you’ve spent nine months waiting for.
I’m still processing everything, and I still have moments where I struggle with it. But I’m trying to give myself the same grace that I would give another mom.
I didn’t fail.
I gave birth to my daughter.
And after everything, she is here. She’s safe. She’s mine. And I would do it all over again for her. ❤️ I’d love to hear other experiences
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