Trigger Warning: anxiety, intrusive thoughts

It took 373 weeks after I became pregnant to begin processing my perinatal trauma.
I didn’t even realize trauma was part of my story until my son was five.

During my first trimester, I devoured every book on pregnancy, birth, and breastfeeding I could get my hands on. While research usually provides me with a sense of control, the more I learned about potential complications, devastating mortality statistics, and endless decisions to make, the more quickly I spiraled.

This was supposed to be the happiest time of my life?

Only my husband, Jason, knew how much I was struggling. After five years together, he knew my usual anxiety well, but the unrelenting crying jags were new. However, sitcoms had taught us both that this was an expected, hormonal reaction to pregnancy, so we didn’t really question it.

I experienced more nausea thinking about how to tell others about my pregnancy than from morning sickness, so we didn’t until well into my second trimester when I could no longer hide beneath bulky sweaters. Once word was out, it was all the more fragile. There was nothing medically wrong, but I felt it in my bones. Dodging swarms of unsolicited advice and belly touches with humor, I began referring to him as my “spawn,” because calling him a “baby” was too painful to bear.

By the time I could no longer button my coat over my stretched drum belly, threats were imminent. I’d cling to the chain link fence while waddling uphill to my office, petrified of falling belly-first on the icy pavement. Everyday kick counts became private prayer sessions to a god I haven’t believed in since I was a little girl.

Yet -
I was glowing with pregnancy and possibility.
I crocheted a teddy bear, a blanket, a hat.
I played the baby shower games.
I continued reading everything.

Brimming with too much knowledge, but not enough answers, Jason and I learned the husband-coached Bradley birthing method. He felt like the only person I could truly trust and has such a comforting presence, I can’t imagine planning my birth any other way.

That May, armed with 10 copies of an extensive birth plan, I had an unmedicated and uncomplicated labor and delivery. Jason was the incredible coach I knew he would be and I was astounded by what I’d accomplished.

Aside from a faint heart murmur that we were told would likely resolve itself, everything about Oliver and our journey to meet him felt too easy. How had we managed to avoid the tragic fates of so many other families?

Exciting Announcement!

I recently contributed to this art journal for mothers and birthing people! If you have children, know folks with kids, or work with mothers and birthing people, this project is definitely worth checking out.

About the Books

Entwined is an anthology that weaves together stories of creativity and motherhood. This is a grassroots project including 55 mothers who are painters, writers, potters, visual artists, musicians, poets, and multipassionates. The purpose of this project is to inspire mothers to pursue creativity in their own way.

Ember is an art journal companion. A variety of creative prompts (writing, observation, ideating, dreaming, and making) curated to help mothers to kindle their creative sparks.

You can support the project by preordering, donating a copy, or sharing on social media.

Stay tuned for Translating Anxiety into Art: Without Explanation (Part 2)! Drop your email in the footer below and I’ll let you know when it’s published.

The Postpartum Collection: Translating Anxiety into Art was originally published on June 25, 2024 in the Moms Mental Health Initiative Stories of Hope blog.