matrescence

Matrescence

I was induced at 41 weeks - she came hard and fast at over 9 lbs in about 20 minutes. No one really tells you how to prepare for a traumatic birth. But if you know me, you know I’m a realist. I prepped myself to expect the unexpected and my birth “plan” was hardly one, knowing things could change at any given time. I prepared myself for life and death. I appreciated the privilege I have in having access to a team of professionals. But the epidural & lidocaine were ineffective, the doctors didn’t listen and I had a panic attack while delivering. I was in and out of consciousness. Sadly, to this day, these photos are all I have but they’re manufactured memories to me. I feel no real connection to them because I wasn’t present minded in those moments.

I felt voiceless during my delivery, literally & figuratively. I’m still not sure what happened in the room that everything felt like it was a violation to my body. Everything felt wrong but no one was listening. Whatever my body wanted to do, was the opposite of what was being done. All colour literally left my body. I remember Fransis’ voice, but I wasn’t sure if he was being heard either. I don’t remember the actual physical pain. I only remember being so tired, I wanted to sleep forever. I don’t remember holding her, I don’t remember Fransis holding her.

I’m then thrown into parenthood. Something I was confident I could learn and do, but I’m here still trying to reconcile with the trauma that brought her into the world. How could I give her an ounce of care when I can barely do it for myself? I came out of it with a 3c tear (iykyk) with no real recovery date in sight. I have been probed and prodded, in less than compromising positions while being so uncomfortable from the tears. I had a low-supply of milk and I desperately tried to get my production up. My anxieties had anxieties. I ended up spiralling into feelings of inadequacy, guilt, self-pity, and distrust in people. Seeing & holding the very thing that represented all of those feelings made me on edge, it fuelled my insomnia and postnatal depression.

I had always dealt with depression & anxiety in differing severities for a very long time. I continue to maintain that I’m a realist because I was very much aware that postnatal depression could happen to me. There are many different ways it manifests in people; for me, it looked like resenting Fransis for not being the one that had to go through extreme body changes. It looked like crying on the toilet because I pissed myself getting there. It looked like hot rage & roughly swatting her limbs as I changed her diapers. It looked like sitting in the dark, ideating how I could disappear forever without waking anyone up. I never thought that being a mom, would be so isolating.

I still struggle with connecting with the part of me that’s supposed to be a mother. It still feels like parts, and never whole. I still mourn thinking of the life I had before her. I still feel guilty that I do mourn. The isolation is quiet and invisible but life still needs to continue. I didn’t have the beautiful story of transformation and matrescence, what every mother I know seems to have — but I hope one day I will because I know she’s worth it.