Why How You Gave Birth Doesn't Make You a Good or Bad Mother

When I was pregnant with my first daughter, I had a very clear vision of how I wanted to give birth. A water birth, no medication, gas and air only and relaxing music playing in the background. I had been meditating for about three years before my pregnancy and the year before I had climbed Kilimanjaro, meditating every night in my tent at altitude. My oxygen levels during daily tests were consistently strong and I knew firsthand the power of breathwork and a calm mind. I was going to use every bit of that during labour.

Then pregnancy had other plans.

I developed gestational diabetes and was told I would need to be induced as my daughter was measuring large. I remember a wave of disappointment and powerlessness washing over me, alongside a flutter of excitement that I would meet her two weeks earlier than planned. Those two feelings sat side by side, which I now understand is very common in the perinatal period.

After 38 hours of labour and an hour of pushing, I was told I needed an emergency c-section.

At that point I honestly did not care. I just wanted her safe. But I had been so against a c-section. I had heard horror stories. I had even read somewhere that it was not a real birth. And after months of Hyperemesis Gravidarum, already feeling like my body was failing at the most natural thing a woman's body is supposed to do, this felt like one more confirmation of that story.

After the exhaustion lifted and the very real pain settled in, the feelings came. And c-sections are the only surgery I know of where you are encouraged to walk around a few hours later. Ouch.

It hit me that my vision had not manifested the way I had imagined. And with that came guilt, shame and grief. I was consumed by the feeling that I was not good enough. I compared myself constantly to other mothers, especially those who had achieved their birth plans, particularly the ones involving hypnobirthing and water. Every time I heard one of those stories I felt a quiet grief I could not explain.

With my second daughter I opted for an elective c-section. Not because it was what I wanted but because I felt it was inevitable anyway. I might as well choose it. But fear followed me into that operating theatre. In the middle of the pandemic I was convinced something would go wrong, that I would be permanently damaged, that something would hurt us. I now wonder if that fear was the beginning of the postnatal OCD I developed afterwards, my nervous system doing everything it could to keep me and my girls safe in an unsafe feeling world.

Both of my births were nothing like I planned. Both left marks on me emotionally that took time to understand and heal.

And yet.

I look back now and feel an overwhelming sense of pride. I did everything I possibly could to bring my girls safely into the world. Through gestational diabetes and hyperemesis and emergency surgery and a pandemic. I showed up completely for them before I even met them.

That makes me superhuman. And whatever your birth looked like, however far from your plan it went, however much shame or grief or disappointment you are still carrying about it, I want you to know something.

It makes you superhuman too.

Your birth story does not define you as a mother. How you showed up for your child, in whatever way your body and circumstances allowed, is the only measure that matters.

If you are still carrying shame or grief around your birth experience and would like support to process it, I would love to hear from you.