The Burden: Parenting and Loss of Self

Coming to terms with imperfect motherhood--its beauty, trials, and rewards.

I became a mother at 24 years old. My high-school sweetheart and I were married, our families lived in the same city as us, and shared their excitement and support. We chose to have our first son early in our marriage, and man, was I naive about how our lives would change.

I had a "loose" birth plan, meaning, outwardly I was telling everyone, "All I want is a healthy baby and delivery for us both!" Inwardly? I wanted a vaginal delivery with minimal interventions, as nursing school had exposed me to the notion that birth is a natural process and should not require medical interventions. Now, this is true! But what isn't true is that I was a failure of a mother/pregnant person if I needed medical intervention.

At 38 weeks pregnant, my outward chill started to fall to the side. By 39 weeks, I was emotional every morning that I was still pregnant. I tried several things to induce labor, but we found ourselves at my 40-week appointment with no sign of baby coming soon. My original due date was March 26, and let me tell you, on April 1, I was losing it. I was crying and jealous of other women who were having their babies with due dates after mine--needless to say, I was not fun to be around.

April 2, 2018, we drove to my 41-week OB appointment. The NP assigned to my appointment had no idea she was in for a sobbing, largely pregnant, G1P1 mom that morning. She gave us the "You look great, and he looks great, so we will see you next week!" The look on my face...ope. My sweet husband said to her, "She cannot keep going like this, can we talk about an induction?" To be fair, I had explicitly told my OB that I did not want an induction unless medically necessary--so the NP repeated back my wishes from the chart. "Yeah, at this point, I think it is medically necessary" (once again, my sweet husband, as I was definitely sobbing). Several minutes later, we were scheduled for an April 4 morning induction. Hal-le-lu-jah.

Long story short- we did not deliver our sweet son until April 5, 2018, via unplanned C-section due to failure to progress. The conversation with my OB at 3:00 am was once again, you guessed it, comprised of a lot of sobbing (by me). I felt like an utter failure. I had elected for the induction because my body was not showing signs of labor; I had not been able to tolerate the pitocin much past 3 cm dilation; and I had sat with an epidural for almost 12 hours, all to stall at 9 cm. Our baby was tolerating my contractions fine, but after 4 hours at 9 cm, my OB was not confident we wouldn't be in an emergent situation as he and my body began to tire. When I tell you I was devastated, I was devastated.

My OB sat with me and calmly told me, "This in no way means you cannot try for a VBAC for other babies, and this will mean you meet your baby in the next hour!" (I am summarizing here, hah). We made our way to the OR, and sure enough, our boy was born at 4:34 am, screaming and with a heck of a cone-head. We did skin-to-skin on my neck; my husband helped me hold him. It was a surreal and beautiful moment I will never forget.

Nausea, pressure, and the shakes resulted in me receiving medication from the oh-so present anesthesiologist. Next thing I knew, the tarp was being taken down, and we were wheeling into the recovery area.

Our son, Eli, latched right away with help from our nurse, and truly we had a great experience breastfeeding and recovering. What stuck with me for several weeks was that I did not give birth the way I had planned. I was so fortunate to be healthy, for there to be no complications, and for our son to be thriving. Why did I feel disappointed?

Self-Work and Parenting

I have a theory that the first lesson I needed to learn was this: parenting encompasses loving someone so completely that the loss of self will be necessary and immense. My loss of self included relinquishing control over birth, my time, my body, and the list goes on. There were physical changes during the pregnancy that were undeniable. The emotional and mental changes in postpartum were incomparable to anything I had experienced before. My son was my whole world, yet I still desired and grieved my old self. We did not have friends who were in the same chapter of parenthood, so social media became my way of glimpsing how other parents were adjusting. But why was no one talking about this internal transformation?

8 years into parenting, I have made it my mission to ensure that new parents I encounter (my patients, friends, or family members) do not experience the isolation and confusion that I felt with my first (and let's be honest, my second son as well). Parenting is an incredible honor, but that does not mean struggling or missing your old life makes you ungrateful. Two things are true, in my experience, when it comes to parenting. Your children are your whole world, and your previous self will likely be missed.

I am a daughter, sister, wife, friend, and mother. I am also creative, inquisitive, selfish, empathetic, and commonly in the wrong. Every part and side of me is important to acknowledge, to understand myself, and for my children to know their mother who loves them completely.

Parenthood was never meant to be experienced in isolation--so let's not make it that way.

From one mother to another,

Katie