Postpartum Poem (Molly)

My name is Molly Lynch. I am 27 years old, I have a 4 month old son, and I have post partum depression. It hit me like a wave and I couldn’t believe how many women struggle with this, and dont speak their truth. I have written a poem to my son Theodore about my experience, and am hoping to share it with others so that their stories can be heard and shared.

My poem is called “the lonely island”

A lonely island, just him and me
His wails continue, just let me be.
I’m so tired, why doesnt he care?
He’s selfish, dependent, stripping me bare

Where is the bundle of joy I was promised?
My sanity and happiness constantly compromised
I sit and cry holding you tight
You grip my finger with all your might
I love you and hate you, so ashamed to say
The time ticks by slowly, day after day

This little blue pill, promises the world
To make everything better, to stop the unfurl
They call it post partum and promise it wont last
But it’s been 16 weeks, I just want my mind back
And slowly but surely, things look brighter
Hes waiting for me, because hes a fighter.
My bundle of joy, so loving and forgiving
Loves me unconditionally, relying on me to continue living

I’m sorry Theodore, but mommy is better
I’ve fought tooth and nail for you,
And so I give you this letter.
A promise that I will always be here, no matter the cost
I love you more than air, even when I’m lost.
I’ll fight this disease to be the mom you deserve
Because you are the light of my life, you’re love I preserve

So stop growing little one
Mommy loves you
You are my sun
I love you to the moon, and more than every star in the sky
Because you are my one and only, you are my special little guy.

Mothers/Parents and Mental Health

This is a really important article from NPR that I shared on our Facebook page a few days ago. It talks about postpartum psychosis, which is when a new mother has a break from reality. This illness is rare, but not as uncommon as you would think, because most women are too afraid to talk about it. According to the Massachusetts General Hospital’s Center for Women’s Mental Health, only 1 to 20 women per 1,000 will have this disorder. But here’s the thing: women are, consciously or subconsciously, held by society to be mothers. Women who fail at this in one way or another are judged harshly. Women whose mental health suffers and affects their children are dealing not only with the stigma of “bad mothering” but also with that of mental illness.

I am going to say this one time only: mental illness is just another kind of regular illness. The brain is just as much a body part as the pancreas, but one would never judge a mother with diabetes for needing to stop to adjust her insulin, or for needing insulin in the first place (well, at least we tend not to judge those with Type I diabetes – the stigma against fatness is a whole other blog post).

Sometimes our bodies fail us. It is simply a part of being a living creature; we are imperfect.

And I do not deny that mental illness is a challenging thing to deal with. Unlike many other physical ailments, it can affect personality and that is truly a hard thing for those who suffer with it as well as those around them.

But it doesn’t make the stigma any more valid.

Here is a fact for you: Most medications are tested on men. Women have very different bodies and very different neurology, particularly in regards to hormones. Thus, being a woman and needing medication of any kind, you are already at a disadvantage. To add in something as complex as postpartum psychosis which, as we already noted, is dealing with two stigmas, and to try to balance the body and mind with a medication that hasn’t been tested on women, especially postpartum women, is a problem. (Here is a video that talks a little bit about the gender gap in medication testing. The video itself is about pain, but it’s not irrelevant because we do know that the gut and the brain, as well as the immune system and the gut, are connected in ways we do not fully understand.)

And the stigma is built into the mental health system, too. For instance, in trying to find care for my daughter (it is okay with her for me to discuss this publicly), we were met again and again with limited care for mental health. There are clinics here who will only see a patient for 13 visits, with a second set of 13 visits possible if still necessary, but no more. This may be logical for a kid who is simply needing to learn some coping skills or needs help navigating difficult interpersonal connections. But for a kid with a true mental illness, it is simply not enough in any way, shape, or form. You’d never find a medical hospital with a 13-visit limit on any other kind of care. If a child goes through the expected number of chemo sessions and still needs medical help, they will get appropriate medical care. But this isn’t true of mental health care. The stigma is built into the system itself.

If you read that NPR article, you will see the difference between care models here in the US and those in the UK where babies are sometimes allowed to stay with mom. Here in the US, however, infants are not even allowed to visit and breast pumps are not readily available. This is a woman’s problem in that it affects women directly, but it is a social problem when we consider the time off work the woman’s partner will need to take, the childcare involved of the infant and/or older children. Something like this could make or break a family’s survival and here in the US where we don’t offer healthcare to everyone, health problems often do break families, forcing them into poverty and potential homelessness.

I am not over-exaggerating.

I’d also like to quickly note that, yes, police can be involved in mental health cases where it is not safe to transport a person yourself. If you need to call for care (at least here in San Diego – you will want to look up your own local information) you should ask for the PERT team (psychiatric emergency response team). They will handcuff the person while transporting them and, while this is often perceived as treating them like criminals, it is not the intention to do so. It is done for safety and probably policy reasons. Perhaps this is something we need to work towards changing – I’m down with that. But I’m sharing this right now primarily because I think this is important information for the general public to know – it’s certainly not something you want to be surprised by at your lowest moment, and it’s something that can be so easily misunderstood.

So, what do we do about this problem of mental health care, in particular as it pertains to women?

Well, first of all, we share the facts. Women are at a disadvantage when it comes to appropriate medical care. People struggling with mental health issues are at a disadvantage when it comes to appropriate access to services and care. Women struggling with mental health issues are dealing with this from every angle, and women of color or other oppressed groups are oppressed even more. So talk about this. Share the facts with your friends and family even if – especially if – they do not pertain directly to you. A voice outside the community can be a powerful ally.

Second, listen to your friends and family when they speak of their mental health issues. Do not tell them how to fix it, do not offer suggestions. Instead just tell them that you hear them. Offer to help them find services (here in San Diego the Access and Crisis Line is your first stop). Promise that you don’t judge them and that you love them. Remind them that this is just another illness like any other illness and the fact that it is happening in their head doesn’t make them any less worthy of help or love.

If – and only if – you are ready to share your own story of struggling with mental health, share it. The more people admit secrets, the more we find we are not alone – just like with our pictures of our bodies here, we can stand together and be stronger than we are alone. If you want to share your story here, you can do that here.

And if you are a mama or a parent who has struggled with mental health issues of any severity, I am here to tell you that you are not alone and that it does not make you a bad parent. You are worthy of love and life. It is scary sometimes to seek help, and I will admit that sometimes even mental health practitioners are terrible at understanding mental illness, but keep moving forward. Don’t allow yourself to believe anyone – professional or not – that mental health problems are something you should be ashamed of. It’s simply a thing that happened, just like any other challenge people face, no stigma necessary, no judgement at all. You are strong and worthy and beautiful just as you are. I see you and I hear you.

This is Four Months Postpartum (Anonymous)

This is four months postpartum. I cannot lose the weight no matter how hard I try. The shame I feel is sickening. I want to vomit whenever I see myself in the mirror. It’s so hard to leave the house and be around people. I am so so so ashamed. I can’t even be in the front yard unless it’s dark. Everything sags and my waistline is gone. I didn’t even get boobs from this mess. They’re still small but now they sag and are deflated. So I’m horrible looking, fat without breasts. My husband always liked the little gap between my thighs and now it’s gone and I can’t get it back. I try to eat healthy but sometimes I just feel so terrible that I go for something good because at least I feel a little happy when I can eat good food, even though I hate myself for eating it afterwards.

I hate myself so much for letting this happen to me. I love my son but I was left with nothing but a disgusting mess. Sometimes I cut and punch myself and they say to use a marker instead so that’s what I did.

I used to be the girl who could wear whatever and it’d be okay. More importantly I used to be the girl who could carry thirty pounds of gear into the mountains and hike myself out with an injury (dislocated kneecap). Now I can’t even hike seven miles without my body giving up. I can’t even talk about what happened to my mind or I will really break down.

I failed at everything. I failed at breastfeeding so I have these disgusting boobs and I can’t even breastfeed my son. I labored for thirty hours with back to back contractions and still had to have a c-section. My hips and back gave out during my pregnancy and I had to be on crutches and I couldn’t exercise although I did what I could. I have really intense postpartum depression and anxiety. I’m on four medications and have tried so many different kinds of treatment. Electroconvulsive therapy might be the next step.

I can sense my friends and family getting frustrated with me so I’m starting to pull away from them too. I have no damn idea why my husband even still has sex with me. I think it’s because I’m there and he’s a very loyal person but I’m convinced he’s imagining he’s with someone else. How could this wreck of a body ever appeal to him? He didn’t give me a single compliment after I gave birth but he used to say I was beautiful every day before. He started again when I broke down about it but now I can’t believe him because I had to cry and beg for him to see me as beautiful so I know it’s him lying to make me feel better. I don’t blame him for forgetting because the first month is so hard and if it’s not genuine why would he even think to do it?

I hate myself so much I cry every day and some days I can’t leave the house no matter how hard I try. I would have surgery in a heartbeat if I could afford it. I just want to hide forever but I can’t because I need to find a way to endure for my son. I just don’t know how. I give up on being attractive. I just want to not care.

I just weaned my last child! (Mom of 3)

I am a 32 year old mother of three children; ages 3,8,11.

My youngest/last child and I are two days into weaning!

I was 21 when I gave birth to my first child. That pregnancy was crazy on my body. I gained almost 65lbs and struggled afterward with what know was post partum depression. I breastfed him for 13 months and abruptly weaned him since I believed the hype that he was “too old” to nurse much longer. With my second child I gained 55 lbs. and breastfed him till he was 2.5 yrs. old. To stave off another round of ppd, at seven days post partum I restarted on an antidepressant medication ( I was diagnosed with major depression but got off the meds when I discovered I was pregnant) and didn’t get ppd. My last pregnancy was not easy. I was hospitalized since for 3 days I littearly could not stop thowing up and then passed out at my child’s doctor apt due to dehydration. The rest of my pregnancy was like that, constant throwing up when ever I move or eat or didn’t eat enough. Luckily, my then four yr. old is a sympathetic and patient child and my oldest was in school. I gained 40ish lbs. with my last pregnancy, and a line of stitches in my cervix to go with the stiches on my perineum from my first baby. Some hemorrhoids made them selves at home while I was pregnant with my daughter and I think i messed up my urethra, since I leak when I jump or laugh. My daughter is my last. I made sure of that by having a tubal litigation right after she was born.

I think I have always had body issues since high school being chubby or just thicker than others in my group, then restricting my diet to fit a certain look. the funny thing is, in high school I almost starved my self to my current weight of 121. but now I am two to three pant sizes bigger then I wore then. I remember when I was pregnant with my first and at about four months in I tried on my size 4 jeans. I was devastated that they wouldn’t go past my knees! then when my 34c/d breasts ballooned to ??? size where even a 38ddd barley coved my areola and my breasts got interesting white stretch marks on them over the weekend i got engorged right after my child was born. I thought that I could never be seen as pretty again, that i might never be happy again, that it was the worse event of my life! Lol, of course not. My husband was across the country on a military base from 7 months along until two weeks after our 1st baby was born. Then he shipped out to Iraq shortly after. I lost a bunch of weight, became very unhealthy and then saw him once at 8 months pp and finally moved back with him after his deployment when our child was 13 months. I was so skinny everything drooped. my breasts, stomach, and twiggy legs, nursing took my once ample behind and sucked it try to panckakeish proportions. My husband saw me nude and at once asked me what happened to my thickness? I was mortified and hated the way I looked. Over time I gained my weight back to a healthy126 and after my second i lost a lot of weight, but worked out to keep mucule tone. My body has kept it self healthy after my third child.

Over the course of the last 11 yrs I have birthed my 3 children, experienced personal tragedies, near death sickness of my second child due to sepsis, divorce, depression, getting on my own two feet, getting healthy, and seeing my children succeed! My children have done the most amazing transformation to my heart and mindset and shaped my life goals as much as they have changed my body. I have spent a total of almost 7 years breastfeeding, actually nurturing bodies of little humans. It’s incredible! I don’t mind the marks so much. I would love to not have a stomach pouch that hangs over my pants when I sit down or that bunches up all lumpy from a tear in my ab wall but I try to not make a big deal of if for my children, especially my almost four yr old daughter who “wants to get a big belly like mine so she can drive a car.” I was talking with a 38 yr old mom of 2 and Zumba instructor who reminded me that every mother has those marks and flabby skin on their stomachs, even female body builders, maybe they don’t have fat but they do have the hanging skin and marks. I would rather have them and be a mother then rocking my 20 yr old taut stomach and full breasts.

Breast woes and appreciation .. (Anonymous)

Hello, im 36 and have 2 beautiful children ? aged 12 and 7.

My first pregnancy came at a time of such a huge loss. Only months before a huge part of my life passed away and the grief was immersurable. The pregnancy brought to us such excitement. I neglected to think what i ate would forever change my body. I thought i could eat what i want and at the end the weight would drop off and all would return to normal! Yikes was i delusional. Little size 8 grew to a 16!! Im short so the weight gain caused stretch marks on my tummy, breasts and my thighs and even calves! I had dark marks all over my tummy and i was so ashamed of my naked body. I was so depressed but so in love with my bundle of joy. He brought so much love into our lives that helped with healing such a broken heart.

I got post natal drepression and PTSD and lost a lot of weight fast. My stretch marks faded to mostly indented silvery lines i went Back to a size 8 by time he was 1. My once were gorgeous perky boobs were saggy and unrecognisable. My nipples had grown so much bigger through pregnancy and not returned to the size they had been. My tummy was more like a bobbly pouch. I hated my breasts so much i tried to wrap them with long cloth so they would be pressed hard against my body so i didnt notice them as much.

5 years later i was pregnant with my second son. I didnt gain as much weight with him and loved my milky boobies that were huge! It gave me a bit more cinfidence however during breast feeding i put on a lot more weight and have yo yo’d ever since hovering between a size 8 to 12. At the moment im a large 12 but hope to get back on top of healthy eating and exercise to drop the extra weight.

I have obsessed about my boobs and dream of having breast augmentation. I’ve researched other women who have gone through with it and love their results! But because finances won’t allow it i will accept what i have for the time being ? im grateful i naturally birthed 2 beautiful boys and was able to nourish them with breast feeding. The first had BM for 5 months due to complications and the second till aged close to 2 years old.

I love being a mother! i have a love-hate relationship with my body’s appearance however mostly im grateful and in awe of what it can do! Birthing and raising children has been the biggest blessing i could ever be bestowed and im forever grateful for such a privilege ?

Huge thanks to all the mothers sharing their stories on this page. You have helped me more than you can ever imagine! It helped me normalise my mother body and accept it. Xxx

The Shape of Me (Anonymous)

I’ve struggled with body image too long. I was never aneroxic or bulimic. But I restricted calories and over excercise. When my third was born I got ppd real bad. It was the first time in my life I had to put the focus on my mental health 100%. Fast forward three years later…….. I have a 9,6,3 1/2 year old. I have been working out a ton. But it has hard to accept my curvier softer self. Why is this? It shouldn’t be this way!

032117-anon-1

The Others (Anonymous)

Your Age: 36

Number of pregnancies and births: 3 pregnancies. 1 birth, 2 abortions

The age of your children: Son born September of 2008. Abortion in 1997 at eight weeks and in 2009 at four.

I have always had depression and anxiety, I have no memory of a time when they weren’t present; according to my family I was an anxious infant. I began seeing a psychologist at around age six. After much pleading, and at the recommendation of my psychologist, my parents finally agreed to let me take psychiatric medication at seventeen. It was like the world opened up. Suddenly things that had seemed difficult were attainable. I remember being excited to drive to the house of a friend who lived an hour away. Goddamn, that sounds pathetic.

Post medication I wouldn’t describe myself as being ‘fixed’ but I was certainly far more functional. I could hold down a job and was able to live on my own.

When I was twenty-seven my husband and I decided to have a baby and I went off my medication to do so. I thought I’d be okay.

The only reason I didn’t kill myself when I was pregnant was because I knew I would fuck it up, kill my baby, lose my nerve and then have to live with that the rest of my life. I was very aware of the point in my pregnancy when having an abortion would no longer be legal and up until that point there was always the voice in the back of my mind that if I needed to I could still back out. I wanted a baby very much, I wanted this baby very much, but I was catastrophically depressed. I had vivid dreams where I killed myself and/or my child.

And he was my child. From the very first moment I found out I was pregnant I wanted him, I loved him. I wanted him before he was even conceived.

I thought things would be better after I gave birth, but I was wrong. He was a month early. It’s possible he was early because I was so depressed that I was barely able to eat and he wasn’t getting the proper nutrients. Who knows.

I was hospitalized for the first time when he was eight weeks old. After much deliberation, and many conversations with friends, family and health professionals, I signed myself in voluntarily because I wasn’t able to function. I was unable to sleep, even when my son was sleeping, and at the time that I signed myself in I hadn’t slept for approximately two weeks and was starting to hallucinate.

While I was in the hospital I was able to see my son once daily in a cold, brightly lit conference room that was one floor below the psych ward. I brought a small manual breast pump with me to try to keep up my milk supply and pumped several times a day and throughout the night. Because of the medication I was given I had to throw most of it away.

I was released after a week.

When he was twelve weeks old I was readmitted after taking an overdose of a Ativan. I blacked out in the emergency room as they were placing an IV catheter.

My first memory after passing out is standing naked in front of the mirror in the bathroom off my hospital room and seeing my milk swollen breasts covered in the sticky residue from the EKG leads. I was emaciated because I had been fighting to breastfeed in spite of not being able to eat. To be honest I’m not even sure if that memory is true.

I have been hospitalized since then.

But what I want to talk about, what I feel doesn’t get talked about enough, are the pregnancies I chose not to carry to term.

The first time I got pregnant I was seventeen and about a month away from beginning my senior year. I had just started taking medication for my depression and anxiety. My boyfriend (A) and I had been together for about six months and things were great. We had both had prior sexual relationships but we were each other’s first loves. We were pretty careful over all but there was one night where we got carried away. He didn’t ejaculate inside me. Didn’t even get close. But there was penetration without a condom and apparently that was enough.

When my period was late I took a test. The line was very faint but it was there. A and I looked at it and tried to convince ourselves otherwise but there was no denying it. I told my mother and she took me to the doctor. The nurse congratulated me and calculated my due date as I sobbed.

When I went to A’s house after the doctor his first words to me after I told him the home test had been accurate were, “You’re going to have an abortion, right?”

I was always pro-choice. I always had in my mind that if the situation arose I would have an abortion without a second thought. I would tell every new partner that he had a choice: to know or to not know. A was the one who was pro-life and suddenly he didn’t want to discuss it. I wanted to discuss it. I didn’t think I wanted a baby but I loved A and there was a part of me that imagined the three of us together as a family.

It was 1997, RU-486 wasn’t available, and the clinic told me that I would have to wait until I was eight weeks along to have a surgical abortion.

We did end up talking about it, A and I. We did lots of talking in the four weeks between when I found out I was pregnant and my appointment at the clinic. I had been unsure that I ever wanted to have a child but during that four weeks I realized that I did. Someday.

I had made the appointment for a Friday so that I would have the weekend to recover before going back to school. The clinic was 45 minutes away from where we lived and it was to be an all day affair. We arrived in the morning and were shuffled from room to room. I filled out endless amounts of paperwork, took a pregnancy test, had my blood type checked (they screwed it up*), saw a counselor, and had an ultrasound. Between each step we waited in rooms with other women who were either with a partner or friend. No one talked much or made eye contact.

A was in the room with me for the ultrasound. I asked to see it and the technician seemed a little uncomfortable. She left it up on the screen when she stepped out of the room for a moment. We both looked, A and I. The image was still and grainy.**

After hours of waiting and paperwork and testing and talking and somehow even more waiting they led me away from A and into the secure part of the clinic.

They took my vitals, gave me a key on a plastic bungee to put around my wrist like at a public pool and directed me to a bathroom with lockers. I took off my clothes, stowed them in the locker corresponding with my key, put on a hospital gown from the pile on the shelf and went to meet the nurse.

I was taken to a small room and given a sedative.

The nurse was kind, she stroked my forehead and said it would be okay. The doctor introduced himself but all I remember of him is how the powder from his gloves had collected in the creases of his hands which I noticed when he shook mine. I remember looking up at the ceiling and seeing fall leaves through a skylight, but I don’t think that’s right. I don’t think that’s a true memory because I think the room was in the basement. I don’t know if the doctor is a true memory either.

I do know that I felt a pinch deep inside, and in that split second I thought I could still get up and leave and have it not happen. But I didn’t leave and then there was only the gentle hum of the machine.

When it was over the nurse lead me to a room full of reclining chairs set in a half circle facing a television playing an endless loop of aftercare instructions.

Upstairs everyone had been looking at everyone else out of the corners of their eyes. Down here women were looking at each other directly, telling their stories and asking questions. One woman talked about her young daughter and how she couldn’t possibly support another child.

The first time they had me get up to leave I nearly passed out in the bathroom. I tried to wipe the blood off but it just seemed like there was more where it came from no matter what I did. I started to get dizzy and then went for help soaking the tops of my socks in blood as I shuffled down the hall to the nurse’s station.

The second time I got up I felt much better and was able to get cleaned and dressed quickly. I met with a nurse about aftercare and birth control and then was brought out of the secure area. A was waiting for me on the front steps of the clinic smoking a cigarette. He drove us back to my mom’s house and we watched the movies we’d rented earlier in the week.

A and I were together for a little over a year all told. Approximately six months before and six months after the pregnancy, maybe a little more or less in either direction. He broke up with me and it was all the more painful because I had pictured having a child with him someday. We stayed in touch for a few years, he went into the marines and I went to college, and somewhere we lost touch.

There were times when I thought what if. Absolutely. I would sit in the tiny little one bedroom apartment that I loved in the shitty part of town and wonder for a moment where on earth I’d fit a child into my life. The answer was always no where.

Regret isn’t the word. Ambivalent relief is closer.

Eleven years after my first abortion, while I was pregnant with my son, A got back in touch through a mutual friend. He apologized for ‘making’ me have the abortion and for leaving. He said he thought we could have made it work and that he had made a mistake. We’ve been in touch regularly in the past eight years and our interactions are always positive. He has a four year old son with an ex girlfriend and his current girlfriend has two children. He’s a great guy and I value the relationship that we have.

The third time I found out I was pregnant my son was a year old. I had planned to get an IUD or Essure when he was six weeks old but that had been derailed by my experience with postpartum depression and previously undiagnosed bipolar disorder. I had actually made an appointment with an OBGYN (my son was delivered by a midwife) for birth control but got lost on the way there and then my son began to cry because he was hungry. I had a panic attack and went home. I begged my husband to get a vasectomy but he would just say that I was going to change my mind and want another baby someday.

We used condoms, although clearly not compliantly, and I took Plan B on two occasions when a condom slipped.

I’m not sure when exactly I got pregnant but I took a test two days before my son’s first birthday. I said to my husband, “Fuck, this thing says I’m pregnant.” It was four in the morning when I took the test and as soon as the nearest clinic opened I called to make an appointment.

It was 2009 and RU-486 was available so I was able to make an appointment for the next day instead of having to wait until I was farther along.

My husband refused to go with me to the clinic because he was angry with me. He wanted me to continue the pregnancy in spite of the danger to my health. Our roommate drove me instead.

Even though it happened more recently the second time is less memorable than the first. I know I filled out paperwork, had a physical and blood work, but not much sticks out. This time there wasn’t much to see on the ultrasound, just the amniotic sac, since I was only about four weeks along. I asked for a printout of the ultrasound and it’s in a box along with the things I saved from my son’s first birthday. This time when they offered me RhoGam I declined. I told them that if it were just a case of bad timing I would continue the pregnancy, but it wasn’t just bad timing, I can never have another child.

I met with a counselor and it turned out that she had worked at the clinic I had gone to the first time during the time I had gone there. It was twelve years later and we were halfway across the country from where we’d been but here we were.

I cried as I talked to her and she commented that I seemed really angry. I hadn’t realized that I was until she pointed it out. I was angry at myself for not having been more careful – I still don’t know where we screwed up – and I was very angry at my husband for not listening to me when I told him I didn’t want and couldn’t have any more children.

They gave me the mifepristone to swallow there at the clinic and the misoprostol to take home with me to insert into my vagina the next day. They also gave me a prescription for Vicodan before sending me home.

On my son’s first birthday I inserted the misoprostol tablets, took a Vicodan, and waited. It didn’t hurt much. The bleeding picked up considerably in the middle of the night and when I sat down on the toilet there was so much blood pouring out so quickly that it sounded like I was urinating. I had planned on trying to look for it so that I could see it but I just didn’t have the energy to turn on the lights, let alone fish around in the toilet for a tiny lump of flesh.

The second time was much easier. I knew what it was like to have an abortion and I knew what it was like to have a child. The choice was pretty clear. The pill felt much less invasive as well since I was able to be in my own home. I didn’t experience much discomfort, the Vicodan made me feel relaxed and I mostly slept.

I would say that both of my abortion experiences were pretty positive given the circumstances. I didn’t have much pain either time, nor do I have regrets. I feel bad for A that he ultimately wasn’t happy, I feel bad for my husband, who wanted more children, and for my son who wanted siblings, but for myself I feel thankful that abortion was an option available to me.

I’ve started talking about my abortions more frequently and openly in the hopes that if I put a real live human face on it I might be able to change some minds. I’d found myself getting irritated that there are so many high profile women who are willing to say they’re pro choice and yet so few have come forward with their own stories, but then I realized I was doing a much smaller version of the same thing. Arguing in hypotheticals isn’t as effective as using particulars. If I can sit down with my pro life friends and tell them about my experiences maybe next time they go to vote they’ll think of me, an actual woman they know and like, and vote differently. It’s important that we keep abortion safe, legal, affordable, and accessible because, as we’ve learned over and over, making it illegal doesn’t stop it.

So I’ve started talking, and I hope more women do to.

030617-anon-1

It is What it is (Anonymous)

3 years Post partum. 2 c sections, 32 years old.

I had severe undiagnosed perinatal depression with my first child, leading to me demanding a c section or I was going to throw myself off of a ledge. I was terrified and didn’t want to ever be left alone for fear of what might happen. Thankfully treated Post partum depression with my 2nd, so much more manageable.

I will never look the same again, and it has severely impacted how and when I work out or hike or rock climb or anything. My sense of self has been so contorted since being pregnant I am just now grasping at who I used to be.

I loved my body before children. It was the body that was reliable, and would push me to my limits, create expression through movement or strength. I could feel alive in my body and what I was capable of. Pregnancy changed my entire existence. Would I trade my body back?? Of course I would. Right now though, I’m dedicated to reading to my children in the evening even if it means I can’t get my run in. Sometimes I’m depressed about it, most times, however I am now realizing that permanence has no place in my life. Everything is temporary and there is a peace that comes with experiencing and living this.

That’s how it goes. Some days I’m lost, some days I’m found. But it is what it is.

Terrible self image, despite healing well. 1st baby. (Anonymous)

1 child, 5 months PP

I am 23 and gave birth to my gorgeous baby girl 5 months ago. I love her more than life itself but have struggled with the effect on my body- softer stomach and saggier boobs :( I was lucky to only get very small stretchmarks underneath my belly button and they are now barely noticeable. My baby girls delivery was natural and the pregnancy was fine although I developed antenatal depression in my 3rd trimester and spent most of the pregnancy worrying excessively about my babies health. I didnt really gain much weight during the pregnancy, I went up a dress size and seemed to retain alot of water, the excess weight seemed to drop off post birth however I feel my posture is utterly horrendous from looking after a baby and carrying one for 9 months and despite recovering well body wise my self image is in tatters, I feel fat and ugly all the time even when done up (this never occured before) and my face has been ravaged by sleep deprivation- I have that ‘mumsy’ look now that tbh I always hated. My boobs seem to have shrunk even though I only breastfed for a few weeks. I feel guilty even feeling bad about myself post birth as many women have it a lot worse than me.. It doesnt help that sometimes my vagina feels ‘numb’ during sex aswell! Nightmare. I enjoy dancing and exercise and am hoping to incorporate it more in order to feel like ‘me’ again and maybe tone up a bit, I am just always so tired and busy these days! I am in a bit of a rush here anyway but just thought I’d post my story. Hugs to everyone going through similar feelings :)

Pics:
1. me when I had the time and energy to put make up on- and a good nights sleep! age 21
2. me age 22 26 weeks pregnant with my baby :)
3. me pre baby age 21
4. 5 months post partum- wouldnt even show my knackered face now!

Mom with PTSD (Kara)

I always wanted to be a mom. I didn’t dream of weddings or anything else as a young girl. I was lucky enough to meet my husband in the most amazing of places: while we were in training with the navy. Before we were even engaged we talked about how many kids we would have. Them it got hard. We were stationed apart and were left with no choice but to marry one weekend without family or friends present.

It was nearly 5minths after being married that we were able to live together for the first time and we decided to try for a baby right away. Sadly I suffered a loss at nearly 18weeks. The naval hospital tried to convince me nothing was wrong and sent me away. I went to a “civilian” hospital right away and ended up having a d/c. I was devastated. My command was less than supportive. So it was back to military work for both of us.

I suffered a severe depression I can only recognize now. Them a few months later I discovered we were expecting again. I tried to be happy but I was terrified. The military has terrible prenatal care and I never enjoyed that pregnancy. My command was again less than supportive and when I was about 20 weeks along they started the unnecessary abuse. They told me I got pregnant on purpose to jeopardize my commands mission. I would never do that. I even I tended to deploy shortly after the birth. Those guys had my back and I had theirs, but my Commanding Officers kept on.

Every day I suffered to enjoy being pregnant with my daughter and came into my job and took yelling telling me that this was not a gift but something I did to hurt others. They had me transferred two weeks later. This ridiculous reputation preceded me and I arrived at a new command where I was instantly treated terrible as though I got pregnant to get out of my navy work. I was an air traffic controller and they quickly found I was one of the best. But at 26 weeks I went into preterm labor. My daughter was born at 33 weeks and almost didn’t make it. She stayed in the hospital for more than a month and I, determined to win the support of my command hardly visited her. I was not happy. We brought her home on mothers day. It meant nothing to me. My whole pregnancy I was told she was a mistake and I was terrified to connect so I wouldn’t suffer another loss.

We continued our military work and we found out my husband was going to be deployed for a year. A week later I found out at my check up for my IUD that it wasn’t placed correctly and I was pregnant again. My daughter was 6months old. Again started the abuse at work. Again I felt sorry I got pregnant instead of happy. I took yelling and abuse. And now my husband was deployed. I was alone. Somehow I made it and I had him at 38week. Now I was alone in the military with a 13 month old and a new born.

When my son was 5 mo the old I was basically kicked out of the navy. My command said I was hurting their mission (because after 20weeks prego I couldn’t control aircraft) and now I was on depression meds. My doctor was amazing and basically told me that it was best for my health to get out and so I was honorably discharged before my husband got back. Two years later I was diagnosed with PTSD. It is hard. I have no memories of the first two years of my daughters life. My mind has blocked them. I have no memories of the time during my husbands deployment (including the birth of my son). But my story isn’t over yet.

My husband got out of the military right after my son turned one. mostly so I wouldn’t have to be alone any more. And for that I owe him my life. Literally. So we moved to Colorado and I got a great job as an assistant to the owner of a medical spa. But not even a year into it I discovered my boss was going to fire me. Not for anything I had done. The girl who held the position before me was bubbly and cute and while I have always been kind to everyone, I am serious. She never gave me a fair chance and never like me the way she like the girl who left before me. I did my job well and saved her company tons of money. I showed up early every day and did exactly as she asked and more. She told me the day she fired me that I couldn’t be trusted (though I took her deposit to the bank almost daily and controlled 100% of her inventory). She told me that my resume was a lie and that she should have never hired me. Back came all of those feelings I had worked for two years to get over. Someone was again tying to make me guilty for something I had not done. That was February of this year.

I got 200 times worse after that. Now I have more anxiety problems, anger issues and a ton of other symptoms since then including letting food be my comfort at times. So I decided to stay home. I enjoy my kids, though my memories of them being babies are gone. I love them and play with them and stay away from the world that always finds a way to hurt me. Now I look in the mirror and see my post pregnancy body (though in my reality and my memory I never had a baby) and I hate the way I look. I was in perfect shape. In a difficult military command where I could do as much as the men. I see me now four dress sizes bigger and ravaged by eating problems, medications and depression. But I am determined that next year will be better and I can start to heal. I will love my kids and as hard as it is I will try to love myself. So now I am here with two amazing children, but I still feel as though I was only pregnant with my first. It still feels like I never got my wish to be happy and pregnant and have babies. And now I dont have my dream military job either. I just recently started staying home with my kids. I long for a connection with them. It is hard though. And now I look in the mirror and see my post pregnancy body, ravaged my medications and eating problems and depression and I don’t even recognize myself.

My journey to being a mom has left me four dress sizes bigger and with a broken mind. When I am out I wish people could look at me and see my story. Maybe then they would not think “look at the over weight lady” or wonder “why doesn’t she have a job?”. So I guess I am sharing with you since I cannot scream it at the world.

Thanks for your time!
Kara
Mom of 4yr old girl, 3yr old boy and one angel.

First picture is right before my first pregnancy, second is me and my daughter, third was today.