This trauma can’t be erased…a final acceptance of my birth trauma?

Eight years ago, next week, my baby boy was born.  It was a traumatic birth, for me, my husband and my baby.  I have worked on this trauma for eight years at varying points, using various methods and this year I felt I had made so much progress with this trauma.  I committed to therapy, I delved deep into my sadness and I did the work with the most fantastically talented people, to whom I am forever grateful. 

Every December I have struggled since the birth of my son, but this year felt different and on the back of all my work, I had high hopes it might be.  My friends checked in on me at the start of December. How you doing, I know this time of year is hard for you?

I’m actually doing ok I replied surprised. I’ve done the work, I think I’m better! I actually feel joy, I’m singing Christmas songs! I’m having fun, I’m laughing.  Then a few Thursday’s ago I took myself to A&E thinking I was having a heart attack.  It wasn’t a heart attack, but instead it was the biggest panic attack I have ever experienced.

This panic attack may have been completely unrelated to my birth trauma, but I do know that every day in December brings me unwanted reminders of that time leading up to the birth of my son, the days I was counting down to my due date, the sweeps, the impending induction if I didn’t go into labour when the midwives needed me to.  Even if it wasn’t the December-ness that brought this panic attack on - it made me pause, think and realise something very important to my healing – acceptance is something I hadn’t reached until this point.

So, today I allowed myself some time (or should I say it felt like I had no choice to write this down, it was bursting to come out) in a very quiet room to write down what is coming up if I listen hard enough to what my body is trying to tell me about my panic attack last week and the headline is – I am always going to be deeply wounded by this birth experience, this cannot be buried, stop fighting, stop trying to override it; listen and feel it and then we can move forward and not get dragged back.  The most important thing may be to acknowledge that even though I am still deeply wounded by what happened to me, to us, maybe I always will be.  And maybe that’s the thing I had to realise? This trauma can’t be erased, it is not separate to me, it is part of me…and I think that’s what I have been trying to do over the last eight years, make the experience disappear.

Here’s what came up:

What would happen if you stopped trying to erase me, to escape me and just let me sit quietly? I don’t want to harm you, I am not here to doubt you, I don’t want to scare you, but remind you - we actually got through this together. You got through this and I am part of you. What if we stop separating ourselves, you and me.  We can be, ‘we’. How does that change things? What new softness does this bring?

I want to be here to tell you this happened.   To reassure you that when that panic rises, from haunting memories of Christmas tunes on the radio in silent hospital rooms, of cellotaped tinsel and multi coloured lights on white boards, of fluorescent strip lighting, of chatter from jovial ignorant midwives, rustling quality street around the box, echoing laughter around you and ignoring your tears, your need; that I was there with you, at every moment and you were so brave and we were right to fear for our lives.  That was all real.  It was terrifying.

I sit in your body now.  I am the emotion and evidence from those hours.  I was your witness and I believe you, because I saw and felt it all.  I am the feeling of tightly weaved wire sitting deep in your belly.  I sit here calmly though, I’m not trying to drag you back to that horror, or hurt you. I am just sitting here quietly.  I want to help you honour what we went through and to celebrate our story and tell you it was true.

I know the reminders are there for us everywhere in December, they go off like sirens and the bang of fireworks throughout your whole body and you push them down.  You keep overriding the jolts and reminders.  We can’t keep doing that though.  It’s causing more harm.  But last week, I needed to scream at you, the loudest I have ever screamed, because you are not listening to what I am trying to tell you.  It is not me against you in this trauma.  It is me and you. And you are not alone.  And I want to tell you this will never happen again.  You are safe now.  You don’t need to erase me. I am the root of the memory. Your proof.  I am attached and ingrained so deep.  I am the thick emotional scar tissue that’s part of you and I want to stay here with you friend. In peace.  Please don’t forget me or ignore me or suppress me.  There’s no need to fight me.  Remember me. 

Said kindly and with hugest amount of love, I am never going to leave you.  I am not deserting you.  And do you know what, December is going to feel so much better when you admit you don’t want me to go either. I am like your Harry Potter horcrux now.  Maybe we can just co-exist in harmony, you can observe me, feel me, put your hands on your belly and smile.   Maybe you can protect me from parts of us, that are trying to banish me and what happened.  Honour me and I’ll do the same to you. Let’s never let each other go, because I am your story, you are my story and this experience was part of your motherhood story, your parenthood story and meeting the precious of all preciousness you have ever known.