the pieces.
a few hours into labor . june 2, 2010 (photo by our doula patti ramos)
Today, the scar that has not gotten smaller or faded, the scar that sits just beneath my belly, hurts. It hurts as though Ellie was born last week and not almost eight months ago. There is so much the doctor did not go over when she sounded like the last moments of a medical commercial as she listed all that might happen. She left out the parts about how my skin would be numb (perhaps forever) and that the scar would just hurt some days and that my body would still be reacting in unexpected ways months later. She left out a lot of things that became part of the story that makes up who I am on this day.
The part of me that is the realest me has a visceral reaction when I think about that doctor. The doctor who I met just hours before my daughter was born. I am pushed by some momentum outside myself to say that I am grateful. Of course, I am grateful that my little girl sleeps down the hall even after her intense entry into this world, and I am grateful that I am here writing these words.
But, I give myself permission to say that I am not grateful for pieces of what happened after I met that doctor.
In this moment, with the scar hurting and my baby girl asleep down the hall, I push myself to remember the beauty of the first 18 hours when I was in labor. My contractions were so close and intense that we all thought Eleanor Jane would arrive so very soon, but the story was to go another way. After many hours, the story involved medication and a doctor who allowed me to push for hours longer than I should have even though they knew a cesarean was imminent and an epidural wearing off in surgery and a woman experiencing the most significant trauma of her life with her minutes-new-to-this-world baby daughter’s cheek against hers and a decision not to start screaming but instead to find the place deep inside me filled with more courage than I thought possible, to just breathe, and then firmly say, “No, I am experiencing pain not pressure” and then more emotional trauma in the minutes and days that followed as no one quite understood what had happened to the woman who was awake during a surgery where the epidural wore off but she didn’t start screaming.
Months later, as the fears of what might happen have quieted just a bit in the months following Ellie Jane’s open-heart surgery, I have found myself sitting inside a bit of space to begin to unpack all that happened in those first few days of June. My heart and body went through a lot in those days. And for many reasons, I was not given the space (I was not in a place to give myself the space) that I needed. Just as we held Ellie Jane and took care of her in those first few days and in all the days that followed, I needed my own moments to be held. I needed someone to put her hands on my face and look me in the eyes and say, “What you went through should not have happened. I am so sorry you had to go through this. Even though I know you are grateful that she is here, I wish it had happened another way for both of you.” And then, I needed that person to hold me while I cried myself to sleep.
Yet, as I sit here with my daughter asleep down the hall, I look at the photo at the top of this post, and I remember how there was bravery and a feeling of being rooted in the best of who I am. I remember that there was music and there was dancing and there was chanting and a sense that nothing else existed but love. I remember the joy of knowing each breath meant one breath closer to seeing her face. I remember the kindness of women I had never met and how my husband was his most confident, calm self. I push myself to remember because this is part of the story; this is part of the woman who sits here gathering up the pieces of herself as she stands in the truth.
*****
Today, I am giving myself the space to share some of my story here, to share a few more of the pieces of the last year that have made it the most difficult one of my life. No drama. Just truth. As I sit in the quiet and listen, it feels like sharing these pieces today and writing more over time is part of the healing that is to come. I feel moved to gently say that I am not seeking advice about where I am nor do I want to invite you to worry about me, as this post is just a part of what makes up the woman writing these words. This woman also spent a good part of today singing and listening to her daughter's laughter and brainstorming and creating talismans to send out into the world. This woman who is me spends much of each day gathering up the beauty that makes up this life. I spend a lot of time sifting through the realness to find the light and the joy. But I also know we must look at the truth and open our hearts to this truth.
Sharing these truths, being willing to look at the cracks and broken places, is how we heal. I believe this. And I believe that we can have the best intentions in our desires to help someone, but in doing so, we sometimes don’t realize that they are not seeking our help. Or sometimes what seems like help is really a desire to fix. Fixing and helping are not the same. I know this because I have been guilty of being a “fixer.” I know this because in the past year people have tried to fix when we needed love. The last few months have taught me the beauty that can be found in simply just showing up and shining your light when you see someone else is walking through a bit of darkness (we all walk through a bit of darkness). I want to write more about this soon…the idea of just showing up and being open to what a person most needs (and saying the words “what do you need?”) instead of believing there is something to fix. (Sometimes broken places do not need fixing.)
Thank you for catching these pieces of me and shining your light in this world…
what is real in on truth and love
Reader Comments (34)
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.
-Oriah Mountain Dreamer
It's okay to feel whatever you are feeling. I have complete faith in you that you will make your way safely through this. I will sit with you.
and thank you for sharing your real self.
xoxoxo
And by posting you are giving so many women the courage to give themselves space too to say that they were traumatized and hurt by the way things went at birth. You are so brave Liz. So amazingly brave. And it shouldn't have gone that way. Doctors and hospitals get me all fired up around birth: they disempower so often. Why? Sending you love and love and light.
You are beauty, it shines through these words in such a gentle way, it warms. Thank you for sharing this truth with all of us. Big love to you Liz, skies full.
Sending you much love, light and healing......you are such a beautiful brave soul.......
Let me say this honestly, aloud, and straight from my heart to yours:
“What you went through should not have happened. I am so sorry you had to go through this. Even though I know you are grateful that she is here, I wish it had happened another way for both of you.”
(((hugs)))
I've come to understand that in many ways -- the child is not the only one born on birthing days.
you are clearly so strong (even if you don't always feel that way). wonderful post.
You and those who have commented are so very wise.
Such a touching post.
I hope I can attend a be present retreat so I can meet you in person and give you a big hug!
So honored to witness this part of Healing.
In my mind I'm sending you a huge, comforting, just-being-in-the-moment-with-you hug.
i love you, i adore you, i honor you. thank you for sharing your self with the world. xoxo
I am so sorry, Liz. So very sorry that Ellie's birth was so hard and traumatic. It shouldn't have been that way. I wish it didn't happen the way it did. Thank you for sharing your story, your hurt, your broken places. I fully trust that you are capable of finding your own healing along your journey. Still, I would love to give you a hug.
sweet lizzie...so brave. big love. xo
If I may borrow your words here... “What you went through should not have happened. I am so sorry you had to go through this. Even though I know you are grateful that she is here, I wish it had happened another way for both of you.”
Thank you for your open heart, brave soul and honest words. I love you so very much.
I am wanting to borrow your own words and say, “What you went through should not have happened. I am so sorry you had to go through this. Even though I know you are grateful that she is here, I wish it had happened another way for both of you.”
Sending a soft blanket of love your way.
this has many echoes for me; both in the experience of birth as a tough thing and in the habit of trying to fix things. thank you for sharing your wisdom and strength.
I don't have the right words so I'll be the one to hold you tight while you cry yourself to sleep...
This morning, I will pray for your continued healing. I know you will use (and are using!) your experiences to pour understanding and compassion out onto the women who desperately need it.
i honor and believe in the power of telling our stories...thank you for sharing your truth.
You are a brave and beautiful young woman and your daughter is blessed to have you as a mother.
my scar hurts too...
my son's birth was similar to yours, emergency c-section. no warning. scary.
it was suppose to be zen. like my 1st sons. but it wasn't.
he was in nicu for 2 weeks. the tears. the worry. the wonder.
will my scar ever stop hurting or is it a symbol. i don't know.
but, alas a few years have past but the trauma lives inside.
i am so thankful he is here. my little dear man.
i've read your story and you have magic faerie dust around you. ellie is beautiful.
your words sooth and nourish.
Thank you for sharing this with the world, Liz. I feel like a little bit of a kindred spirit. Breastfeeding didn't work out for Ross and me. It didn't go accord to plan. As I tend to do, I felt ashamed and I beat myself up about it for YEARS. I felt as if I'd failed some sort of test. But now I'm simply grateful that life went on, that my little baby is now beginning to become a young man. I'm sorry it did go the way you had hoped. It shouldn't have happened that way. You are an amazing woman and a strong, wonderful mama, no matter what!
Wow, to think you had a book coming out pretty soon after that, what a year! I can imagine it is taking time to surface after all that. I felt similar when I had my son a few months before my book came out, but his birth was #5 and not near as traumatic, so I can appreciate how much this all took out of you. You are doing so well in spite of it. I look forward to seeing your healing over these months. Thank you for sharing.
As always
Your words move me....
Xo
sending you love