When I arrived for my induction, I was informed for the first time that the hospital affiliated with my prenatal clinic was a teaching hospital, meaning no one who had been caring for me up until that point would be present for my birth. Everything continued to spiral from there. I had specified in my birth plan that I did not want pain medication during labor, but the attending doctor told me flatly that she had no intention of reading my birth preferences. She explained that I would essentially be “on my own” until I agreed to meds.

Throughout my labor I was treated with hostility and disrespect. My body did not react well to the induction. I experienced little relief and many attempts by hospital staff to progress my labor, incidentally performed without warning or consent.

The outcome was positive, as I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. But feeling unheard during the process left me vulnerable and deflated. Several nurses forcibly pushed my baby onto my breast while we both cried helplessly, never asking if they could touch us or offering guidance. As we prepared to leave the hospital and return home, the advice we were given to ensure safe sleep was ominous and foreboding. I can firmly say now that it was the cherry on top of negative contributions to my mental state.

In spite of everything I experienced, I was still so hopeful to arrive home with my newborn. I wasn’t prepared to accept or acknowledge that my birth had been traumatic. But the toll that the experience had taken on my body and brain was something that I couldn’t ignore or avoid. Over the next several weeks, I experienced severe postpartum anxiety. I rarely slept. I was plagued by intrusive and terrifying thoughts which made it impossible for me to trust anyone around me to help care for my baby. I endured acute fits of rage out of nowhere. 

I felt so profoundly isolated. I couldn’t seem to access support. Whenever I found the courage to open up and disclose that I was struggling, feeling desperate and unlike myself, I was met with platitudes like, “Welcome to Motherhood!” or some variation on ‘just wait until…!” It seemed I had no choice but to accept that every person who gives birth must suffer silently through this period. As time went on and a global pandemic ensued, my symptoms continued to worsen. It took over a year for me to reach out for help.

The birth of my second child brought peace to us as a family. My son was born at home into the hands of a midwife who cared for me with compassion, patience, and respect through the whole of my pregnancy. It was such a healing experience and allowed me the chance to come to terms with how badly I had suffered before. I am so thankful for the birth of my daughter, but am heartbroken at the way it happened and how many people have stories just like mine. 

My training as a doula started me on a lifelong journey and commitment to providing dignified care to all birthing people. No person should have to endure degrading or non-consenting care while pregnant or giving birth. And my passion for centering the postpartum period grows daily the more I practice this work. 

Every person deserves love, support and respect during this extremely volatile, vulnerable, and sacred phase of life.