The rock I chose is broken.
About 6 months after my second c-section, I was recovering well physically but had a lot of work to do mentally. How could my VBAC have evaded me?
I attended a “C-Section Healing Circle” to share my story and hear others’. The group was small and intimate, and having attended healing circles after my first birth experience, I knew the drill. Even though I knew what to expect, it was not easy - sitting in the space of others who went through births that did not go to plan felt comforting, but also, made me feel the pain of these brave mamas.
At the end of our time together, the facilitator offered us each a small rock to bring home with us, a memento to remember our time together by. I immediately gravitated toward one: a small rock with a smooth side and a large crack running across most of its surface. There was one piece missing, a chunk torn away. Upon returning home, I wrote this:
The rock I chose is broken. Like how I felt after my son was born.
I felt broken about my son’s birth. How I missed it completely, not taking part in it, but only reading about it in the operation report much later. My son’s birth became a story I had to process, a near death experience I had to reflect on after triggers came in the form of pregnancy announcements, birthdays, hospitals, and doctor appointments. It became a frequent topic of conversation for my partner and I, processing our unique experiences of that day together. That experience, my experience, while surrounded by people but completely alone…it broke me, emotionally and physically. I am not who I was before that day, I am no longer the person who sat in the passenger seat on the way to the hospital one hot summer evening. I am no longer prepared, structured, in control, the executor of plans. I became broken.
My son has helped put me back together.
He sees the good in everyone and helps me be more kind. The openness in my body in the form of a scar, and the tenderness in my soul in the form of pain, has helped me let more love in - from friends, family, other new moms. The struggle of raising a young child has nudged me reach out for help, for support. He’s helped me build a community, and I’ve built myself back stronger.
I am not put together as I was before him - but the way I’m built now is stronger.
The rock I chose is broken. Like how I felt after my daughter was born.
With a hard deadline, to go into labor or be cut open, I was riddled with anxiety. The ups and downs of the likelihood of a VBAC, then ultimately succumbing to another surgery left me stressed. Disappointed. Weak once again. Unsure of how to be a mother of two.
I’m broken now, not knowing how I will move on, knowing I missed the birthing experience I so desire. How can I forgive myself, my daughter, my circumstances?
This rock is broken, a piece of it missing. But it is solid, strong, and in it is stories from other strong woman I witnessed today. It may never appear in its original form, but maybe it's not meant to. Its rough around the edges, but smooth elsewhere. It looks different from other rocks of its kind - that’s why I was drawn to it.
My son will continue to heal me. My daughter will too.
My babies were born from my body, even though it broke my skin and hurt my soul. It brought me them.
This rock remains in the drawer my nightstand, a reminder that however broken I may feel, I am strong, rock solid, and infused with the bravery of other c-section mamas.