“My body is broken, ruined.”
This became the overwhelming thought of despair in my mind more than a few times in the weeks following the birth of my second daughter. After being miserable during the recovery of my first delivery, an unwanted c-section, I’d insisted on a VBAC for my second, hoping (expecting) the recovery would be much better. Then I tore… to the 4th-degree.
Amidst the physical pain in the simplest of things (sitting, walking, going to the bathroom), the anxiety and (irrational) fear of not knowing if or when I’d ever be able to be intimate with my husband again, the trauma of the way the delivery played out, and the stress of amplified discipline issues as my 3-year-old adjusted to another person to share attention with, I found myself with so many conflicting and intense feelings. I felt love for my two beautiful daughters, along with joy and thankfulness so big I thought my heart might explode. At the same time, I felt soul-crushing sadness, disappointment and confusion. In my darkest moments of despair I wondered if God was trying to tell me something in making childbirth so terrible for me: was my body just not cut out to bear children? Was I not cut out to be a mother?
…I’m happy to have a guest post up at the Kindred Mom blog today! Head on over to finish reading.
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