Therapy Post: EMDR on Birth Trauma
I had a much-needed EMDR session with my shrink yesterday. It was the first time in over a year we'd actually sat down and did it, and our first time ever over Skype. It was interesting, and initially, I was convinced it wouldn't work. The maintaining eye contact while talking about really traumatic things has always been something I struggled with, especially with EMDR. I'd rather keep my eyes closed, but I was more relaxed with the screen and several states separating us.
Our target for the session was Sephie's birth. Though I can articulate, "It was traumatic because she was born in distress," I've never really muddled through the layers of trauma. There's the smaller trauma of feeling like I failed as a woman because I could not birth her naturally, and paradoxically, the larger trauma of feeling like my decision to ultimately deliver her vaginally nearly killed her.
The thing is, Sephie wasn't strangled in the womb. We'll never know at what point the umbilical cord doubled around her neck, but we do know that if she had been strangled prior to passing through the birth canal, she likely would have been stillborn, rather than initially unresponsive. So she wasn't deprived of oxygen until she was delivered vaginally.
I feel guilty over this. I feel guilty that my bullheaded stubbornness to have as natural of a birth as possible nearly cost my daughter her life. It was my first act as a mother, and I failed. All I wanted was for her to cry, and she didn't cry for the first time until later that night. I still have nightmares of the hospital room, with no noise.
I know my desire to have a natural birth was for her interest. I wanted her to be free of interventions and receive the crucial hormones. And I know that I had no control over what happened with her umbilical cord.
When the session started, on a scale of 10 for emotional disturbance associated with the trauma, I felt about a six. By the time we ended, I was closer to a 3. And truthfully, trying to type all of these complex emotions up yesterday would have had been in tears while my fingers flew over the keyboard. Right now, I'm composed, if a little sad as I examine these feelings. I'm so hard on myself, sometimes.
I wish I believed in visualization exercises, so that maybe I could re-envision her birth the way I wanted it to be. A happy ending with her landing on my chest, rather than whisked away while they tried to stop my bleeding.
In the end, I want to feel at peace knowing I did everything I could, and focusing instead that she is here, and beautiful, and such a little blessing in so many ways that I could never chronicle here, even if I tried to type up every amazing look she shoots me or the endless list of things that make her laugh or how, for the first time in life, I feel like I'm grounded and attached and matter.
Our target for the session was Sephie's birth. Though I can articulate, "It was traumatic because she was born in distress," I've never really muddled through the layers of trauma. There's the smaller trauma of feeling like I failed as a woman because I could not birth her naturally, and paradoxically, the larger trauma of feeling like my decision to ultimately deliver her vaginally nearly killed her.
The thing is, Sephie wasn't strangled in the womb. We'll never know at what point the umbilical cord doubled around her neck, but we do know that if she had been strangled prior to passing through the birth canal, she likely would have been stillborn, rather than initially unresponsive. So she wasn't deprived of oxygen until she was delivered vaginally.
I feel guilty over this. I feel guilty that my bullheaded stubbornness to have as natural of a birth as possible nearly cost my daughter her life. It was my first act as a mother, and I failed. All I wanted was for her to cry, and she didn't cry for the first time until later that night. I still have nightmares of the hospital room, with no noise.
I know my desire to have a natural birth was for her interest. I wanted her to be free of interventions and receive the crucial hormones. And I know that I had no control over what happened with her umbilical cord.
When the session started, on a scale of 10 for emotional disturbance associated with the trauma, I felt about a six. By the time we ended, I was closer to a 3. And truthfully, trying to type all of these complex emotions up yesterday would have had been in tears while my fingers flew over the keyboard. Right now, I'm composed, if a little sad as I examine these feelings. I'm so hard on myself, sometimes.
I wish I believed in visualization exercises, so that maybe I could re-envision her birth the way I wanted it to be. A happy ending with her landing on my chest, rather than whisked away while they tried to stop my bleeding.
In the end, I want to feel at peace knowing I did everything I could, and focusing instead that she is here, and beautiful, and such a little blessing in so many ways that I could never chronicle here, even if I tried to type up every amazing look she shoots me or the endless list of things that make her laugh or how, for the first time in life, I feel like I'm grounded and attached and matter.