The midwives asked me whether I could stand and walk to bed. I couldn’t. I couldn’t sit up or even crawl. They got a twin-sized bed sheet and rolled me onto it. Then they slid me down my hall to my guest room where I had a trundle mattress that I couldn’t roll onto. I was able sleep for four days on that bed, thank goodness. I couldn’t walk for a week. And I didn’t leave my house for nearly two months.
Every day, my midwives checked in with me. I think they thought I was going to be triggered by how severe the events had been, but I kept telling them, “You all saved me. God saved me. This is a true miracle.” It was a period of time filled with the joy of being with my husband and my three sons, the rhythm of our new life, learning and laughter, acceptance and recovery.
I tell you all of this—in pretty unflinching detail—because I believe in the importance of honesty; in revealing things about myself that I hope will help others talk about what they too have been through. But also because, like so many women, what I went through with childbirth has reshaped my relationship with my body—and I say this knowing that I am the person who has been shouting from the rooftops to you all, “Love the skin you’re in.” Yet for me, the births of all my three children threw a lot of that out of the window.
Instagram content
You can also view this content on the original site.
I can see how foolish I was when I was pregnant in 2019 with Isaac. I had done extensive research into childbirth and I was very blessed to have the homebirth I wanted with him. It took six hours, I didn’t tear, and he was born smiling into the world. It was a magical moment.
But then I was plunged into the postpartum experience—the handbook that no one can give you. I remember the first time I had to go to the bathroom after I gave birth, and I said, “Wait a second, all of this is going to keep coming out of me, for the next how long? I have to squirt myself down there because I can’t wipe?” Isaac was my entire world, but as a woman, the physical and emotional aspect was messy, a lot of hard work.
And then the pandemic hit, so Justin and I left New York with Isaac and moved to my mom’s basement in Nebraska. It was a wild time—we didn’t see anybody, and it felt really isolating, and challenging, raising this baby knowing nothing. I also obsessed over this 20 pounds that just wouldn’t come off, and it felt like my body wasn’t my own. I tried to brush it off and would say to myself, “Girl, you still fine, who cares.” I got a few stretch marks, and I had a few really good cry sessions over the stretch marks. But looking back, if I would’ve known what I was about to be going through—oh, it’s laughable what I was stressing out over.
Source: Glamour