So an interesting thing came to light today during a Facebook conversation. I realized that nobody really knows the details of Micah's birth except Stephen. It was traumatizing for me (and a bit for Stephen, too, I think) and I didn't care to share the details with people simply because I didn't want to relive them. I wonder if I should start sharing more now.

A conversation popped up on Stephen's friend Evie's page about birth. Evie is one of those people who could be described as a "birth junkie." She's very anti-doctors and medical interventions and such. Like, she thinks modern medicine is akin to Chinese torture or something.

There are a lot of those types here, where I live.

Anyway.

Sometimes I agree with Evie. The article she posted today, I appreciated. It was about a hospital in the UK that's trying out NOT telling women to push.

The reason this struck a chord with me is because I had an awful midwife who basically screamed at me to push and made me feel like I wasn't doing anything right.

She was awful.

When I skipped pushing during one contraction because I JUST. COULDN'T. I felt like she must have given an audible sigh of disgust at me. But I couldn't hear over the deafening pounding of terror in my head or the sound of my wailing.

Anyway... I said these bits about the awful midwife on Evie's post. And my mother-in-law just about lost it online, which I have never seen her do. Not at me--but at the experience I had. :) She said, and I quote: "Stephanie, I don't think you ever told me that. That's terrible! If you didn't even know her, what the !@#$ was she doing there?!"

My mother-in-law NEVER. EVER. SWEARS. :D

It seems like she has taken a much deeper interest in me of late, which I love. I'm excited to have her here next week. I hope we can have some good talks.

Anyway...

One of the other details I don't really share with people is something I don't share out of shame... It was the sound of my own screaming in my ears that traumatized me and what my PTSD-like flashbacks brought me back to. Always, always the sound of my own screaming. And the feeling of my own despair, which stemmed from the overwhelming (self-induced) guilt for not...being...woman enough to deal with the experience of childbirth.

No voices from the Internet chased my thoughts in those moments. It was voices from my mother. And from my grandpa. You're. So. Sensitive. You're a wimp.

If there is one thing that could cause me to forgive my mother and break down every single wall that I've ever put up with her, it would be her verbally recognizing to me that I am stronger than she realized.

I feel like I got just a tiny taste of that when she learned that my labor lasted 25 hours. She said something like, "Poor kid!" Something compassionate without being condescending.

But just the taste is not enough. I need to hear from her that I am stronger than she realized. I guess because that would indicate a kind of repentance or heart-softening on her part for judging me too harshly.

For some reason, I don't hold this against Grandpa, even though he has the same hangup of not telling his kids and grandkids that they are strong enough. I think it is because he has expressed to me in various other ways in my adulthood how much respect he has for me. It's been really...restorative to hear him say those kinds of things. I know he has even said a time or two, "We're proud of you" and meant it.

Mom has never even come close to saying that. I don't know why. It isn't me she has a problem with. I think it's her own insecurity. But knowing that doesn't make it any easier. :/

Well, goodness. I came to write about Micah's birth and went on an entirely different trail! But it feels good to write out these things. Just makes it hard to title the journal entry. :) Now I'm tired and need to shower and go to bed. And I REALLY need to get off the computer; I have been on it a LOT today. Lots to think about.

So good night, Diary. Until next time.

-Stephanie

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