Today I got to talk with a therapist for the first time about Lydia’s birth. News flash: been sitting on that trauma for awhile. It’s taken me 3 years to get around to me—not just because I had to work myself up to it, but because there were a few minor things like open heart surgery, buying a house, and a global pandemic in between. Ironically it took the pandemic and more universal acceptance of telehealth to make this much more feasible for me. It shouldn’t be this hard to get help. There should be more postpartum support for women, especially when any kind of trauma is involved (and it so often is). Help that comes to THEM, because duh, we’re busy taking care of everyone else and getting away isn’t always an option.
Three years. Three years before I could rehearse what people said, what they didn’t say, how many ways my heart shattered, how God started putting it back together. There is so much to unpack. More than once the story blew my therapist’s mind, and we only gave an overview of the first two weeks 😂 That was validating. I’ve heard social workers say that parents/individuals who get someone through a crisis can personally crash from the experience even years later—often when the crisis is over and they finally get around to themselves. So this is your friendly reminder to get around to yourself before then. Don’t carry giant burdens alone for years—even if you think you’re sure there’s no other option. 💛
