This is a featured article from our 3rd edition of the LIFTS Magazine.
Rupture & Repair as a New Parent, by Cait McWilliams
Becoming “mama” was not a part of my plan. I didn’t have a spare room that I was planning to turn into a warm and welcoming nursery. My partner was barely a partner and more of a very attractive man that I had met in a bar. My kitchen had no food but plenty of booze. I wasn’t exactly taking my vitamins on a regular basis.
I had just moved halfway across the country and all the way out of a marriage. I was untethered and exploring my newfound freedom when, in the midst of my move, I met a man who lit me up and captured my curiosity. We threw caution to the wind and avoided conversations about a future together. After our initial connection, we went our separate ways and then, a few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant–with him living in Seattle and me in Denver.
A rigid schedule and stability had felt like death to me in my 20s but now I had to get myself out of the way so I could create a life that supported this cub. I told my gypsy self she was no longer invited to the party and tried to lock her away out of intense fear that, haunted by my own trauma, I would destroy this family. In my attempt to “do it right,” I shut down parts of me that still mattered and was not able to allow myself to be human.
I was exhausted, depleted, fearful and in a new town without deep-set connections–including with my partner. From a nervous system viewpoint, I was in a state of constant survival. The feeling of being in a state of survival is one of intense stress and heavy burden on our physical beings – constricted muscles, tight jaw, chest breathing, constant startle, difficulty tracking conversations, insomnia, poor digestion, upset stomachs, inflammation.
This intense stress impacted my little as he was growing in my womb and for those first few months of his life, when attunement is key, but almost impossible when your system is filled with fear. I used the tools my parents had used, enmeshment and manipulation, to navigate my overwhelmed system. I fell back into familiar patterns of override and numbness. I rarely felt settled enough to rest and just play, and my attunement was primarily based in vigilance and not as much on connection.
At around sixish months, certain variables began to shift which allowed my system to start to release the grip of survival. My life, which had been ruptured by my unplanned pregnancy, began to repair and take on a new shape full of a deeper love and security than my younger self had ever known.
I began to build secure attachments (a foreign language to me before becoming pregnant). My partner and I found our rhythm and decided to make a life together. I met dear friends with babies the same age that I would gather with regularly for hikes, hangs, or just to fold laundry and compare notes. They brought playfulness and curiosity back into my life which are the opposite of fear and constriction. We learned from each other and gave ourselves permission to be imperfect.
My body became familiar again. That first year of mamahood, my body was unlike it had ever been in my life – large breasts and a split apart core. I didn’t know how to dress, and things that had physically come naturally to me in the past, were now impossible to access. As my core began to knit back together, I could feel my sense of self-worth building in potency instead of leaking out of me.
As I experienced the rupture that can happen during and after having a baby, I began to also witness the repair in my own life, which helped me begin to see the seeds that were planted in this cub during more fragile times. And, as I began to repair my own system and come out of survival, I began to provide him with repair as well.
I was coming out of my fear body and, as my new life came into focus and I stopped being so damn scared, I began to find joy. It took time. It took making mistakes. It took being a mess and asking for help. It took moving my body, finding people who loved me even when my breasts were leaking and my BO smelled like french onion soup (a real thing). It took me doing my own work studying Somatic Experiencing while also doing personal work with a therapist. It took me forgiving myself while also holding myself accountable. It took me having the courage to admit my failings to my cub.
And, as we grew our family (having two more cubs and weathering other storms), the wisdom I gained by walking through the intensity of what felt like an explosion of self, has acted as a guiding light many, many times over the last decade.
So, dear birthing people, as you hold that new little, know that you are not alone in your fears. This is a time of great rupture–mind, body, spirit, relationships. In many ways, what you thought you knew will be turned on its head. But, repair is possible even if it’s hard to imagine what that looks like in those early moments.
Reach out for help.
Connect with others.
Move your body.
Find permission.
You are not alone.
Repair is possible!
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