My child was born late, as late as the current medical model of birth lets you go. I knew we’d be pushing it, I was late, and many other babies in my family were born at the 42-week mark.

This baby was waiting. The joke was that they would stay put until their dad’s birthday. My due date was January 15th and this baby was born on February 2nd. Dad’s birthday. Groundhog day. A repeat, just like the film. It was serendipitous. The birth unit had been too full to induce me. Babies, babies, babies. There almost wasn’t a bed for me in the unit.

Conception was easy for us. Pregnancy was not. I spent months vomiting multiple times a day. At prenatal appointments, I would be asked “Are you keeping anything down?” “Yup, a little breakfast: yoghurt and berries.” “Okay, you’re fine.” I was not fine. Nothing helped. I suffered through each day staring at the wall to centre myself in an attempt not to vomit. That was the first time I met my centre.

The next time I met my centre, I was getting up to pee hours after the emergency c-section. Cut through my core, I felt my lack of centre and weakness. My baby was born from the centre of my body. We lost our ground.

Looking back I can see that the physical loss of my core strength was symbolic of my emotional losses as well.  Losing my ability to be centred, or find myself, in the aftermath of a traumatic birth. A hollow core.

I was angry, hypervigilant, and disempowered. Again I was asked “How is your mental health?” “Okay, I think, breastfeeding is going well.” “Okay, you’re fine.” And again, I was not fine. But this time I wasn’t able to put my finger on it. I had a hunch that it was our nervous systems, the aftermath of trauma. But I didn’t know why I was feeling the way I did, so I shoved it down. And yelled. And shoved it down. And yelled.

It took almost five years for me to arrive at a place where I could mentally process that birth. I’ve since had another baby, an elected c-section and a completely different experience. “That baby has a strong nervous system,” I think regularly. “That baby soothes themself. That baby is showing me what to do. Teaching me.” 

I found help and met my centre again. This time through carving out 20 minutes a day of solitude. Breathing practices and meditation have brought me back to myself. I felt the feelings. I processed the trauma. The yelling stopped. I was centred.

Now I’m meeting my centre for the fourth time while rebuilding my core strength. Reclaiming myself, empowering myself, and centering myself in my own life. A big change from the overextension of the early years. 

This story is a wish for all mothers to find their centre, even just a little.

—CS