POSTPARTUM INFECTION DIARIES

I was already burned out and traumatised by the pregnancy - I wasn’t planning on getting pregnant, because I was in such a depleted place and I knew it would be too much. Yet, my daughter had other plans. 

After an extremely difficult and disembodied pregnancy, I gave birth to my beautiful girl. The birth itself was a beautiful, empowering experience. My midwives protected my space and honoured my boundaries. For the first time in a long time, I felt powerful. Like I could move mountains, which was a very different experience to the first labour, which left me traumatised. 

Everything was going fine, even though I was a little anxious. Then, about five postpartum I begun experiencing pain in lower abdomen - I could’t get up easily or walk. There was this intense pressure on my labia and perineum. I took it as a symptom of postpartum recovery. However, in a day or so, a strange smell of my lochia followed. I knew something was going on. I could feel it. But I was frightened to make it real. 

Then, exactly 10 days after the birth, as I was showering, I felt something at the entrance of my vagina. So naturally, I tried to feel it, which lead me to pulling out a 10cm piece of a rotting membrane. 

I could feel all my blood rushing into my head and my heart pounding. My legs became soft. The next thing I recall, I am waking my husband to tell him that something come out of me. 

I was so terrified I completely lost the sense of my body. I didn’t want to go to the hospital, which I presume was flight - it would have made this threat real. 

I was scared. 

I disassociated. 

I don’t remember getting to the hospital and while in the hospital I only have few short snippets of memory. I was so deeply in the freeze response, but also in fight - there was a threat to my life and we had to deal with it. 

I kept hearing words like infection, sepsis. It all just echoed in my head. The only thought was: I am never going to see my children again. I am not going to see them grow up. I didn’t even managed to get to know Sienna, and I am already dying. I was sure it was a punishment for not wanting to be pregnant. I dissociated further. 

The only thing that mattered was my kids. 

I was given intravenous antibiotics and thank goodness they worked. 

But my mind or body didn’t calm. 

I was afraid to sleep.

I was afraid of the dark.

I was afraid of being alone. 

I was afraid of being without my children. 

I was constantly worried that the infection will come back and I will die. That it is not over yet. 

I froze more and more, and got to the point that when I was looking at my daughters little face, I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t remember how she looked. I couldn’t remember what I said or did. 

I wasn’t.

I felt demented. 

I wasn’t in my body. I wasn’t in my head. 

I left life. 

Everything was on autopilot. 

I have hardly any memories from the first year of my daughters life. 

So much shame and pain. 

We are meant to want and love our children, the society says. “You don’t deserve to live, because you weren’t ready to welcome your child” I kept hearing over and over in my mind. 

Everything was so painful, I couldn’t let myself feel. 

I froze more and more. Disassociated more and more, until I wasn’t. 

For the next 4 month or so after the infection, I was sure it’s going to be back and kill me. 

It didn’t help that we went into lockdown when my daughter was only 1.5 month old. 

It was constant threats. I was bombarded by threats to my life, my childrens lives, my husbands life, the loss of family, the loss of status quo (which for someone with my background is a lot). 

I was moving from freeze, to fight, to flight in a space of minutes. 

Everything was a threat. 

And I was burying it deeper and deeper. 

Laying bricks of frozen tension upon bricks of frozen tension. 

I couldn’t cry for over a year. 

I was getting so intensely angry, which was the only emotion I was able to feel. No joy, no sadness.

I became so much less patient witch my elder daughter. I could just hear in my head ”just get on with it, it is not that bad, others have it worse, what’s wrong with you” as a response to her deep craving of my love and care. 

Get on with it. 

Get on with it.

Get on with it. 

That’s all i could hear. 

And i kept getting on with it, keeping myself busy, just so I didn’t have to feel. 

Running away from myself. 

Pushing myself with intense, masculine healing, but not actually connecting to the internal felt senses. 

Pretending I was OK. To myself and others. 

I couldn’t show weakness, because it would have been pathetic. 

The narratives rushing through my head were intensely demanding and hurtful. To me and my family. 

Still are sometimes, even though I am getting better and I managed to cry. 

SOMETIMES I HAVE IT ALL TOGETHER…

… And sometimes the days look like anxiety, self-doubt, confusion, panic, pain, restlessness, FOMO.

Today was one of these days. I woke up, not quite rested. Had an allergic reaction after breakfast which rendered me brain fogged, fatigued and struggling to breathe. My period has finally decided to make an appearance after a few days of not being quite sure.

Struggling to get a moment to myself all day booking holidays and cooking and caring for my children. I need time off. I desperately need to get out of London and spend tome in a forest, on the beach. In nature. So I was determined.

I was meant to take breaks and be mindful of the first signs of stress, tiredness and exhaustion .

But I wasn’t and in the evening I broke.

Disregarded my own boundaries.

Skipped shower.

Didn’t do my usual skin and hair care routine.

Didn’t stretch.

Just imploded & abandoned myself.

It’s midnight and here I am, writing this post on the phone, feeling unwell, anxious. It happens.

Tomorrow is a new day.

And each day is a fresh start.

And just because today was further away from my ideal, it doesn’t mean that tomorrow won’t be closer.

Healing is not linear. You’re never really “healed”.

You just learn how to care for yourself, when to let go and love yourself even when you don’t feel lovable. Being kind to yourself even if you don’t rise up to the standard you set for yourself.

Because you are worthy, lovable and you matter.

Warmly, Olivia