birth trauma

Ghostwritermummy and Bump: Saying Goodbye to the Past

My son’s birth has pretty much shaped me as a person but I no longer think that’s a bad thing. Today on Ghostwritermummy and Bump I’ve posted about the choices I’ve made for this pregnancy and the education his birth has proven to be. It’s an emotional post but I feel so happy now that’s its out there. Onwards and upwards!

As ever, I would love to know what you think about the post. If you’ve also been through a pregnancy after a traumatic birth then I’d also love to hear from you. You can leave me a comment here or over on Ghostwritermummy and Bump.

 

Saying Goodbye to the Past on Ghostwritermummy and Bump

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Ignorant people

I can’t stand ignorant people. I started this blog after my son was born and it was immediately a place where I could write about my feelings towards his birth. Those of you who know Ghostwritermummy know my reasons for blogging, my story and my feelings about birth trauma. Those of you that don’t, please take a look at my birth trauma page.

That said, Idon’t expect everyone to understand or even agree with many of my opinions, worries and anxieties. I don’t expect everyone to want to read about my experiences and trust that those who aren’t interested simply choose not to read. I have *touch wood* never, EVER received a negative comment on this blog to date (you watch, perhaps I will be inundated now…) and so generally feel that either people get me and accept me or they just don’t comment on posts that are obviously emotive. Thank you.

Yesterday I read an article in the Daily Mail, about one of the ladies in the Birth Trauma Association’s Facebook page. This very brave lady told her story to a reporter in a bid to raise awareness of birth trauma and Post Natal Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I love her for doing this. The article raises awareness in all the right ways. It’s just a shame that some people who left comments decided they were going to verbally trample all over the estimated 50, 000 women a year in the UK who suffer a traumatic birth.

Some of the comments that have been left on this article are truly ignorant. I’m only glad I didn’t read them eighteen months ago but so sorry that Lucy had to read them in response to her story. Ignorant people need education. Please take a look at this article on Maternity Matters today, This is why we need to educate people about birth Trauma. Or, feel free to simply move on, read another blog and go about your business. Nobody is forcing you to agree with me. I’m just asking that you respect my feelings.

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My post on the Baby BornFree blog

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The scent of memories


They say that scent is a powerful trigger of memories and I know that to be true. Sometimes I will smell a perfume I used to wear, or I will breathe in the crisp, frosty air of a winter’s evening and I’m taken somewhere else. Another time, another place. As a child I used to believe that frost and smoke smelled like my birthday and still now I sometimes feel that aroma and I can be back in my Brownies uniform, playing with my Ala Carte Kitchen and Day-to-Night Barbie… Memories are cloaked in different scents for me.

The other night I smelled a scent that took me back to a place I haven’t been for a while. I was reminded of the Manchester Christmas Markets. The smell of too many people pressed together, drinking hot chocolate and mulled wine and eating sausages and fudge. Before I could stop it, my mind associated thoughts of that day- my birthday- with our feelings at that time. Excitement.

We were so excited about the new baby. We couldn’t wait to meet him; our son. I remembered the quiet first days with his sister and how wonderful it was to devote our every waking minute to her. We used to watch her sleep, willing her to wake so that we could see her eyes once more. I wanted to take him out in the pram, dress him in his tiny clothes and carry him in his sling. I wanted to meet him.

I had a heavy heart thinking back to that day. We were different then. We never knew what was around the corner, waiting like a panther to pounce into our lives and over our dreams. We never knew that the excitement was to turn to something else, something that made the excitement sad somehow, or naive. We never knew that we were about to change so much.

There were happy times. These times get forgotten so quickly. Each photo, each memory, each trigger seems to somehow get lost in the frustration, the anger, the regret, the disappointment, the panic, the fear. Sometimes.

Sometimes I can deal with the memories quite well and I smile at how far we have come, how much we have learned. Sometimes I think that I can cope with anything now, luck is on my side. Sometimes I want to take that scared mum and shake her and tell her that it was all ok, in the end.

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