The One With The Birth Trauma
My Story of Preeclampsia, Postpartum, and Healing
(Written 9/25/2021)
I do not write this for sympathy.
I write this for my past self who didn’t know.
I write this for the new mom who feels alone and ashamed that she doesn’t love the day her child was born.
I write this for the experienced mother who was told, “But your baby is healthy! Look on the bright side! Baby is all that matters now!”
Because here’s the truth:
Birth trauma is real.
Postpartum depression is real.
Postpartum anxiety is real.
Postpartum OCD is real.
And the guilt you can feel for your body “failing you” is real.
What if I told you that the day you give birth may not be the best day of your life?
What if I told you that it’s okay?
The Day Everything Changed
On September 26, 2020, I gave birth to our sweet Piper. It was also the hardest day of my life.
My pregnancy started out fun, even during a global pandemic. I spent hours outdoors, hiking as much as my body would allow. But slowly, my body began to turn on me. What started as routine OB visits turned into three appointments a week. My blood pressure spiked. I checked into labor and delivery multiple times for monitoring.
One morning, I woke up unable to see clearly. My vision was blurry, my head pounded, I felt faint and nauseous. My face joined my feet in being unbearably swollen.
Enter: preeclampsia.
What was once “We might induce you next week,” quickly became, “Be back in 48 hours to start induction.” We thought we had more time to prepare.
A Long Induction, A Frightening Birth
At 11:00 pm on a Thursday, my induction began. By Saturday afternoon, Piper arrived via emergency c-section at 3:32 pm.
Those 40 hours are mostly a blur. My body wasn’t ready. Interventions kept piling on. I tried. I pushed for two and a half hours. But Piper’s head was tilted back, and the cord was wrapped around her neck.
I was terrified when they prepped me for surgery. But then, she was here. I heard her small cry. I saw her face for just a split second.
An hour later, I finally held her—and she turned blue in my arms. She stopped breathing while trying to feed. Nurses rushed her away, and I whispered, “How will we be getting there?” when told she’d be transferred to St. Louis Children’s Hospital.
I wouldn’t see her again for 48 hours.
Leaving the hospital without your baby is a strange and terrible feeling. My heart still breaks for the families who leave without ever being reunited.
The Storm After the Birth
Piper spent time in the NICU learning how to eat and breathe at the same time. We brought her home thinking the worst was behind us. We were so naïve.
At one month postpartum, both Andrew and I caught Covid. I had never driven Piper anywhere alone, yet suddenly I was in the ER with her after she spiked a fever. Thankfully, it wasn’t Covid-related.
But once the virus passed, I realized just how unwell I really was.
I couldn’t stop crying.
I could barely produce milk.
My blood pressure stayed dangerously high.
My right thigh burned with constant numbness and pain.
Since giving birth, I have endured 28 doctor visits, countless tests, scans, scopes, and bloodwork. Some answers, many shrugs. At one year postpartum, I learned I had meralgia paresthetica—nerve damage from the swelling and pushing. My thigh feels like it’s asleep, 24/7, likely forever.
Three Years Later
(Added 9/20/2023)
Now, at over three years postpartum, much of my physical health remains unchanged—if not worse. Too many hospital visits to count. More tests than I can remember.
But here’s what I do know:
I am healing mentally.
I am raising awareness for maternal mental health.
I am using my art and my voice through The Blue Dot Project.
And I am learning that healing is not linear—it’s a lifelong process.
Five Years Later: A New Season
(Added 9/10/2025)
Now, at over five years postpartum, much of my physical health is finally better. In this season, I feel the strongest and most stable I’ve been since before pregnancy. With the support of doctors who truly listen, I’m being treated for the conditions that were overlooked for so long. For the first time in years, I feel hope in my body again.
But healing for me isn’t just about test results or medication. It’s also about community.
That’s why I’ve leaned into sharing my story online—not just as Lindsey, but through my Big Sister IRL persona on TikTok. It’s where I offer the advice, compassion, and sometimes the tough love I wish I’d had during my hardest postpartum days. It’s where I connect with moms who whisper “me too” through the screen. It’s where we laugh, cry, and rage journal together when life gets heavy.
This journey has taught me that we don’t heal in silence. We heal when we tell the truth, even when it’s messy. We heal when we show up for one another.
But here’s what I STILL know:
I am healing mentally.
I am raising awareness for maternal mental health.
I am using my art and my voice through The Blue Dot Project.
And I am learning that healing is not linear—it’s a lifelong process.
If You’re Reading This
I don’t share my story for sympathy. I share it for you.
For the mom who feels broken.
For the one who wonders why her “best day ever” was actually the scariest.
For the one silenced by, “But your baby is healthy.”
I see you. I believe you.
Birth trauma is real.
Postpartum depression is real.
Postpartum anxiety is real.
Postpartum OCD is real.
And the guilt you feel does not define you.
You are not alone.
If this resonates with you, share it with another mom who needs to hear it.
Let’s keep breaking the silence around maternal mental health.
