doula, Healing, Honesty, postpartum, Practice
In my previous post, Through a Trauma Lens: The Need for Doulas, I did something that I have too often been guilty of in the past – I only addressed pregnancy and birth, while neglecting postpartum (and conception, contraception, abortion, etc.). Over the past several months, my practice and study has been focused on integrating more postpartum support for those I serve. Now, I feel as a birth doula that I have failed my clients if I have not adequately prompted them to evaluate their potential needs in the weeks and months after their baby is born. It is still the case that far too few people consider, value, and hire a doula for their birth – even of those for whom the cost of these services is well within an accessible range. However, it breaks my heart when a person or family does see the value in a birth doula, but not in a postpartum doula. Birth is a blip – a significant blip, but still just a blip in your journey. The way that you are supported (or not) in the postpartum period will impact your physical, emotional, mental, and sexual healing and wellbeing for the rest of your life. Having adequate support during the fourth trimester and beyond can help prevent your birth story and your early parenting story from becoming traumatic memories for you, your partner, your family, and your baby. In addition to providing extra hands to help you care for your baby and household, a postpartum doula (or someone filling a similar role) will help you process as you go along, and make sure that you have the space, energy, and capacity to explore the emotions and thought-patterns that are integral to your healing. So often I see new parents who have been conditioned to believe that they are martyrs. The results of putting your needs so far below the needs of your new baby are devastating. Your family cannot afford to bottle up the difficult feelings that can, and will, arise in early parenthood. One cause of this perceived martyrdom is the slew of unrealistic expectations that you may have of your baby in their first few months of life. You may expect that your baby will eat on a schedule, poop on a schedule, and perhaps most outrageously, sleep for several consecutive hours on a schedule. Then when this doesn’t happen – because it won’t – you put a huge amount of pressure on yourself and your partner to care for this tiny being 24/7 on virtually no sleep. Why? I am sick of hearing, “this is just parenthood.” Perhaps this pain is a rite of passage, but when the pain becomes traumatic, it has gone too far. Often times, the lack of help sought during postpartum has to do with the intimacy of this time. Between the physical healing of the birthing parent, breastfeeding (when applicable), and the sheer loss of all social niceties under the weight of exhaustion, many families have a very short list of people whom they feel comfortable welcoming into their postpartum space. Rightfully so. I am all for setting boundaries and limiting your energetic expenditures through social exposure, but at what cost to your support system? Is that list of welcome guests so short that the only people on it aren’t available to really be there and help? Other times, I see pride as a limiting factor in receiving postpartum support. More often than not, it is a partner, not the birthing person/primary caregiver who adopts the attitude of, “we don’t need anyone else, we can do this on our own.” Sometimes in these cases, weeks later, when both parents are depleted, there is still a stubborn allegiance to this mindset that serves no one. To this person I ask, what if instead of taking pride in independence, you could take pride in your ability to receive help gracefully? Finally, the financial strain of having a new baby may limit the extent to which families are able to hire help in the months following birth. My advice to anyone who is now pregnant or trying to conceive is to budget for postpartum help now. If you end up reading this after the birth of your baby, consider sitting down and reevaluating the idea of hiring help – I can all but guarantee that your sleep and your sanity are wearing a much higher price tag these days. I can appreciate that for some people, hired help will simply not be a financial possibility. If this is your reality, consider expanding the list of folks you choose to ask for help, and really think about how those friends and family members can be most helpful in the limited time they may be able to come over and provide support. Do the dishes need to be done? When was the last time you showered? Could they hold the baby for a couple of hours while you nap? To return to trauma… all of the categories I addressed in my first post could be applied here. Rather than lay them all out in detail I would like to just remind the reader… Remember that people used to parent in larger family groups. Previously in human history, in a household with a new baby there was never someone more than an arms-length away from the infant. More likely than not, at almost all times that baby was being held. Very young babies do not sleep deeply for long stretches when left to lie alone – this is an evolutionary defense, not a behavioral problem. A calm, confident caregiver holding an infant has massive positive impacts on their development. And finally, you cannot fill from an empty cup. Do you have more questions about postpartum doulas or how you can best support yourself during the fourth trimester? Email me! loveoverfearwellness@gmail.com
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When I first dropped into a regular asana practice, I had no idea the magnitude of what I was doing. I now give credit to yoga for every single one of my best qualities. It has taught me to be present, strong and compassionate. Most importantly, it taught me to love myself. The cultivation of those qualities has brought me to a place where I am finally able to talk about a time in my life where I was the antithesis of my present self—disconnected, weak and selfish. I was sexually assaulted in when I was 19-years-old. Four years later, I am now able to say those words without feeling shame. Only a few months ago, that traumatic experience was still locked up inside. I have since realized that confronting it is empowering. Now, I am determined to transform it into a gift. In the aftermath of the assault, I reacted in countless self-destructive ways. I felt ashamed of myself. I escaped from the present moment and my own body whenever possible. The majority of my time was spent disconnecting from others and from myself. Why? Because I felt something was wrong with me—that I was bad. Simply being in my own body caused me humiliation. It didn’t take long for my shame to be accompanied by guilt. The disordered behaviors I found myself stuck in did not make me feel any better. Not only did I feel bad, I knew that what I was doing was bad. Not only did I want to escape my body, I wanted to escape my behavior. I didn’t have the ability to end my destructive behaviors, so instead I hid them, which caused constant anxiety. I hid my habits from my family, friends and boyfriend. I continued to study hard and work hard so that no one could see how I was feeling or what I was doing. I was functional, but still self-destructive. My life went on in this way for nearly a year following my assault. Until my friend encouraged me to come with her to a Vinyasa class at a nearby yoga studio. It was my first time in years practicing in a room with a teacher leading class, rather than on a screen in front of me. To be honest, nothing “clicked.” I didn’t find instant clarity as my hands hit the mat, but I did feel a magnetic pull—right from the center of my gut—to come back. That’s when I started dropping into a regular practice. Yoga soon replaced running as my physical outlet. In the months following my assault, I would run almost every day. Not jog—run. I was running as if I could somehow run right out of my own skin. With yoga, I was slowing down, I was even staying still. I didn’t realize it, but I was starting to heal simply by learning to be present in my own body. I abandoned my destructive behaviors. I learned to come to my mat when I was feeling shame, or guilt, or disconnection. Over time, I began to cultivate self-love, compassion and connection. You know what? It wasn’t always easy. In fact, sometimes I left my mat feeling worse than when I started. I would leave class and cry, or I’d leave and be on edge for days, not wanting to go back. No matter how I resisted, though, that magnetic pull yanked me right from my core back into the practice. Even though coming to my mat and practicing bodily presence was a great step in recovering from the assault, I was completely and utterly unaware of just how great a step it was. I was gaining a connection between my mind and my body, my breath and my movement. I was gaining intentionality. Through dedication to my practice—on and off the mat—I slowly began to rebuild a sense of self and a sense of ownership over my body.
“Release anything that you are holding onto.” 
These words are often said in the yoga classroom. Something in me was ready to be released, but I needed more time. Eventually, it all started to connect. Through my disconnected behaviors, I had so effectively buried the memory of my sexual assault that it was nearly impossible to trigger it. Now that I was beginning to reconnect to my body and my world, I was getting back bits and pieces. Three years after I dedicated myself to my practice on the mat, and four years after my sexual assault, yoga has equipped me with the tools to begin to process. I know how to breathe, even when I am in an uncomfortable position. I know I am strong; if I can bear my least favorite pose for just another moment, I can bear anything. I know that I can trust myself. Most importantly, I know that I am here.
Side note to self: Jenna, you are here. You are in your body. You can sense the world around you, thanks to your body. Be in your body. No, it hasn’t always been great in here, but you are alive and you are here. Be here. This is real. This is happening.
Several months ago, it was (unsurprisingly) my yoga practice that finally pulled the emotional trigger, and brought four years of suppressed feelings bubbling up to the surface. I was literally knocked flat on my ass for a day. I felt like a train had hit me, and I wasn’t ready to accept why. It took an entire week of nightmares for me to realize that it was time to confront the reality of my sexual assault. It was real. It happened. I turned to one of my teachers and asked for help, and with her encouragement began seeing a counselor to process my trauma. Thanks to the skills I have acquired through my yoga practice, I feel prepared to process. No, I am not healed. No, I haven’t let go of all of the shame and guilt. Looking back, it is difficult not to feel guilty for the way I reacted after my assault. It still feels like an excuse when I say I did the best I could. I wish I had learned to love myself sooner. I am grateful every day for my physical yoga practice. Without it, I might still be disconnected, apathetic and miserable. Getting onto my mat taught me how to be present in my body, learn to reflect without feeling shame, and learn to feel without being out of control. Being a part of a community of like-minded yogis helps me to feel supported, connected and grounded enough to face my demons. And as I continue to process and grow, I do so with the intention of turning my traumatic experience into a gift. I want to use my gratitude for the practice of yoga to increase its magnetism—that familiar pull that caught me right in my gut—so that others might find a way to love and accept themselves in light of, not in spite of, their traumas.   Originally published November 2014 on elephantjournal.com
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