07/16/2026
๐๐ข๐ซ๐ญ๐ก ๐๐ซ๐๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ ๐๐ฐ๐๐ซ๐๐ง๐๐ฌ๐ฌ
๐๐๐๐ซ ๐ฆ๐ ๐จ๐ฎ๐ญโฆ ๐๐ง๐ ๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ฒ ๐ฐ๐ข๐ญ๐ก ๐ฆ๐ ๐๐จ๐ซ ๐ ๐ฆ๐ข๐ง๐ฎ๐ญ๐.
This is for the mother who needed encouragement today because of her birth trauma.
Back in July, during ๐๐ข๐ซ๐ญ๐ก ๐๐ซ๐๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ ๐๐ฐ๐๐ซ๐๐ง๐๐ฌ๐ฌ ๐๐๐๐ค, I sat down to write this post.
I hesitated.
I questioned whether I was ready to be this transparent. I wondered if reopening one of the most painful chapters of my life was really necessary. So I put my phone down and told myself, โMaybe another time.โ
But this message continued to weigh heavily on my heart.
Maybe thereโs one mother quietly crying after everyone else has gone to bed.
Maybe thereโs one family reliving memories they wish they could forget.
Maybe thereโs someone who simply needs another person to say,
โ๐ ๐ฎ๐ง๐๐๐ซ๐ฌ๐ญ๐๐ง๐.โ
So today, Iโm taking that hesitation as a sign.
A sign that this story isnโt meant to stay tucked away.
Itโs meant to be shared with the community Iโm so deeply passionate about serving.
If my transparency helps even one person feel seen, understood, or a little less alone, then every vulnerable word is worth it.
Nobody can prepare you for birth trauma.
Nobody can prepare you for the fear, the uncertainty, or the life you never imagined youโd be living.
And if someone had shown me a glimpse of what was aheadโthe emergency deliveries, the NICU, the countless surgeries, the sleepless nights, the alarms, the waiting, the grief, and the traumaโI honestly donโt know if I could have wrapped my mind around any of it.
My birth trauma didnโt begin with the NICU.
It began with becoming a mother.
When I was pregnant with my oldest son, I weighed nearly ๐๐๐ ๐ฉ๐จ๐ฎ๐ง๐๐ฌ, making my pregnancy high risk because of my body mass. Although he was full term, my labor was anything but routine.
He became stuck during delivery.
I pushed for nearly two hours, and despite every effort, he wouldnโt come. As a first-time mom, I remember the room becoming more urgent, more serious, and more frightening. What I thought would be a normal delivery quickly turned into an emergency procedure to safely bring him into the world.
Even after he was born, what should have been a routine procedure lasted nearly ๐ญ๐ฐ๐จ ๐ก๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ฌ longer than anticipated because of complications related to my body.
Then came another heartbreak I wasnโt prepared for.
Because of his jaundice, I had to spend the night separated from him. When I was discharged from the hospital, I had to leave without my baby.
Walking out of those hospital doors while my son stayed behind completely shattered me.
I remember feeling like I was abandoning him, even though I knew it wasnโt my choice.
That experience created a separation anxiety that, in many ways, still affects me today.
At the time, I thought that was the hardest thing I would ever experience as a mother.
I had no idea that it was only the beginning.
Then came my second pregnancyโฆ
My first NICU baby.
Iโll never forget the first time I saw him.
I was so dazed from everything that had just happened. My body was in pain, my mind was trying to catch up, and I remember searching the room with my eyes, trying to find my baby.
Then someone held him up.
At first, I couldnโt comprehend what I was looking at.
He was so incredibly tiny.
His skin was badly bruised.
His body looked unbelievably fragile.
For a split second, my heart stopped because I truly didnโt know what I was seeing.
I remember thinking,
โ๐๐ฌ ๐ฆ๐ฒ ๐๐๐๐ฒ ๐๐ฅ๐ข๐ฏ๐?โ
I didnโt know whether to feel joy because I had just become his motherโฆ
Or overwhelming grief over what was unfolding before my eyes.
That moment has never left me.
It changed me forever.
About a year later, after giving birth to my second NICU child, I experienced another kind of trauma.
My family had welcomed me back to my hospital room, and my husband walked in with our son, completely dependent on his tracheostomy and ventilator to breathe.
As I glanced over at the live iPad stream of my newborn daughter in the NICU, she too was intubated and fighting for her life on a jet ventilator.
I remember thinking,
โ๐๐จ๐โฆ ๐ ๐๐๐งโ๐ญ ๐๐จ ๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ฌ.โ
There I wasโฆ
Sitting in my hospital bedโฆ
One child beside me whose every breath depended on a ventilatorโฆ
While watching my other child, just moments into her life, also being kept alive by a breathing tube.
I donโt know that Iโve ever felt so helpless.
What many people didnโt see was that while my children were fighting for their livesโฆ
So was I.
During my daughterโs delivery, I hemorrhaged.
When I say I hemorrhagedโฆ
I mean I bled out.
Completely.
No blood was staying in my body.
I ultimately flatlined twice.
I required a massive blood transfusion simply to stay alive.
Iโll never forget waking up intubated.
Unable to speak.
Unable to ask questions.
Unable to tell anyone how terrified I was.
I remember ๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐๐ซ๐จ๐ฎ๐ง๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐๐ซ๐๐๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ญ๐ฎ๐๐โฆ
๐๐ซ๐ฒ๐ข๐ง๐ โฆ
Feeling completely ๐ญ๐ซ๐๐ฉ๐ฉ๐๐ ๐ข๐ง๐ฌ๐ข๐๐ ๐ฆ๐ฒ ๐จ๐ฐ๐ง ๐๐จ๐๐ฒ.
It was in that moment that I knewโฆ
Something had gone terribly wrong.
Even after surviving, there wasnโt time to process any of it.
I was begging to be discharged because my oldest son was about to experience one of the biggest milestones of his young lifeโฆ
His very first day of kindergarten.
The thought of missing it absolutely broke me.
Just hours after being discharged, with my body still in excruciating pain, I somehow found the strength to walk him to the school doors, hospital sticker on and everything .
Every step hurt.
Every movement reminded me of what my body had just endured.
Yet all I could think about was making sure he knewโฆ
Mom was there.
That memory still hurts me.
Sometimes I find myself asking a difficult question.
If I could go backโฆ
Would I change it?
Would I erase the pain?
The trauma?
The hundreds of surgeries between both of my NICU children?
The fear that settled into every part of my life?
The moments that changed me forever?
For a long timeโฆ
I think my answer would have been yes.
But todayโฆ Today my answer is no.
Not because the trauma wasnโt real. It absolutely was.
I experienced an extreme case of birth trauma that, in many ways, lasted nearly three years.
Every pregnancy brought its own complications.
Every chapter left its own wounds.
There were moments I wasnโt sure how I would keep going.
But when I look at who that journey shaped me intoโฆ
The strength I discoveredโฆ
The compassion I gainedโฆ
The perspective I now carryโฆ
The purpose God brought from our painโฆ
And the incredible privilege of being their motherโฆ
I realize that some of lifeโs greatest purpose is often born through unimaginable suffering.
Birth trauma changed me.
It broke parts of me.
But it also rebuilt me.
It taught me what truly matters.
It deepened my faith.
It gave me a purpose I never knew existed.
This kind of trauma affects me every single day.
๐๐จ๐ญ ๐๐๐๐๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ ๐โ๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ข๐ฏ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ข๐ง ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ฌ๐ญโฆ
But because what I experienced was truly ๐ฅ๐ข๐๐-๐๐ฅ๐ญ๐๐ซ๐ข๐ง๐ .
As the years have passed, Iโve realized that birth trauma doesnโt always stay in the delivery room.
It follows you into birthdays.
Hospital appointments.
School milestones.
The sound of a monitor.
The smell of antiseptic.
A tiny outfit.
A photograph.
Sometimes it arrives unexpectedly, reminding you of a chapter that changed your life forever.
And yet, somewhere along the way, God transformed that pain into purpose.
The very ๐ญ๐ซ๐๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ that once threatened to break me has ๐๐๐๐จ๐ฆ๐ ๐ฆ๐ฒ ๐ฏ๐จ๐ข๐๐ ๐จ๐ ๐ซ๐๐๐ฌ๐จ๐ง.
My compassion for other families.
The foundation of the work Iโm now so passionate about.
It has taught me to sit with grieving parents.
To understand the weight of their fears without explanation.
To remind them that even in the darkest momentsโฆ They are not alone.
๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐
To every mother carrying birth traumaโฆ
๐๐ฅ๐๐๐ฌ๐ ๐ก๐๐๐ซ ๐ฆ๐.
What happened to you matters.
What you endured was real.
The fear.
The grief.
The mourning.
The guilt.
The anxiety.
The flashbacks.
The tears that still come unexpectedly.
Theyโre all valid.
Sometimes healing looks like hearing a monitor beep and instantly being transported back to the NICU.
Sometimes itโs folding tiny clothes and remembering the wires they once covered.
Sometimes itโs a smell.
A birthday.
A hospital hallway.
Or a milestone that unexpectedly brings every memory rushing back.
Healing isnโt always linear.
But neither is hope.
Birth trauma may always be a part of your story.
But it does not have to define the rest of it.
Insteadโฆ
Let it become a reminder of what youโve survived.
A reminder that whispers,
โ๐ ๐๐ง๐๐ฎ๐ซ๐๐ ๐ฌ๐จ๐ฆ๐๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฎ๐ง๐ข๐ฆ๐๐ ๐ข๐ง๐๐๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐ก๐๐ซ๐โฆ ๐๐ง๐ ๐๐ฒ ๐ญ๐ก๐ ๐ ๐ซ๐๐๐ ๐จ๐ ๐๐จ๐, ๐ ๐ค๐๐ฉ๐ญ ๐ ๐จ๐ข๐ง๐ .โ
You continue to show up.
You continue to love.
You continue to fight.
And that is extraordinary.
If no one has told you latelyโฆ
Iโm proud of you.
You are stronger than you know.
You are worthy of healing.
You are seen.
You are loved.
And you are never, ever alone.
If my story helps even one mother feel less isolated in hersโฆ
Then sharing these photos and these memories is worth every ounce of vulnerability.
From one birth trauma mama to anotherโฆ
๐โ๐ฆ ๐ก๐จ๐ฅ๐๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎ๐ซ ๐ก๐๐ง๐ ๐ญ๐จ๐๐๐ฒ. ๐
โGod is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.โ โ Psalm 46:1
๐ ๐ก๐จ๐ฉ๐ ๐ฒ๐จ๐ฎโ๐ฅ๐ฅ ๐ฌ๐ก๐๐ซ๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ข๐ฌ ๐ฐ๐ข๐ญ๐ก ๐ ๐๐๐ฆ๐ ๐ญ๐จ๐๐๐ฒ!
-Shacreya
๏ฟผe
