Healing While Pregnant is Possible
Read Time: 6 Minutes
Words by Leesha Mony
Becoming a mother helped me to become more whole. It helped my broken parts find homes while walking through fire. Fire, the creator of life, ushered my son into this world, but it also formed his mother.
My walk through pregnancy was not an easy walk, as it is not for many. Coming to grips with the realities of creating life came as a shock to my system, paralyzing me for months after being caught in some place of terror and anger at feeling deceived. Deceived by what is not shared by women, what is silenced by society and hidden away. All of the suffering that women do in the shadows, all of the growing pains, self-doubt and fear bundled up in one body becoming two, navigating this transformative experience alone.
My heart weeps for these women. My heart weeps for the women I was while in these moments of utter silence and guilt. Wasn’t I supposed to be happy, grateful and excited? Since I wasn’t these things, most of the time, the feeling that something was wrong with me poured through as if a floodgate was invited in.
This wasn’t a new story. The idea that something was wrong with me was not put there by accident. It was put there to try and make sense of a difficult childhood, lack of boundaries and the absence of safety. Since childhood, my healing journey has been around rewriting these stories, reclaiming my voice and setting appropriate boundaries that made me feel safe and in control. During the early stages of pregnancy all of that changed, for pregnancy was about surrender. Sitting with the word itself sent shivers down my spine, trembled my hands, tightened my jaw… surrender.
The tools that I had so carefully hand-carved over the years suddenly shattered. The blocks that I had so neatly put up crumbled in a matter of a few breaths. The safety that I so depended on suddenly evaporated, as if I was being pulled up to an altitude that no longer provided air. This deep sense that something was wrong with me resurfaced as if I invited it in myself. The path in front of me was a long road. For I needed to break free once again from the protections of my old wounds. But this time was different. It was no longer just for me, but now it was for him, my son.
In the beginning, life was about moving with deep breaths, long nights and a very unsettled body. Not being able to see the road ahead was both illuminating and terrifying. As I tried to make sense of this new experience, my body was rapidly changing. My concentration severed and all of my tools that I worked so very hard to gather, gone, almost overnight. I was living in a body that I was unable to trust, again. A body that felt as though it was being taken over by an invader. Early memories consisted of pure shock. I wanted a baby so very badly, I prepared my body, my mind, my relationship, but nothing could have prepared me for the immense amount of overwhelm and fear that took me back to a time where this way of being was my home, my life.
Moving through transitions have a way of stirring up what has been idle for so long. For when we are breaking open, transforming, we are reminded of all the times we have had to do that in the past. All of the times that have opened us up before and all that had been overcome. This time traveling portal is where I got stuck. Somewhere between hard old memories and longing for a dreamed up pregnancy experience.
Nausea and fear poured over my body for what felt like endless months. I was being forced to pay attention to every ache, every change, every wave of wheeziness. I was being forced to pay attention to my body in a completely different way. I had never been so attuned to what was happening in me. I lived a life mostly cut off from my sensations, for they were always confusing and sometimes scary. I learned that in order to survive I needed to actually do the opposite of what I was currently being presented with, I had to detach from myself to live. This relationship with myself was always tenuous, never quite feeling right or making sense, but I found my rhythm that worked for me- until it didn’t.
For a long time I only allowed myself to see parts of myself, the ones that were calling for my attention the loudest, but now every sliver of skin, cells and muscles were calling for my attention, calling to be seen, calling to be witnessed. I was in the midst of transformation. Messy, complicated, sick, but a transformation. Every ounce of myself was being pulled to tune in and connect, while at the same time I was being pulled away.
This far away place disguised as freedom was alluring. It had all of the characteristics that one would wish up while undergoing what felt like a siege. For this is where numbness lived, for when you are numb you do not feel pain. While here, I found a body disconnected from worries, from doubt, from shame. A ghost’s empty shell is what was being reflected back to me as I would gaze in a mirror trying to find myself. Visiting this place became my avenue of reprieve, until it wasn’t. The distance leading to the present was becoming longer each time I stopped by this anesthetic-filled land.
Journeying back to myself often consisted of exhaustion and shame for being away. I wanted so badly to find myself again- to stay, to connect. This longing is what eventually helped me to illuminate the path back to myself, back to us. For in disconnection, there is also opportunity for reconnection. I had to begin to love a body that I spent many years avoiding. This call did not come with open arms, the path laid unpaved, un walked. What I didn’t know then was that I too was being birthed anew.
After months and months of playing with time travel, I began to notice the slightest of shifts. What was making itself known was the present. As I laid in bed after a relentless night sleep I began to flirt with the light that was pouring in the room. It was as if the light of the spring new day was inviting me to engage, inviting me to feel my aliveness. My curiosity began to expand as I engulfed myself with the newness of the air that danced in my room. My growing, changing body moved as though my bones were singing. It was in this moment that I began to remember my spirit. After a while, a sudden urge to look into the mirror came over me, as if all of my ancestors were calling to me at once. And so we got ourselves up, moving graciously with slow feet to look into the mirror, to my surprise I saw myself looking back at me. For many moons and sunrises, I dreamed of the memory of what it was like to dance in my skin, eat with my mouth, touch with my hands. I turned away from this reminder many times, for it felt too hard, too much. The fear of collapse kept me far away, away from myself.
Then, I began noticing glimpses of old sensations, filters of soft light wanting to expand. There was an opening large enough for me to begin to notice myself. There was also a silence that was unrecognizable to this new body, a silence that pushed out the old relentless chatter, the old run-off narratives. The silence was making space for me. Past becoming present I began to dream of connection to myself. I remembered the love that created my baby, the love that healed myself and generations of other women.
For being able to create a baby out of love meant that there was love, there is love, I am love. For these memories, these thoughts, these dreams were leading me back, lighting up the map to my wholeness. In the midst of silence I then began noticing a sliver of anew. First feeling the warmness of my hands resting on my beautiful changing body. I remembered my touch, the touch I have been longing for. Embracing it, feeling it, enjoying it. In that moment, I glanced up and saw myself looking back at a women holding so much, carrying so much, while also learning how to carry this new body, these new fears, this new chapter. In that moment I grew taller, my neck extended as if it was ready to shout to the entire world… Open, ready.
As I glanced up in the mirror once again (a place that I frequent to see what parts of me will show themselves), what was shown to me was me, all of me, my wholeness. In that moment I heard a familiar voice whispering in my bones, hello again and welcome home.
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About the Author:
Leesha is a somatic therapist, writer, mother & a human celebrator. She believes in the power of healing through being witnessing and witnessing others powerful resiliency. In addition, Leesha works to help prepare birthing people for pregnancy journeys, while trying to change the narrative around birth to include the wholeness that comes with being human.
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