Rose's Tracks
Rose’s story involves trauma but is ultimately a love story.
I met Rose, an artist and a mother, when she began attending my women’s yoga classes in 2020. Last year, she approached me to discuss the support I offer for birth trauma recovery. I sensed that this was a significant step for Rose to reach out, but we had built up a good relationship over the previous three years. I was happy that she felt she could trust me to support her in addressing this trauma in a safe and supportive way that met her desire to overcome the burden she had been carrying since her daughter’s birth.
After completing our sessions together and knowing that they had been effective, I asked if she would like to share some of her experience and subsequent recovery. Below, I share Rose’s take on this journey, beautifully linked to the music tracks she compiled during her pregnancy. It has been a real joy to observe Rose moving forward in her life. I remember seeing her back in yoga after our sessions, literally seeing more pink in her skin tone and a sense of ease appearing as she moved her body.
“I took myself on a holiday, just after I started being with Chris. It was an idyllic day, and I had a huge sense that things were about to change.Not knowing then that the beach and the water would be recalled when lying under a blanket years later, getting better through NLP and Lynn’s Birth Trauma Recovery Programme.” - Photo of Rose by Rose
‘These sessions catapulted me back into the world’
My daughter, Orla, is six in October, and in October 2018, I had what they call a traumatic birth. Everyone at the hospital said the word trauma so many times I was slightly bemused by it, but I didn't realise it would colour my time until now as a parent. I didn't want anything to change in some ways, but I realised I couldn't live on a day-to-day basis with the trauma I was carrying. It was too heavy, and I was exhausted by it.
The Perinatal Trauma Recovery programme that I completed with Lynn, consists of three sessions. In getting ready for birth, like lots of mums-to-be, I made a playlist for the labour or for a possible caesarean birth. I ended up listening to it in isolation after Orla’s arrival. I think this may be a good way of breaking my story down, so here are three tracks from my playlist that mirror the three sessions I had with Lynn as part of my recovery from the trauma I had carried since Orla’s birth in 2018.
Below, I have compiled all the songs Rose mentions so you can click on the link and listen to the tracks.
Rose’s Playlist
Track 1: Crazy Love - Van Morrison
Yeah, I need her in the daytime (I need her)
Yeah, and I need her in the night (I need her)
Yeah, and I want to throw my arms around her (I need her)
And kiss and hug her, kiss and hug her tight
I sang this a lot to my daughter while she was in my womb, along with some Flying Pickets (Only You) and Super Furry Animals (Hello Sunshine - with some lyric tweaks). From her Dad, she got Free Nelson Mandela, The Internationale by Billy Bragg, and Your Song by Elton John, amongst others. We were late to parenthood and felt lucky. We were living separately until a month before she was born, so I was packing boxes and moving out of my Housing Co-op, making big changes, learning to drive, and leaving my job all in one go. I developed Obstetric Cholestasis at some point where you itch everywhere, all the time (a liver dysfunction related to pregnancy that goes once you give birth) - so we were talked into an induction.
A due date, 21st November, became an induction date of 31st October (after the receptionist checked I didn't mind being induced on Halloween). Orla came earlier than that on 27th October. Her birth was sudden and dramatic due to placental abruption. On top of this, we were away from our home, staying in Essex for a few days.
Orla was born 10 minutes after we arrived in Harlow hospital under general anaesthetic. When I came round, she had been moved to NICU WARD in Cambridge. This led to us being separated for a further few days due to complications. I stayed in Harlow for two further nights due to a further operation on the day Orla was born, and whilst Orla’s care was magnificent, my care dive-bombed. I left Harlow after two nights and effectively signed myself off so that I could be in the same hospital as Orla. I saw her on day 3 for a few minutes, and then not again until day 7 as I had to be put into isolation with a possible bug (it turned out to be a reaction to antibiotics). My partner (and eventually I) stayed in a flat in the hospital run by the Sick Children’s Trust. It’s an incredible relief of a place, somewhere you can cook and sleep, and there are around 12 families there at any one time, all with completely different stories and children in intensive care.
There are so many extra parts to all of this, but Session 1, the birth debrief session with Lynn, gave me a chance to disclose what I wanted to about Orla’s birth and what happened afterwards. How I had felt, how it had felt to be separated, things I have only said to a few people, what I expected of myself, and a realisation of how sad I still felt that the postnatal depression that hit me afterwards somehow made me struggle to be present or to ever feel ‘enough’ in so many ways. I had never shared this with Lynn before, and it felt a relief to let that story out. Constructively, and importantly, we also talked about how I would like things to be, looking ahead. At the end of the session, I took time to walk to a local park and give myself a moment. I felt good, like the feeling when you walk downhill; it's easy and breezy. Something felt more positive already. I felt a bit more loving when I got home, a bit freer
Track 2: Ten Storey Love Song - The Stone Roses
Ten story love song
I built this thing for you
Who can take you higher than twin peak mountain blue?
Oh well, I built this thing for you
And I love you true
Everyone has a different birth story. I was 44 when I had Orla, and I can’t imagine having a baby in any other way than through an emergency C-section. One of the reasons I asked Lynn to help me was that a friend was pregnant, and I was really worried about her safety. Through our conversations, I realised whenever I saw people in the street that were pregnant, I felt overly concerned about their safety, and when I saw new mothers, I wondered if every one of them were really struggling internally. Like Lynn said, it was like I was seeing small fires / bombs going off just by walking down the street. I think I had been bracing myself since birth, and being tense that long is utterly exhausting. In her first year, Orla had a sickness bug, and every time we put her down, she was sick. So my partner and I spent all night sitting against the wall taking turns holding her upright, and I realised I felt (physically) like I had not been able to put her down ever since. I thought I would be an earth mother, and that character seemed very far away from what I was actually experiencing.
Orla had to be cooled for 72 hours to give her body time to recover and was diagnosed with HIE 2, as she had, they think, seven minutes without oxygen, amongst other things. She’s just recently noticed her igloo wristband on her early birth photos and asked about this, so we have started to talk about it a little more than previously when she asks. I bought a Playmobil toy of a baby in an incubator and a doctor from a toy shop and thought this might be handy in years to come. The person I bought it off had her son early too; there's so many early babies, and he is doing well, as is Orla, who was signed off when she was two with no lasting concerns. Like a neurologist told us, babies are like deep-sea divers (they can last without oxygen for so much longer than adults).
‘iPhone sketch about where I imagined I was during the rewind. In the sea, I was sitting in the middle with Chris on one side and Orla on another.’
Session 2 with Lynn was the main Rewind session. She guided me into a deep relaxed state once more, and I visualised a really comfortable chair, somehow floating in my favourite bit of sea for swimming in, and there was a screen in front of me. Then I imagined I was behind myself, so I could see myself watching myself watching the ‘film’ on screen. Then I rewound the session as fast as I could. Then nodded, then moved to the seat and watched it on screen, then rewound. On the third viewing, I finally went into the screen and relived it. Three viewings, each one getting closer to the action. There was no talking. Lynn supported me all the way through and helped me breathe and ground when it got scary. I had my eyes closed. The film I was visualising was a journey from when I had felt safe, just before the abruption, to when I returned home, back from the hospital two and a half weeks later. At the end, Lynn held and rubbed my feet and advised me to do some shaking out and stomping my feet on the ground to reconnect and reground me before I left.
All this time since Orla’s birth, I had been looking for a timeline - I had decided a timeline on paper would help me recover. I requested my hospital notes, had a birth reflections session in Harlow, had counselling, medication, asked my Mum for her notes (she’s a great note taker), and agreed to be a case study in a midwifery course. I couldn't be the case study as it turned out because every time I got near my notes, they had a kryptonite-like effect on me. They’re still in an envelope.
Doing the rewind session finally gave me my timeline. I made my own and was in control of playing it, replaying it, and finally destroying it. I should say, during the rewind sessions I also remembered nice and funny Fringe-worthy bits (there were some) about Orla’s birth. It had taken a bit of a leap of faith and some bravery to do this session, but it was revelatory. As I said to a friend, it catapulted me back into the world.
Track 3: Watching the Wheels - John Lennon
I'm just sittin' here watchin' the wheels go 'round and 'round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer ridin' on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go
Getting catapulted back isn't always easy. I feel feisty, which is good, and I’m more argumentative again, more back to stubborn me rather than a kind of institutionalised version. The main feeling I had since Orla’s birth was of a huge sense of disorientation - like you've just woken up and jumped out of bed too quickly or are lost in the street when you thought you knew where you were. Part of this was our journey through three hospitals before getting home, but mostly it was trauma, change, and mental confusion magnified by sleep deprivation and a lot of self-neglect and self-doubt. I feel like I now know where I am. And I am present. I have more energy for my art practice and really feel the trauma certainly has moved within my brain. It is slightly extraordinary to me that I have been able to walk down the street and think about artworks, and also recall memories from decades ago, as if some of my memory has been freed up and allowed me to access other parts of my life. Orla’s birth was tough, but it was my treatment afterwards that I think was the hardest of all. For example, in isolation, I couldn't get any food until my partner brought it, as I would miss the meals window with no one coming into my room to collect my ticked food choice. I only had paracetamol when in a lot of pain, and I was left on the night I arrived in Cambridge on a hospital bed with no blanket under a strip light feeling cold and waiting all night for the doctor. I was too addled to ask for what I needed. I felt so much emphasis was put on the idea that I was not going to bond with Orla that it felt like it was predetermined. I felt judged and inferior. My PND resulted in incredibly disturbing thoughts about myself and Orla, not flashbacks but instead cartoon-like visual images that were full of horror while I was awake and everyone else was asleep. I understand these, and they're almost gone, but when one comes, I know I basically need more sleep, rest, and care.
In Session 3, Lynn and I met in a cafe and had a check-in and a long talk. I felt (and still feel) physically and emotionally so much better. I had thought that it would be too late for me to have Birth Trauma Therapy as over four years had passed since giving birth, but it was not at all. I feel like those three sessions have changed my life; there is no better way of saying this. I will be forever grateful to Lynn for guiding me through this.
I’m not going to write how much I love my daughter (but I do) and my partner (who saved our lives and journeyed with us through the darkest of times) as those things always make me feel a bit inadequate when reading articles. I didn’t get a gush of love, but I have got a burning glow, and it is a wonderful slow burn. I feel sad I feel I missed a lot with Orla, but here we are, and I am ready for the next bit. Like Lynn says, ‘Rupture and Repair’. I’m looking forward to keeping healing, enjoying, and all the rest, ups and downs included. At the end of the weekly yoga session I attended just before starting the Rewind session, I imagined me, Chris, and Orla on a red racetrack, all running at different paces, and in the middle of it, there was a meadow with poppies and long grass in it. We all stopped running and headed to the middle, where we sat down and relaxed. I’m ready for a bit more time in that meadow now.
Postscript:
What’s Wrong with Groovin’ - Letta Mbulu
What is wrong with groovin'?
What is wrong with wailin'?
What is wrong with livin'?
What is wrong with livin'?
I can’t finish this without saying how taboo it can feel, to not be OK, to not like aspects of your experience of parenthood, to not have endless patience, to have unwanted thoughts. My wish is that some (or all) of this taboo can be dissolved by a little more honesty and support to each other, new organisations, new funding, more support for mothers, more support for fathers, more support for children.
I want things to be great, but sometimes it is OK if they are good enough. Once I found it, I had amazing (and some variable) support. My GP listened and guided me through some anti-depressants (getting on and coming off them). Friends and family listened and didn’t falter. A charity called Cocoon (currently not operating) made me a mug of tea at a drop-in in Camden every Saturday where it was OK to say anything. Cocoon reassured me what I was thinking was not at all unusual. I had counselling through them, and they got us through COVID via Zoom. They were a brilliant small team and would look after people’s children whilst their mothers or fathers had counselling. I have also had good advice on local support groups from APNI, and I have talked to The Samaritans. I follow PANDAS and HomeStart on social media, and all of this makes me feel more OK. The Bliss charity had lots of useful guides at the hospital for premature babies, and The Sick Children’s Trust provided us with accommodation - operating within some hospitals so that families can stay close to their children.
“I would really encourage those struggling with trauma to seek help for it. I thought I was lost, but I seem to have found my way home.”
Songs that came after: Don’t Stop Me Now - Queen (lyrics became “I’m going to make a supersonic baby out of you”) You Can’t Touch This - MC Hammer Both good for family dancing with a baby in your arms. Scarborough Fair - for sleeping, or peace.