Birth Trauma

Written By Cassandra Thompson

I didn’t see my newborn until 5 days after she was born. I didn’t hold her until 8 days after.

Twice, I thought we lost her. I had to wrap my head around the idea that I lost my child. Twice.

The moment she was born, what should have been filled with relief and warmth, was instead filled with urgency, machines, and the terrifying silence of the unknown.

Birth trauma is real and scary as hell. What happened during my daughter’s birth is still a “medical mystery” and I’m just supposed to accept that. No answers.

Individually, I felt overwhelmed by the confusion of it all. One moment thinking I had lost my child, and the next being told there’s hope. The emotional whiplash was disorienting.

As both a therapist and a mother, my roles clashed during my experience. After birth, my child was transported to a hospital that had a higher-level NICU, while I had to stay at the hospital where I gave birth. I carried an immense sense of guilt with not being able to be with her. Anxious thoughts crept in, convincing me I was abandoning her. As a therapist, I could name everything that was happening: the hypervigilance, the intrusive thoughts, the panic. I knew I was experiencing birth trauma. I also knew separation can disrupt bonding. My knowledge started to become my greatest fuel for my anxiety. This inner conflict, trying to be composed and clinical while feeling like I was unraveling, began bleeding into my relationship.

I often tell couples in therapy that trauma doesn’t just happen to one person, it ripples through the relationship. I didn’t expect how hard it would be for my husband and I to name what we were feeling. At first, we were silent. So silent. We didn’t know what to say to each other. I turned to my best friend. He turned to his sister. Then our focus went to the baby instead of ourselves individually. (And to mention, we also had a 3-year-old at home we still had to answer to!) After a few days of decompressing, we finally turned to each other.

From the therapist perspective, this was a turning point. Individual healing is important, but relationally, turning toward one another is vital. My husband and I experienced the same trauma, but in very different ways. Making space to hear each other helped us feel less alone. He was the only person who could understand parts of what I had lived through, and he helped fill in the pieces of a story I could not. We shared this experience, distressful or not, and it united us.

Looking back, I can see how easy it is for trauma to pull two people apart, not because the love isn’t there but because you’re both processing in different ways. One may shut down and the other may crave closeness. In the midst of survival, communication may get blurred and everything starts to feel out of your control. As a therapist and as someone who lived this, I don’t believe there’s aperfectway to protect your relationship during trauma but I do believe there are gentle ways to safeguard your heart and connection when everything feels uncertain.

Gentle ways to protect your relationship during Birth Trauma:

1. Talk about the unsaid. You don’t have to experience the trauma in the same way. You don’t have to fix each other’s pain, but naming what you’re carrying keeps disconnection from taking root.
2. Grieve differently, but together. Understand you both may react different. Don’t make assumptions on how this may mean the other person doesn’t care. Offer your own bids of connection and hope they are received.
3. Create small rituals together. Check in with one another. Hold hands. Remind yourself you’re on the same team.
4. Seek support.

Fast forward to today. We have a healthy two-year-old. Thank God.

If you’re reading this with a pit in your stomach, wondering if your trauma counts – it does. You don’t have to wait for everything to fall apart before reaching for help. It’s not too late to reconnect, repair, or begin healing.

If you’re ready to explore support, individually or as a couple, I’d be honored to walk alongside of you.