C-sections are seen as really normal procedures. I love modern medicine—it saved my life and my sons. But I don’t think C-sections are normal. Common, sure, but not normal. This is the language I’ve settled on for birth trauma too. It’s common. It happens more than we would like. But it is not normal. It should absolutely not be considered normal for women to experience.

My C-section was not as common as most. It was urgent. A bit chaotic. Followed by a NICU baby that seemed to stack another emergency on top of the previous one. When I was recovering from my surgery, I hated how “normal” people treated my recovery.

Your scar looks great.

Just look out for blood clots bigger than a golf ball.

Rotating advil and tylenol should be enough.

Don’t pick up anything heavier than baby.

Six weeks of no driving.

I hated my recovery. I was constantly faced with the limitations of my body. I needed it to just work. But it refused. I was overtired and taking care of a newborn and then on top of it I was in the worst physical condition I had ever been in in my life but people around me seemed to shrug it off like it was normal to let that many layers get cut open and then stitched back together. Just jump back into normal life. Congrats, you’re a mama.

I vividly remember things people said to me in this season. The people who pretended like nothing happened were my worst nightmare. Most of them are no longer a part of my life because frankly I don’t have the energy to play pretend.

After my six weeks of no driving, I was ready to get out of the house. Feeling brave and bold despite my swollen, sore body, I took all morning to load up my newborn, get myself ready, and get in the car. All just to take the ten minute drive to Dunkin’ by myself.

I tentatively turned the key. I practiced braking gently with the car in park. I could feel the pull on my tender abdomen. I was terrified. What if I ripped my scar right back open?

Finally, I left the driveway. I drove like I was 85 years old. When I made it to the Dunkin’ drive thru, I sighed relief. My belly didn’t explode open. No emergency calls would be made. My anxiety felt like it was settling down.

I went to pull out of the parking lot but another car tried to pull in front of me aggressively. Scared to brake suddenly and rip open my core, I rolled on forward. She honked. Flipped me off. She slammed on her brakes. Unrolled her window and yelled at me.

Hot tears rolled down my cheeks as I drove away at a snail speed.

I still think about that woman. I don’t know why she was in such a rush. She didn’t know it was my first time driving since a near death experience. She didn’t know it was the first time I left the house with my newborn alone. She didn’t know that the pain meds weren’t really working but I didn’t really care because I felt like my body should be punished. She didn’t know.

I don’t know where she was going either. Sometimes I fantasize about it. Was she late for work and scared of the reaction of her narcissistic boss? Did she need to rush home to a sick kid? Was she in the midst of her own emergency? I’ll never know, but I’ll always wonder.

I think about that moment often—how small and insignificant it must have seemed to her, just another frustrating slow driver in her way. But to me, it was everything.

It was the weight of six weeks of pain, of feeling invisible, of wondering if I’d ever feel like myself again. It was the reminder that the world moves on, even when your body and soul are still catching up.

I don’t tell this story because I need pity or because I think my suffering was unique. I tell it because I know I’m not the only one. Birth trauma, C-sections, the long road of recovery—they’re common, but they are not normal. And the more we name that, the more we make space for women to heal, to be seen, and to be honored for what they’ve endured.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s a reminder to be gentle with each other. We never really know what someone else is carrying. That woman didn’t know what I had been through, just like I didn’t know her story either.

But what would it look like if we all moved through the world with a little more patience, a little more kindness? If we assumed that the person in front of us might be healing from something unseen? (Aren’t we all?) Maybe then, we could make the world just a little softer for one another.

P.S. I’m opening up my Substack for a special guest series, and I’d love to feature your voice! This series, “Beyond the Labels: When the Words That Define Us Don’t Fit,” is all about the names, categories, and expectations we carry—whether in faith, motherhood, creativity, or life—and what happens when we break free from them. If you have a story to share, I’d love for you to submit!

You can find all the details and the submission form here.

Can't wait to read your ideas! 💛