According to data from END SEPSIS, a sepsis awareness, education, and advocacy organization, maternal sepsis is the second leading cause of maternal and pregnancy-related death in the United States. Those who survive are often left with severe physical, emotional, and psychological trauma.
Some women are at a more significant risk for developing maternal sepsis, including:
- Women of Color, especially Latino, Black, and Asian women
- women under the age of 20
- those who had a C-section delivery
I don’t remember much from my nine days in the ICU. My earliest memories of waking up from my medically induced coma are filled with nothing but confusion. Where was my son? Did I even have a baby? Was that a dream? Whose hand did I trace the letters “C-R-U-Z” into when I had a tube in down
my throat?
I would later learn that it was my mother’s hand that I traced my son’s name in to and that was one of the very first things I did when I woke up.
I feel guilty saying this, but I hate the day my son was born.
The day my son was born was supposed to be when all my dreams of becoming a mother came true — and the start of a wonderful life as a family of three. But instead, it quickly turned into a nightmare for me and my entire family.
A few days after giving birth, I started to run a fever. I felt like my heart was racing. I had uncontrollable shakes and couldn’t catch my breath. I felt like I was dying.
I shared my concerns with numerous doctors, but I was not taken seriously. My doctors told me I was just recovering from labor and was nervous about being a new mom before sending me home.
I naively believed them, because after all, they are the experts.
I eventually returned to the hospital feeling worse. Within 24 hours, my kidneys had shut down and my liver was failing. I spent roughly a month in the hospital: nine days in the ICU, seven of which were in a medically induced coma.
The doctors told my family that I had developed an infection of an unknown source and was suffering from septic shock. They said my chances of surviving were not good.
Becoming Mom
Each personal essay and feature is complemented by our
design team’s original photography or illustrations that beautifully capture the writer and sensitive subjects at hand.
Although the perspectives shared in this series do not represent all women and mothers, they shine an important light on what many folks go through when navigating maternal mental health.
No matter where you are on your motherhood journey,
the Psych Central team wants you to know that we see you
and support you. We hope these stories will help you feel
less alone and more connected throughout your process
of Becoming Mom.
by Morgan Mandriota
Beyond Becoming
Mom: Healing from
a Traumatic
Birth Experience
Prior to my experience, I had never heard of sepsis. I was very confused and very angry. I was angry because I shared my concerns, but no one listened — and it nearly cost me my life.
It has now been over four years since I survived maternal sepsis, but I am still on my recovery journey. Physically, I am fine, but the emotional toll of a traumatic birth experience is something I am not sure I will ever fully recover from.
I think about maternal sepsis each and every day. I often dream about being in the hospital again and just can’t help but replay those terrible memories in my mind over and over again.
Not every journey to motherhood is a fairytale, and it is OK to be angry, frustrated, sad, and sometimes all of the above. And if you ask me, it’s even OK to hate the day your child was born.
I hate that because of maternal sepsis, I can’t remember the joy of holding my son for the first time, breastfeeding, bonding, or enjoying the first month of his life. However, I am extremely thankful that I am one of the lucky women who survived my traumatic birth experience.
My experience has taught me to take joy in even the smallest of things and love my family and friends deeper. I am beyond grateful to be alive today and that I am able to be a strong, healthy mother to the most incredible child..
Healing from birth trauma is challenging and can be a long journey, one that looks different for every woman. The important thing to remember is that there are resources to help you heal, whatever healing looks like for you.
Some women might find healing by reaching out and seeking support through resources like counseling and therapy. Others might cope through yoga or meditation.
I have found some healing in advocating for improved maternal health and working to address the severe inequities in maternal care.
My journey to advocacy was sparked by another mother, Orlaith. After losing her 12-year-old son to sepsis, Orlaith co-founded the Rory Staunton Foundation for Sepsis Prevention, now known as END SEPSIS, the Legacy of Rory Staunton. Orlaith has dedicated herself to reducing the number of sepsis-caused deaths through education and outreach.
Article resources
- End Sepsis. The Legacy of Rory Staunton. (n.d.). https://www.endsepsis.org/
- Maternal Sepsis Initiative. (n.d.). https://www.endsepsis.org/maternal-sepsis-initiative/
- Pregnancy Mortality Surveillance System. (2020). https://www.cdc.gov/reproductivehealth/maternal-mortality/pregnancy-mortality-surveillance-system.htm?CDC_AA_
April Chavez. Photographed by Adria Malcolm
April Chavez is a maternal sepsis survivor, patient advocate, spokeswoman, and board member for END SEPSIS, the Legacy of Rory Staunton. She works alongside non-profit organizations, medical experts, and healthcare professionals to improve maternal sepsis recognition and outcomes. Additionally, April has bravely shared
her story with local and national outlets to spread sepsis awareness. Her goal as a patient advocate is to help educate others about sepsis and the importance of advocating for you and your loved ones’ health.
Catherine M Anderson. Photographed by George Annan Jr
Catherine M Anderson divvies up her time between solo parenting, prepping for the empty nest, playing in the dirt, writing, advocating for racial justice, teaching in the public schools, and fighting for a place on the couch with the 24 other legs in her little house in Providence, Rhode Island.
Like open adoption, navigating the known donor world is deep and complicated for everyone. What was supposed to be a “No Contact until 18” agreement pivoted at the donor’s request when Marcel was 4 years old. They visit irregularly but are in contact often.
About a year ago Marcel told me how angry he was that I chose to make a mixed child intentionally and that I would never understand how impossible it is to not be Black enough, or white enough every moment of every day.
All I could do was listen. All I could say was knowing that he was the outcome of that selfish act was the only reason I would do it again given the choice.
I was under the impression that I would be a decent solo parent if what I lacked in understanding of single transracial parenting I could turn to my diverse chosen family for support. We all co-designed a collective approach to raising kids together. We still do. Centering the boys in all of this has been my North Star.
Once a dear friend from our small new mother’s group half jokingly said to me, “My husband doesn’t want me hanging out with you. You make single parenting look preferable to what
we got!”
It’s true that I was the only one I had to consult about sleep training, best day care options, or t-ball sign-ups. I was also the only one there when the stomach flu hit, and to scream my lungs out at their basketball games. It was I alone, who had to manage moving us to another state when the boys needed to live in a place where Blackness was normative, and not the exception.
Fast forward seventeen years and Sammy calls Teaya “Moms” and me “Mom.” He is researching plane tickets to Hawaii to join the family celebration of his Pa-pa’s life for Thanksgiving.
"
“The last time I called you it was to tell you that I had changed my mind, and I wanted Sammy back,” I read. “Then, when you were willing to tell me what was really going on with him, I knew that you were supposed to be his mom.”
Teaya returned with a letter to read on the plane. The visit was too short, and hard on her and her other kids. I opened the letter on board with 2 week-old Sammy on my lap.
“The last time I called you it was to tell you that I had changed my mind, and I wanted Sammy back,” I read. “Then, when you were willing to tell me what was really going on with him, I knew that you were supposed to be his mom.”
Two years later Marcel was conceived with the help of a known donor. We met in a toy store when he helped Sammy reach a toy saxophone, and jammed with him using a toy drum. They connected over music.
He was Black like Sam and might become a role model I thought. We became friends. Over coffee and my application to the adoption agency for another child, an offer was made. With the help of a family attorney an agreement was drawn and a prayer was spoken.
Marcel was conceived on the first try.
When I announced my plans to adopt transracially to my family nearly 20 years ago, my mother’s reaction was; “I don’t know if I can hold a Black child.” My father and his wife were on board, albeit concerned about me taking on parenthood solo.
To my mother I said; “Well I suggest you figure out how you are going to do that if you want to meet your grandchild one day.” To my father I said; “I don’t know any other way.”
Three months after I submitted my adoption homestudy, Samuel was placed in my arms by his birthmother Teaya* in North Carolina. We agreed on his name from a payphone in an airport. During the “waiting period” she would call to check in on him daily. One day he was crying nonstop. I told her I thought he missed her. She hung up the phone.
When I had the clear to leave the state, we stopped by on the way to the airport to say goodbye. She took him in her arms as soon as we walked in and left the room.
Those 30 seconds were emblematic of parenthood overall:
wait and trust.
Becoming Mom
Through Adoption
and a Known Donor
Fast forward 14 years and Marcel Facetimes with his donor during Warriors games, and has a group of friends who — like him — are all re-defining and embracing their own mixed identities from multiracial homes with single parents, guardians, grandparents as primary caretakers and two parent homes.
Marcel just eclipsed me in height I notice during a Facetime with my mother who did the work to be able to hold both her grandsons. Sam is opening up the pingpong table in the living room because we have learned to find our way to the elusive intersection of our very different backgrounds and futures over a good serve and the one place asking for a re-do is almost always a yes.
*The name of Sammy’s birthmother was changed to ensure anonymity.
Lily Dulan. Photographed by Tracy Nguyen
Lily Dulan is an MFT psychotherapist and the founder of The Kara Love Project, a 501c3 organization in loving memory of her precious daughter Kara. The nonprofit helps marginalized children, families, and individuals locally and globally. Lily is the author of the book “Giving Grief Meaning” and 100% of the proceeds go to support The Kara Love Project. Lily leads courses and workshops on The Name Work, and hosts charitable events throughout the year. You can contact her through www.LilyDulan.com.
M: Mental health. I take care of my mental health by finding ways to care for myself each day. As they say on airplanes, I need to put an oxygen mask on myself before I can help others.
O: Open. I’m open, knowing that motherhood presents a variety of joys and challenges. I acknowledge the complexity of life and take the time to grieve when I need to.
T: Trust. I trust in my ability to heal mentally, physically, and spiritually and seek outside help when needed.
H: Healing. I know that healing is a process, and I’m gentle with myself on the journey.
E: Energy. I spend my energy on those who love and support me and move away from those with whom I tend to feel depleted.
R: Restore. I take time to restore in ways that feel good for me, knowing that taking time to go for a walk or listen to my breath is regenerative.
I soon realized the method would also help me move through
all kinds of suffering. Today, I’d like to share this with you, in hopes you can also find peace and healing.
The Name Work Method
The Name Work® method involves working with the letters in:
- The name of someone we loved and lost
- Our own name
- A word or quality you want to focus on
Try to examine each letter in your chosen word and assign qualities to it.
Instead of only words, you can also create complete personal affirmative statements related to each letter in your chosen name. These affirmations will support your journey.
Affirmations can help you remember that there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Here’s another way I did it with Kara’s name:
K: Let’s be kind to ourselves and each other on the journey. We all struggle.
A: Act as if the world is aligned, even if don’t believe or see it now.
R: Take time to pause and regenerate by paying attention to my breath and mindfulness.
A: Remember that taking time to pause brings about meaningful action.
The dominant social paradigm says to sweep infertility, miscarriage, and infant loss under the rug and simply “move on.” I challenge this assumption.
You can face significant challenges and find resilience once again. No matter where you’re in your journey, you can heal.
I invite you to use The Name Work® method as a tool for that journey.
Whether you’ve faced a loss, infertility challenges, or are just exploring what being a mom means to you, I invite you to consider embracing these statements related to the word “mother:”
I needed to trust that others had found their way before me and that I, too would find peace once again.
I started grief therapy and continued seeking out love and light in the world, even when I couldn’t see or feel it.
For me, sometimes that meant getting out of bed and doing the laundry when I didn’t want to.
The choice to live through this horror with hope helped my husband and I choose life. It also led us to eventually adopt our two girls.
In time, this experience also helped me birth The Name Work®, a method that aims to support those in pain.
My life is full today, but it wasn’t easy to get here.
It took me 8 years. But, I finally embraced the idea that our scars can become our greatest blessings if we’re open to finding meaning again.
When grieving, I’d call out Kara’s name in desperation. When she died, her name vanished like a puff of smoke.
I didn’t know it then, but the letters and qualities I linked to her name kept my baby with me.
K: Kindness
A: Alignment
R: Regeneration
A: Action
This exercise would eventually take me to write a book,
“Giving Grief Meaning,” and originate The Name Work®.
"
XXxxxxxxx x x xxxx x x
Our society holds tight to the tale that all of us can conceive and that the path to becoming mom is smooth with soft blankets and little knitted caps.
I’m here to challenge this myth.
I’d like to tell you how grief, anxiety, depression, and trauma are also common on the path to motherhood. But, so is healing.
This is my story. Our infant daughter Kara died of sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS) in 2009, at the tender age of 2 months old.
After years of fertility treatments, ours was an arduous journey to parenthood. It was also intensely painful in the wake of Kara’s passing.
The grief affected my lungs, and I could hardly breathe. I was in such despair that I wanted to die.
One day, I reached out to my friend, Reverend Michael Beckwith. He said my grief had me at a crossroads.
I stood in his office, my head hanging. I showed him a photo of my beloved child, and in that space, with kindness and compassion, he told me, “Lily, you can choose to grow or choose to shrink from this tragedy.”
And then, somehow, amid my pain, I chose growth.
How I Found Peace
and Purpose After
Losing My Child
Samantha Durante Banerjee. Photographed by Laylah Barrayn
Samantha Durante Banerjee is a bereaved mother and an advocate for change as the Executive Director of PUSH for Empowered Pregnancy, a nonprofit organization dedicated to driving down the incidence of stillbirth in the United States. She is determined to raise awareness of stillbirth and break down the stigma around pregnancy loss by writing candidly about grief, her stillborn daughter, and her experience of pregnancy and parenting after loss. She also moonlights as an author of young adult science fiction.
I learned that trauma and sleep deprivation — both of which I’d been stockpiling in spades — can compound these devastating effects.
And I learned that even though I wasn’t acting on my anxieties – i.e., not avoiding the stairs even though every time I mounted them I envisioned my baby tumbling from my arms and cracking like an egg on the tile — that just having the thoughts was taking a toll on my health and eroding my ability to cope with the normal stressors of parenthood.
Each of those pinpricks of light formed a path, leading straight to that coveted escape hatch.
And it turned out I wasn’t a “bad” mother, after all — just an exhausted, traumatized one who needed a temporary pharmaceutical boost to get her brain back on the right track.
I, however, didn’t understand how they had all managed to clamber up onto the bandwagon of relief and gratitude, while my feet were still firmly cemented in the muck of terror and disbelief and undeserved-but-all-too-real soul-crushing guilt.
I didn’t understand why no one else’s brain buzzed 24/7 with all the myriad dangers that would surely result in my having to bury yet another child, if I let my guard down for even one solitary second.
I didn’t understand where they had found the escape hatch from this nightmare world while I was still so very lost in its labyrinthine depths.
But as I slogged through those lonely dark corridors, feeling my way along the clammy, suffocating walls, trying desperately (and often failing) to avoid the slippery spirals of self-loathing and regret that seemed to spring from nowhere beneath my feet, one night I realized I wasn’t alone there.
As the rocking chair creaked under me — in the nursery that was meant for her – my son resting (still, unimaginably, alive) against my breast, I pulled out that trusty app to enshrine another few hours I had managed to keep him breathing, and I saw it: there, in my social media feed, another mom detailing her view of the same desolate landscape I’d been drifting all these months.
She put words to the silent miasma that’d been smothering me: PPA, PTSD, “intrusive thoughts.”
And suddenly, I had a map.
I searched these terms and found yet more stories with more precise words, each wrapping up my messy, sticky emotional turmoil into neat little boxes, each topped with a glossy bow that glinted in the moonlight of my ever-lasting night.
I learned that for some mothers, natural hormonal shifts after birth can alter the chemical balance in their brain. I learned that for many, this is something that can only be corrected with medication.
Instead, I was told her heart had inexplicably stopped beating, and I delivered her lifeless body, all 6 lbs 8 oz and 20 inches of newborn perfection, except for the one thing that really mattered.
Needless to say, when you have every privilege at your disposal and do absolutely everything you’re supposed to do for nine long months, and then your pregnancy still somehow ends in a bizarre horrorshow that spits you out into an unthinkable alternate universe which no person should ever have to brave, your trust in things happening as expected takes a bit of a hit.
And so, a year and two weeks later, I emerged from the doors of that very same hospital in yet another surreal fog, this time my arms blessedly full instead of achingly empty.
However, I was holding not only a miraculously alive baby, but also three other invisible siblings that I had nurtured through that harrowing pregnancy right alongside my son: postpartum anxiety (PPA), post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and the searing resurgence of a bottomless abyss of complicated grief.
This was not how I pictured my first years of motherhood.
But my son was alive! And that meant everything was okay now. Right?
Everyone else certainly seemed to think so.
"
XXxxxxxxx x x xxxx x x
Every time my son went to sleep the first year of his life, I said goodbye. I’m a millennial parent, so I can tell you exactly how many times that was (as I wrote every single one down in an app on my phone): 2,558.
2,558 times I watched my infant son close his eyes, fully expecting to never see them open again. I knew the odds of this actually happening were unlikely, but I just couldn’t convince my heart otherwise; after all, I’d never expected his older sister to close her eyes one day and never wake up, but that’s exactly what she did.
One year and two weeks before my son was born — just two day before the due date of my “textbook” first pregnancy — I arrived at the hospital in labor ready to finally bring home my baby girl.
Finding the Light
After Loss
Bridgette Bartlett Royall. Photographed by Laylah Barrayn
Bridgette Bartlett Royall is an award-winning content creator who's written for BET.com, AARP.com, Essence, PEOPLE, The New York Times, as well as Coca-Cola, and Johnson & Johnson. Passionate about compelling storytelling, Bridgette also worked on bestselling book projects chronicling the lives of notables like Maya Angelou, Aretha Franklin, and Michelle Obama. She's the founder of BlackBridalBliss.com. (@blkbridalbliss) Ultimately,
her most challenging yet rewarding job is raising her precocious 3-year-old son, Langston.
You can view more of Bridgette's work here.
However, I had nearly 10 months to adjust to the responsibility. As he grew, my belly grew. We were, quite literally, growing together. In an odd, perhaps naive way, I felt some type of control while he was in my womb. But once I gave birth to Langston, I felt as if I had very little to no control.
Following around 12 hours of labor, with no epidural nor even a doctor present, I delivered my son with one push — much to the hospital staff's surprise.
He was healthy and beautiful, and if his entrance into this world was any indication, he was destined to make an unforgettable mark in his way. I was grateful beyond words. As a 40+-year-old Black woman in America, I'm all too aware of the grim
maternal health statistics for women like me.
Post-birth, I wanted to continue to shield my son from harm's way as I did while pregnant ... to maintain control. Practically overnight, I went from everyone, even strangers on the subway, inquiring about how we were doing to suddenly the concern seemingly only being about my baby.
After birth, I felt constant judgment and scrutiny on what he was wearing, when he fed, how often he slept, was bathed, and so on. And despite a bevy of research and support — from specially brewed tea to a lactation consultant, I failed, at least I
thought I did, at breastfeeding.
What complicated this season was that I felt I had no
right to voice my concerns for fear of sounding like a selfish, uncaring mother. Just like so many mothers, especially Black women. How could I explain to anyone that I couldn't humanly love my son any more and that I was also experiencing an undesirable funk during the first weeks of his life?
Thankfully I never had thoughts of physically harming myself or my son. But my mental health during this fragile time was far from ideal.
Though I had resources some new moms don't have, including my mother coming to help with housework, I couldn't afford therapy during that period.
During one of the most monumental times in my life, I often felt alone.
But like a wind that starts as a strong force blowing away everything in sight yet over time calms down to a barely noticeable soft breeze, my postpartum depression passed.*
I don't recall an exact end date.
Although I was never professionally diagnosed with postpartum depression or postpartum anxiety, I strongly feel I experienced both. There was an emptiness deep inside me that I couldn't attribute to anything else. I later learned that after giving birth, the body typically experiences many hormonal shifts. This, coupled with extreme fatigue, left me feeling like a shell of my former self most days.
For nearly 40 weeks, I carried my son and did my best to protect him. Like most pregnant women, I read countless books, blogs and more to prepare myself for this new chapter in my life.
I knew that everything I ate, drank and consumed (from television to music to social media content) could and likely would affect him.
No doubt it was a lot of pressure, especially after having endured:
- 3 surgeries
- a painful miscarriage
- D and C (dilation and curettage)
- several unsuccessful rounds of
intrauterine insemination (IUI)
- in vitro fertilization (IVF)
All to conceive my "sonshine."
"
XXxxxxxxx x x xxxx x x
Imagine studying extremely hard for a test. So much so that you're almost certain you're going to ace it. You want nothing more than to do exceedingly well on this test. And then test day comes — and you feel as if you have failed the exam. Miserably.
There's material on the test you didn't study for. Plus, so much of the material you did study is not on the test. You wonder if you're going to eventually fail the entire course. There are no makeup exams and no tutors to help you grasp and better comprehend the material.
Oh, and the coursework changes daily, sometimes seemingly by the hour. How are you supposed to keep up — much less excel at this?
The anecdote captures the first several months following the birth of my only child, Langston.
This Is Not a Test (It's a Group Project)
Article source
Symptoms: Ectopic pregnancy. (2018). nhs.uk/conditions/ectopic-pregnancy/symptoms/
And I wasn't pregnant with just one baby; I was pregnant with two. We were having twins. A boy and a girl.
Once again, I realized family planning wasn't going according
to plan. But this time, it felt wonderful.
My husband and I received another surprise a little over nine months later. I was pregnant again, and we hadn't even been trying.
Nothing had gone according to plan, and in retrospect, that's exactly how I would want it to transpire. Though my journey came with its challenges and surprises, it led us to where we
are now — with full hearts and a full house! And it led me to embrace my intuition, my mom sense.
But a few weeks later, I discovered my pregnancy progress hormones (hCG levels) were abnormally low. I shortly began experiencing sharp muscle spasms in my left shoulder. The pain got even worse at night.
I decided to call my friend Juhi, who was training to become an OB-GYN.
After listening to my symptoms, Juhi sympathetically said to me, "I have a feeling that this could be an ectopic pregnancy."
I had never heard that term before, so she explained that an ectopic pregnancy is when the fetus implants outside of the uterus. This commonly occurs in one of the fallopian tubes, but the fetus can also get stuck in the ovary, abdominal cavity, or cervix.
An ectopic pregnancy is life threatening. Since a fallopian tube is not large enough for a fetus to grow, if the fetus stays in the tube for long enough, the tube will burst, which can kill the mother.
Imagine your doctors keep telling you "Be happy, you're pregnant!" and try as you might, you've got a sinking feeling something's not right.
Your inner voice might whisper "your pregnancy is not real."
You might be dismissed or brushed off, only to find out your intuition was right.
This is my pregnancy origin story.
My husband and I tried to conceive for about a year without much luck. Within the year, I had successfully gotten pregnant three times ... all of them quickly leading to early miscarriage, also known as a "chemical pregnancy."
This is when the egg and the sperm form an embryo ... but by week five, the embryo stops developing and is naturally expelled from the body.
So, after a year of trying, I began taking a fertility drug known as clomiphene to help with my ovulation. And with the combination of clomiphene and timed intercourse, I eventually got pregnant. I thought I was finally on the right path.
"It's really happening," I said to my husband.
Embracing 'momsense' when pregnancy plans
go awry
Bridgette's
Story
Samantha's
Story
Kanika's
Story
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Story
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Eventually, I gained more confidence and felt more like myself. The more time I spent with my son outside of my womb, the more I learned about him, and the more he learned about me.
Do I have all the answers? No. I'm constantly making mistakes. Worrying comes with the territory, but so does joy!
I know I'll be tested daily. But I'll also learn something daily.
I don't need to have it all figured out for a cumulative test.
Every day with my son is a welcoming lesson. There's no passing or failing — only loving and learning.
Article resources
Bouzaglou A, et al. (2020). Pregnancy at 40 years old and above: Obstetrical, fetal, and neonatal outcomes. Is age an independent risk factor for those complications? https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fmed.2020.00208/full
A common symptom of an ectopic pregnancy is
referral pain in the shoulder because there are nerve endings from the uterus that lead all the way to the left shoulder.
All these facts sunk in with a thud, "Wow, we aren't going to
have a baby now."
The only route is a termination when you have an ectopic pregnancy since the fetus is not viable when it grows in the fallopian tube. Detecting it too late is life threatening for the mother.
The next day I went to the clinic to complete my routine blood work and complete my mission to have my potential ectopic pregnancy confirmed.
After having to beg three different healthcare professionals
and waiting for over an hour, I finally got into an exam room. Everyone kept telling me the same thing: It was too early for an ultrasound (7 seven weeks pregnant), and I was likely just
being paranoid.
Within a few seconds of examining my uterus in the ultrasound, my doctor confirmed what I already knew: my uterus was empty.
"Here we go again," I thought. Another failed pregnancy.
Since my ectopic was discovered early on, I was given two rounds of shots of methotrexate. In moderate to high doses, methotrexate is a drug administered to cancer patients to kill
off a growing mass in the body.
The drug completely drained my energy for a couple of weeks. I would get lost in my thoughts, wondering why this happened to me and why my body was not equipped for pregnancy. I began to believe my body had turned on me and that this was all my fault.
Over the next few months, I discovered that so many women I knew, neighbors, acquaintances, and colleagues, had gone through their own pregnancy battles. We just kept it to ourselves.
A new world had opened up. It was like I was initiated into this secret club of women. A community where it was acceptable to discuss the uphill battles of conception. To discuss the disappointment and the loss and the grief.
A few months later, I discovered I was pregnant.
Without this mother’s encouragement to use my own mom voice and spread sepsis awareness, I don’t think I would be where I am today in my healing journey. My goal is to help spread awareness about the symptoms of sepsis to ensure that no mother must face the battle I fought and help others heal from birth trauma.
Kanika Chadda-Gupta. Photographed by Laylah Barrayn
Kanika is a wife, mom of three [twins + 1] and CEO of Kronologie Agency, a full-service digital marketing firm specializing in branding and web design. As a former television anchor for CNN, Kanika is a born storyteller and host of the top-rated podcast, "That’s Total Mom Sense" where she interviews industry experts on parenting, lifestyle, and wellness. You can learn more about Kanika Chadda-Gupta and her podcast at www.thatstotalmomsense.com.
Article source
Symptoms: Ectopic pregnancy. (2018). nhs.uk/conditions/ectopic-pregnancy/symptoms/
The road to motherhood looks different for women and childbearing people of all ages, genders, races, and abilities.
It can be paved with tears of joy and pain, love and fear, and unique sets of challenges.
Across these experiences, we know one thing to be true:
The intersection of motherhood and mental health is deep, important, and intrinsically connected to our individual and collective well-being.
In celebration of Mental Health Awareness Month,
Psych Central is spotlighting maternal mental health in an original content series called “Becoming Mom” to:
- create community and healing through compassionate storytelling and educational content
- honor the mothers-to-be, the mothers who want to be, and the people who wish to become mothers but may not be able
- amplify the voices of Mothers of Color, queer parents, women who have survived birth trauma, moms with mental health conditions, women who choose not to mother, and everyone
in between
The road to motherhood looks different for women and childbearing people of all ages, genders, races, and abilities.
It can be paved with tears of joy and pain, love and fear, and unique sets of challenges.
Across these experiences, we know one thing to be true:
The intersection of motherhood and mental health is deep, important, and intrinsically connected to our individual and collective well-being.
In celebration of Mental Health Awareness Month,
Psych Central is spotlighting maternal mental health in an original content series called “Becoming Mom” to:
- create community and healing through
compassionate storytelling and
educational content
- honor the mothers-to-be, the mothers
who want to be, and the people who wish
to become mothers but may not be able
- amplify the voices of Mothers of Color, queer parents, women who have survived birth trauma, moms with mental health conditions, women who choose not to mother, and everyone in between
Andrea Rice
You’re Not Broken:
The Mental Health Effects of Infertility
Morgan Mandriota
Child-Free by Choice: Challenges of Deciding Not to Become Mom
The road to motherhood looks different for women and childbearing people of all ages, genders, races, and abilities. It can be paved with tears of joy and pain, love and fear, and unique sets of challenges.
Across these experiences, we know one thing to be true: The intersection of motherhood and mental health is deep, important, and intrinsically connected to
our individual and collective well-being.
In celebration of Mental Health Awareness Month, Psych Central is spotlighting maternal mental health in an original
content series called “Becoming Mom” to:
- create community and healing through
compassionate storytelling and
educational content
- honor the mothers-to-be, the mothers
who want to be, and the people who wish
to become mothers but may not be able
- amplify the voices of Mothers of Color, queer parents, women who have survived birth trauma, moms with mental health conditions, women who choose not to mother, and everyone in between
Andrea Rice
You’re Not Broken:
The Mental Health Effects of Infertility
Taneasha White
What I Wish More People Knew About Queer Parenthood
Back to top
Morgan Mandriota
Child-Free by Choice: Challenges of Deciding Not to Become Mom
Taneasha White
What I Wish More
People Knew About Queer Parenthood
Andrea Rice
You’re Not Broken:
The Mental Health
Effects of Infertility
Mom
Postpartum Depression:
This Is Not a Test (It's a Group Project)
Postpartum Depression:
When pregnancy plans go awry
Embracing
'momsense'
Healing from a Traumatic
Birth Experience
Beyond
Becoming
Mom:
After Loss
Finding the Light
After Losing My Child
How I
Found Peace and Purpose
My North Stars:
When pregnancy plans go awry
Embracing
'mom sense'
Healing from a Traumatic
Birth Experience
Beyond
Becoming
Mom:
After Loss
Finding the Light
After Losing My Child
How I
Found Peace and Purpose
Becoming Mom
Through Adoption
and a Known Donor
My North Stars:
Becoming
Mom
Embracing 'momsense' when pregnancy plans
go awry
when pregnancy
plans go awry
Embracing 'momsense'
Postpartum Depression:
This Is Not a Test (It's a Group Project)
This Is Not a Test (It's a Group Project)
Postpartum Depression:
Beyond Becoming
Mom: Healing from
a Traumatic
Birth Experience
Healing from
a Traumatic
Birth Experience
Beyond
Becoming Mom:
Finding the Light
After Loss
How I Found Peace
and Purpose After
Losing My Child
After Losing My Child
How I
Found Peace
and Purpose
My North Stars:
Becoming Mom
Through Adoption
and a Known Donor
Becoming Mom
Through Adoption
and a Known Donor
My North Stars:
Becoming
* Around 5% of people who experience PPD said their symptoms lasted for 3 years or longer. If your symptoms persist, help, hope, and healing is available through these resources:
- Office on Women’s Health
- Postpartum Support International
- Postpartum Progress: Provides locations of postpartum support organizations worldwide
Becoming
Mom
Around 5% of people who experience PPD said their symptoms lasted for 3 years or longer. If your symptoms persist, help, hope, and healing is available through these resources:
- Office on Women’s Health
- Postpartum Support International
- Postpartum Progress: Provides locations of postpartum support organizations worldwide
