Pelvic floor - A mothers personal reflection

It’s always there,

Sitting at the bottom,

Holding on tight, yet somehow not tight enough.

Squeezing out, pushing down, a preasure.

PUSH the words hit my gut with the force of a heavy fist

Taking me back…

Back into the the water into that dark room.

A woman shouting in time with every ripple of pain consuming my body.

PUSH DOWN like you are doing a poo.

An odd comparison I find, that birth is like “pooing”. It feels like an oversimplified, patronising way of supporting women in birth.

“You have to push sweetheart” said the midwife

“You need to listen to her Chloe” said my husband.

“I can’t”

I am failing I know it in my heart. If I cannot even birth the baby right how will I be able to be a good mum?

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

And this memory?

It lives here at the bottom.

It’s nestled in deep, tucked away. Invisable to other humans around me.

On good days (after ovulation and before my next beautiful bleed) in a window of 7 to 10 days its invisble to me too,.

Then I might run across the road, or jump up and down playing with my children

And the PUSH comes back.

It is trying it’s best to escape. To leave the brain that no longer believes it cannot.

The feeling of failure and “cant'' is remebered in my body but my brain knows it absolbtley CAN!

It can, I can! I can mother with all my heart, love with my soul, heal with actions and kindness.

I can my brain knows this but my body it stills clings on. My pelvic floor holds the memory of “can’t”

I dance with these two words.

I know what it true,

I just have to make my body beleive.

And that my dear mother could be a life long piece of work.