Harley Maher

Harley Maher (29 - they/them) and Keagan (1)

Des Moines, Iowa {Virtual FaceTime session}

“I had an abortion at age 24, when I was with an ex. We had just moved in together the summer before, and neither of us were at a point where we were ready to be parents. When we had first started dating, I’d made it fairly clear that I didn’t want to have children until after marriage, and he agreed to that. So when I found out I was pregnant, he supported me choosing to have an abortion. It’s a decision I’m glad I made, as my ex and I are no longer together and I’ve always known I only wanted one child.

It took me up until earlier this year to open up about the abortion, because of the huge stigma of shame that surrounds abortion and the fear I felt of judgement from my family. Now that I’ve talked about it about as publicly as I can, I feel a huge weight has been lifted off of me. I’m also glad to now be a voice to show others that they don’t have to hide their experience, and that it’s okay to talk about it in their own time.

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

As a nonbinary parent, it has been a roller coaster regarding my body image. I’ve always been viewed as a woman due to my shape, and pregnancy didn’t help with that. I was very thankful that I didn’t show at all in my first trimester, or much of the second. It gave me time to work through any dysphoria and come to terms with my body and what changes it was going through. There are still days that I struggle, but honestly going through pregnancy brought me closer to loving myself and my shape than a lot of other events in life, and I’m grateful for that.

What was your postpartum experience?

Stressful. Keagan ended up in NICU less than 24 hours after they were born, and we were there for five days trying to get their blood sugar to a stable level. During this time, I dealt with a falling out with my father and his wife, who felt that I was personally attacking them by standing my ground when it comes to using neutral pronouns for Keagan until they can express a desire for something else. They felt entitled to know what genitals Keagan has, and that isn’t information I felt comfortable giving, knowing they would use gendered language once they knew. I haven’t spoken to anyone on my father’s side of the family in nearly a year, and none of them have reached out to try to communicate.

Body wise, I’ve always struggled with weight and I didn’t shed the pregnancy pounds as quickly as I’d hoped, which added another layer of stress. My mom flew out to stay with us for two weeks, though, and that really helped give me time to recover without having to put a lot of responsibility on my spouse. I’m 100% certain things went better than they could have because we had her present.

What is your truth that you'd pass along to your former self, or a new parent?

It’s okay to hold your boundaries, even if other people don’t like them. The people who matter won’t mind, and the people who mind don’t matter.

How has your (pregnancy/birth/postpartum/parenting) been affected by COVID-19?

Keagan turned a year old in April, and we still haven’t been able to have a party to celebrate. We haven’t been able to see family outside of video chats, and it’s hitting me harder than I thought it would. We’re really hoping to be able to have some semblance of a celebration with other people come June, but I’m trying not to get my hopes up too much.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

I was really excited about the representation of nonbinary parents that this project offered, and felt that my story is one that other people could benefit from. I also feel like having a few photos to look back on will help me to see myself in a better, more positive light, both physically and as a reflection of me as a parent.

Elizabeth and Nicole Russell

Elizabeth Russell (35 - she/her). wife Nicole Russell (35 - she/her) and Emmett (5.5 months - they/them)

New Mexico | Maryland

Elizabeth shares -

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

I have a trauma history dating back pretty far and from that an eating disorder that I thought wrecked my body and ability to have children. Before having my son I always looked at my body with a lot of fear but, now, post birth, I'm able to simply observe my body and be amazed at the life it has created. I have a cesarean scar and a postpartum pouch right now, but that's not where my focus goes. Instead I see the part of my body that carried my son, with wonder and grace.

What was your postpartum experience?

Initially everything sort of flowed. I healed from my cesarean fairly seamlessly and I was able to navigate new mom-hood with my wife without too many issues. I wasn't expecting the anxiety I started to experience when I returned to work, or needing to take medication for it, however. Thankfully I'm pretty aware of my own internal state so I didn't go months with this anxiety that had me leaving work immediately, but it is still hard to accept that that was help I needed.

What is your truth that you'd pass along to your former self, or a new parent? 

Your own childhood does not define your ability to be a parent or your capacity to meet your child’s needs.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

Bodies are fucking amazing and the fact that my body grew and housed such an fascinating little human is something I will always be most proud of.

Nicole shares -

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

One of my first memories is a 3-year-old me thinking that I was fat. I have always judged my body and developed an eating disorder partly because of my dissatisfaction, and spent much of my early-mid twenties in and out of treatment. In 2011, I was in a serious car accident that left me with an abdominal scar, and another surgery scar was added in 2015. My body’s ability to heal fascinated me and gave me a bit of a different perspective.

While I still don't love my body, the older I've gotten, the less important it is to be "perfect." My wife loves me as I am and Emmett doesn't care what my body looks like. Being a good mom is more important than worrying about my body's scars and imperfections. Somehow, I don’t feel the same pressure I felt in my twenties to have a perfect body. Plus, the amount of effort and time it took to obsessively restrict my food and lose weight 10-15 years ago just wouldn’t be possible now.

It's important for me to not pass on body image issues to Emmett because I don't ever want him to judge himself the way that I've judged myself. I want to teach him that his body is amazing and his own.

What was your postpartum experience?

While I didn't physically carry Emmett, adding a new member to the family is a big adjustment. The three of us were home together for 12 weeks and it was great to spend that time together, but then Sarah went back to work and we went back to “real life.” I've sometimes gotten down on myself for not being able to calm Emmett fast enough, or wondered if I'm doing a good job.

I've always wanted to be a mom but didn't carry, and occasionally feel a bit jealous that my wife's DNA is a part of him. Sometimes I worry that the connection between me and Emmett won't be as strong because we're not biologically related, but then he smiles at me with his big eyes and I know that he knows I'm his mom.

I'm the stay at home parent and sometimes (or a lot of the time) it's exhausting taking care of a tiny person! Emmett is a loud baby and is in a squealing/screaming stage. I’m a quiet person who gets overwhelmed with noise so I need time to myself some days. It’s ok - and healthy - to not LOVE being a parent 24/7. It’s not always fun but I'm so glad this is our family now.

What is your truth that you'd pass along to your former self, or a new parent?

It's definitely okay to not have all the answers! Google is not always your friend and will only make you paranoid as a new parent. Mistakes happen - you'll bump your kids' head on something or accidentally cut his finger with nail clippers - but it's somehow a weird rite of passage.

It’s also okay to not be totally happy with your body, but live life anyway! I wasted so much time trying to achieve the impossible. There was always something to change before I could be satisfied. Looking back, there was nothing wrong with my body then.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

I wanted to participate as a challenge to myself and to capture our family right now. When I read others’ stories and see their pictures, I only see their positives. Being vulnerable is terrifying but it’s ultimately what connects us as humans.

It's also important for others to see LGBTQ+ families who look just like everyone else. Some people have demonized the LGBTQ+ community but we're just like them; we just happen to love a little differently.

Megan MacTurk

Megan MacTurk (32 - she/her) and Kieran (19 mo)

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

For most, if not all, of my life, I was considered “skinny” by society’s standards, which meant I had a level of privilege when it came to body image - and my family never let me forget it. I grew up hearing a lot of comments from other women in my family, such as, “I’ve never been that small in my life,” Be happy that you didn’t inherit my body shape,” and “Enjoy eating whatever you want while it lasts,” along with other disparaging comments about their own body image. So, while I knew that I possessed privilege in this area, I also felt a level of guilt for having the body that I did and fear that, if it changed or got bigger, my self-worth would somehow diminish.

When my wife and I chose to use medical assistance to help us get pregnant, I was put on fertility medication and after a failed round of IVF with our first donor, my body was left bruised and bloated. But, once I became pregnant, I really loved how I looked as my belly grew and had extreme gratitude for my body and its ability to grow another human without any serious complications. I promised myself that, after I gave birth, I would be patient with my body and not put pressure on myself to lose weight or “bounce back.”

Then, a major injury occurred weeks after giving birth that left me immobile for three months, which impacted my weight and strength. Now, 19 months after giving birth, I’m struggling to balance the gratitude I have for my body, while also feeling like I’m not in my own body anymore. Discovering my new identity as a mother has also meant discovering this new body that came with it. I’m so proud that I grew life, was able to give birth without medication, and worked hard to heal after my injury.

It’s important to me that my daughter grows up with a healthy body image, and my wife and I will be the models of that. I’m trying to give myself the time and space to reflect on my relationship with my body image throughout my life and the subconscious pressures I felt growing up, along with the new pressures society places on postpartum bodies.

What was your postpartum experience? 

Between childbirth classes and the knowledge our doula shared with us, my wife and I felt mostly prepared for life after childbirth. I knew that I would be limiting physical activity as my body recovered, my wife would be taking care of the needs around the house, and my job was to rest and provide nourishment for our baby. But I wasn’t prepared for how that would impact my mental and emotional health. My daughter’s elbow got stuck as I was pushing her out, which resulted in a unique tear – I’ll never forget hearing the midwife say, “Wow, she really dug a rut in you,” as she sewed me up. I was in a lot of pain and discomfort. Walking looked like waddling, I couldn’t stand up without help, and using the restroom was terrifying. I despised my lack of independence. Between healing, the postpartum hormonal changes, and the new reality of parenthood, I spent a lot of time questioning myself and my abilities.

It took 6 weeks until I began feeling like myself again, physically and emotionally. The tear was finally healed, the baby was exclusively breastfeeding, and I truly felt like I was starting to get the hang of being at home with this new little life. Then, when my daughter was 7 weeks old, I tripped while carrying her and fell. Luckily, I was able to hold onto her as we stumbled, and she didn’t fall out of my arms until we landed. Even though we were already close to the ground, I’ll never forget the sight and sound of watching her little body hit the floor, and her immediate wails. As we fell, I felt my ankle breaking. I had broken all three bones and tore the ligament in my left ankle. My ankle is now held together by two plates, 11 screws, and a prosthetic ligament.

We immediately moved in with my mom, where we had help from her, my mother-in-law, and other family and friends. We stayed there for over 3 months as I recovered. I was immobile for quite some time and needed help doing absolutely everything, including bathing and getting on and off of the toilet. The frustration I felt when needing help after giving birth was now tenfold. On top of that, I felt helpless as a parent. Our daughter cried a lot in her first few months, and nursing was sometimes the only thing that helped soothe her. However, I was on much-needed pain medication, which prevented me from breastfeeding. Suddenly, I was writing in pain from my broken bones, while also desperately trying to pump to keep my milk in. Hearing my new baby scream from hunger and frustration, and not being able to do anything about it, broke my heart. I tried getting her to breastfeed again once I was off of the medication with the help of a lactation consultant. I was waking up every 2 hours to pump for 30 minutes at a time, we did skin-to-skin time again, and my mother-in-law even drove us to a breastfeeding support group while I was still on crutches to help get her back on the breast. I had looked forward to breastfeeding while pregnant, and I expected to breastfeed for some time; I wasn’t prepared to have that taken away so soon and so suddenly. But, after barely two weeks being bottle-fed and a month of trying to rebuild our breastfeeding relationship, my daughter had given clear signs that she was not going to be returning to breastfeeding, and I dedicated myself to pumping as frequently as I could.

While my wife and I were extremely thankful that our daughter wasn’t hurt in the accident and for all of the help we received during that time, those three months were extremely difficult for our family. We went through so much to get our daughter here, and then we felt like we missed out on so many parenting experiences during my recovery time. I had to relearn how to be a stay-at-home parent with limited mobility. I also developed anxiety about Kieran’s safety and well-being after we fell, which I’m still dealing with today. After having one of my worst fears as a parent come true, it made me realize how many things could “go wrong” at any moment. While most of the physical impacts of the accident are faded, the mental and emotional ones are still very present.

What is your truth that you'd pass along to your former self, or a new parent?

Parenting is weird. Suddenly, you’re responsible for this little life and the weight of that often times feels unbearable and overwhelming. For a period of time, you’re consumed with the bodily functions of another person, while possibly going through major bodily changes yourself. Be gentle with yourself.

Fuck what other people tell you; everybody is the perfect parent until they’re actively parenting. It’s ok to not be ok, truly. While our society puts so much pressure on people to stay pregnant and give birth, very little support and understanding is often afforded to those just born and those who gave birth or are a new parent. But you deserve that support and understanding. Even more so, you deserve the love.

Pay close attention to how you speak to yourself. If you wouldn’t say it to your child, don’t say it to yourself. We’re always teaching, even when we don’t realize it. Oh, and whether you need to hear this or not: you're doing great.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

As a queer parent, and as somebody who went through a physical trauma during my postpartum experience that left residual emotional and mental scars, I appreciate the many different voices represented in this movement. Parenthood can feel very isolating, especially with false portrayals on social media. But I appreciate people bearing it all (literally and figuratively) in this movement and sharing their experiences because it has allowed me to connect to their stories. For me, it builds a sense of community that I didn’t even know I needed, even though I don’t know any of these people personally. Seeing bodies that look like mine and that have been through similar experiences as mine has helped me reconnect with my own body.

Caitlin MacIntyre

Caitlin MacIntyre (30 - she/her) and Rafferty (5)

Houston, TX

“The month prior to conceiving Rafferty I had an early miscarriage. It was technically a "chemical pregnancy" which I feel like isn't seen as a real pregnancy or loss, but after struggling with infertility and wondering if I'd ever be able to get pregnant, it was super devastating and I couldn't get out of bed for days. I had already imagined an entire life from the moment I saw those two lines. It felt like yet another failure of my body after the endless heartbreak and frustration that my PCOS had caused, even though I knew logically that wasn't true. We had told a lot of people in our families as soon as we found out, since everyone knew we were trying, and then we had to tell them and our donor that I was actually not pregnant anymore. I couldn't bear to talk to anyone about it, so my partner did all the calling and explaining and shielded me completely from everything, but I know that made her own grieving process more difficult. She was, and always has been, the best partner in everything. I was so relieved to get pregnant right after, but where the first pregnancy had been pure joy and elation and unfettered optimism, it was really hard for me to just be happy and trust we were going to get a baby after losing the first pregnancy. Fortunately, our little Raffe made sure I vomited well into the second semester so I would know he was there before I started to be able to feel him moving around. ;)

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

It's been a long time since I've had any self-consciousness about the way my body looks. I think my body is beautiful and I think it has been beautiful in all its iterations. All the women in my family have this body-- a lot of the people I love look this way, and I think we're all spectacular. When I was trying to get pregnant I did a super intense Paleo diet to try to regulate my hormones--essentially I was eating nothing that I liked eating and a lot of times eating nothing at all because I couldn't find convenient food that was compliant, but was willing to do anything for a baby. I lost a TON of weight and looked almost unrecognizable to myself. Everyone always commented on how amazing I looked, and how much weight I'd lost, which was not a compliment, since I felt like I wasn't living in my real body, it was just this temporary form while I maintained this ridiculous, restrictive, and honestly, disordered eating, and clearly it was the one people thought was better.

But I did eventually get pregnant, and I LOVED that experience. I loved a little human inside of me. I felt radiant and amazing and just ecstatic. I had a great birth and breastfed Raffe for over 3 years, which I also absolutely loved, and then when he weaned I gained all the weight back and then quite a bit. My body is the biggest its ever been by far and I think I look beautiful and sexy. I love seeing the ways carrying and feeding him have impacted and changed and left marks on my body, and I also feel really myself and really comfortable with my body in this form. I also appreciate it so much for doing all the hard work, and it was hard for my poor cystic ovaries, to give me Rafferty.

Parenting has also made me more intentional in thinking about my body --to talk frankly and with affection about my body and the way it looks to my son and also just in general to the people around me, for my son to see that I think my body is great and for him to hopefully learn to love his body and see the beauty in the diversity of bodies around him. Unfortunately, I definitely have struggled a lot with institutionalized fatphobia in a much bigger way in this larger body (even as a small fat with quite a lot of size privilege) and that has made for a lot of challenges and frustrations and heartache in my ongoing infertility struggle.

What was your postpartum experience?

I had a magical (and intense) labor and birth at home in the water. I felt so loved and supported by my birth team--my amazing midwife, my mom, my sister, and my partner. When I dreamed of what my birth would look like, the reality ended up pretty darn close. I felt powerful and strong and so at peace after he was born. I had a great postpartum adjustment. My partner, Jennifer, was amazing at supporting me. I didn't leave the bed aside from bathroom trips for a full week (except to visit my new nephew- my sister who was at my birth went into labor the day after me)-and I was able to heal and choose when I wanted to do more at my own pace. Jennifer even facetimed me from the closet so I could pick Rafferty's outfits without getting out of bed.

Breastfeeding went very smoothly aside from a bout of mastitis a few months in, and we adjusted to side lying nursing and co-sleeping quickly so I was tired, but not super exhausted, even though he nursed essentially all night long. It felt so right to finally have my baby. I felt like I had been waiting for him forever and wanting children was the one thing I had always known to my core I wanted. When I was a kid and people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I knew I was suppose to pick a career outside of the home, but I always could just think "MOM!" So when he was finally here it just felt so serendipitous, like-- finally.

I know a lot of people struggle with feeling like they're losing themselves after having a baby, but for me I felt like, "There she is." Like this is where I've been heading all along and I've finally made it. I felt like I knew what to do intuitively and I loved figuring him out and getting to know him, and I loved seeing my partnership and relationship grow and shift with the addition of this tiny, perfect person. It felt like such a relief to have finally arrived. Writing it down it seems like an overly polished fantasy world, and it certainly wasn't (and isn't) without its emotions, challenges, and frustrations, but I feel like my postpartum time was one of the best times of my life, and certainly the start to the best chapter of my life (so far).

What is your truth? 

My truth is that I am a powerful and confident and talented woman. I feel parenting is my calling and I feel so lucky to be able to do it, and I am also very good at it. The work I do as a mother to my child and a caregiver to the people in my life is incredibly valuable. Even if people can't see all the things I'm doing, I can, and I don't have to play small or downplay my value. I want new parents to know that the work you do day in and day out, the slog, the invisible unseen labor you are constantly holding is incredible, and just because we live in a society that doesn't value caregiving labor, doesn't mean its not indescribably, immeasurably valuable. You don't have to downplay yourself and your skills and your talents, just because they don't come with a paycheck, and you don't have to hold yourself to impossible standards of perfection to know you're doing an awesome job.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

After struggling with annovulatory PCOS and some known donor complications with Rafferty, I knew it might be hard to get pregnant again. With R I managed to get pregnant with DIY at-home insemination with a known donor both times I actually ovulated after a year and a half of stringent diet, twice weekly accupuncture, and Chinese medicine. When we were ready to try again I decided I didn't want to restrict my eating in a way that didn't feel healthy or life-giving for my body, and I especially didn't want to severely restrict my eating with my child watching me. So I decided I would take fertility drugs and then I would certainly ovulate and when I was able to ovulate, I would get pregnant easily.

We started the process almost 3 years ago and I'm obviously still not pregnant. I fully believe that if I had a lower BMI or I wasn't queer I would have a baby by now. Doctors assume if I just lost weight all my problems would magically be solved. Instead of making habit/behavior based suggestions (or making them but assuming I'm not compliant because I'm still fat), trying different medications and protocols, or reassessing when things don't work all they can talk about is losing weight or doing IUIs or IVF which I can't afford instead of just concentrating on working on getting me to ovulate.

My first OBGYN said I would NEVER get pregnant, refused to prescribe anything but Clomid, which I am resistant to. He also wrote on my actual medical chart that I didn't want to try IUIs at a fertility clinic (which cost $3,000 a pop) and wanted to "continue using a turkey baster." My last OB/GYN stopped prescribing me letrozole, which had been working for me, because I hadn't gotten pregnant after 3 ovulatory cycles and one where I didn't ovulate. The last cycle, he actually told me that this was "really frustrating for [him]." For HIM. The fertility clinic I visited wouldn't give me meds and monitoring if I was doing DIY cycles at home, which is the only thing we can afford because our insurance doesn't cover fertility. Every clinic in my major city we called said the same thing. They cited STI risk, even though I have used our donor before so I have already been exposed, would be doing the inseminations myself so they would not be responsible, and straight, cisgender couples can also be at risk for STI transmission and do not face similar scrutiny.

In short, Rafferty is almost 6 and it's becoming clear we are just about out of financial resources and I am out of emotional resources to keep trying, and am now in the position of trying to come to terms with the fact that I will almost certainly not be having another baby. It is sometimes hard to love my body when I can't get it to do this one thing, this most important thing to me. I want to have these pictures of my beautiful baby and my beautiful body to remind myself that this life I have is wonderful, that my body gave me him, that he is the most magical person and it could never have given me anything better.

I want to remind myself that my body is not a failure and I am not a failure. Capitalism is failing when it puts parenthood out of reach to people who don't have significant class privilege. The medical industrial complex is failing when it says people's complexity can be boiled down to a number on a scale and when it calls itself LGBTQ friendly but can't accommodate the ways queer people build families. I hope someday I stop bursting into tears when I see siblings fighting at the grocery store. I hope I can slowly let go of the overwhelming grief that I can't expand my family. I hope I can let go of the vision in my head of a house full of kids, and just love all the wonderful things about it being just the three of us and all the love we could possibly imagine. I hope one day all the pregnancy announcements and birth pictures are only sources of joy and wonder, and not tinged with jealousy and longing. I hope I can someday look at my body and say, "It's ok. You did great. You did just what I needed you to." I hope this can be a little bit healing for me, and a first step.

Alyssa Norman

Alyssa Norman (32 - she/her), Mirah (8), and Hazel (5)

Tuscon, AZ | Buffalo, NY

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

When the actual shape of your body changes so dramatically over such a short amount of time, with it comes a feeling of shock. I think most of the pregnancy and the years after I was still in a sort of stunned state. Processing takes time. After the shock settled, I grew to love and hate certain changes in my body. But I think parenthood has had a very positive affect on my personal body image. I feel strong and super capable.

What was your postpartum experience?
Postpartum is a really intimate journey you take with yourself. It's a very exposed and vulnerable place you are in with your own body. It can feel very personal and isolating. It felt for me, very independent. My expectations were not much. It's not really talked about. I figured it was an unknown space & it was, both times. Both of my pregnancies and births were so different from each other. The aftermath was also completely unique. My first birth was pretty typically American - in a hospital, medicated & overdue. I delivered vaginally and had a longer recovery. It took my body a lot of time to recover from the induction and medication. My second birth, I had preeclampsia. Hazel was born a month early, vaginally without pain medication or induction. She was in severe distress and I spent two weeks in the NICU pumping milk in a daze. But my body just went into taking care of the baby. It was as if I hadn't just given birth. I was not sick anymore and I wasn't in a lot of postpartum pain.

I was married when I was 18 in an extraordinarily oppressive religious sect. I was taught that sexuality and being a woman were things to be decided by God. It was only through the birth of Hazel that I was shown my strength and capacity to be able to leave a marriage and defect from an extremely patriarchal lifestyle & religion. It came with big consequences. My family disowned me. They still don't speak to me after 4 years. I had no education, no career history, no way of navigating this world that was so hidden from me. It's an uphill battle everyday, still. I came out as queer. I live an authentic life. I thank Hazel for showing me what I was made of and liberating me from a subservient life full of deep depression.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

I wish birth and women's bodies were normalized. I wish to live in a space where we can share and empower each other. I think the best way is to start with ourselves. I want to be seen and not objectified.

Rae and Ana D.

Ana (37 - she/her) and Rae (37 - they/them) with their twins Leo and Logan (4).

Ana D.

Ana D. (37 - she/her), mother to Leo (4 - he/him) and Logan (4 - she/her)

Oak Park, IL

Ana shares -

“I have not experienced any losses but it did take me 2 years to become pregnant which was very draining. Until I had a positive pregnancy test I didn’t know how I would feel to see it and I tried to do everything that I could to have a healthy pregnancy. I know that one in four pregnancies is lost and my heart goes out to all those who have lost a child who they dreamed of and loved. I conceived with assistance from reproductive endocrinologists via intra-uterine insemination with a known sperm donor. My spouse also carried at the same time using the same donor.”

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

Carrying a child, making life and then providing nourishment for my children with my body made me realize that parents are superheroes. Gestation is exciting and exhausting. Breastfeeding is a superpower. I still have some extra skin from when my belly was gigantic but it doesn’t bother me to have the reminder of the incredible ways our bodies can stretch and grow to accommodate life. Whenever someone tells me that something is hard I just think “I breastfed twins. I can do ANYTHING.”

What was your postpartum experience?

My pregnancy with our son was beautiful and without complication. My spouse who was also pregnant (with our daughter) and due a month before me was constantly nauseated, vomiting and in pain. On most days I felt like I was glowing and full of joy.

Our post-birth experiences were just the opposite. My spouse recovered quickly and I felt like I was knocking on death’s door. My spouse was not able to breastfeed and we had read so much about the benefits of breastfeeding so we decided that we would do everything that we could to get me to be able to breastfeed both of our children. We had all the herbs, the teas, oatmeal cookies, every pump and accessory ever imagined it seemed.

I did have a preterm labor scare at 31 weeks of gestation, I tripped when getting out of the car and went into preterm labor. I didn’t feel anything and I wasn’t injured at all but we decided to go in and get checked since I did have a little fall. I was having regular contractions every 3-5 minutes on the monitor at the hospital but I couldn’t feel them. My placenta was detaching and my cervix was funneling or opening from the inside, an indication that abnormal labor is starting. The outcome could have been very bad for our baby and we wanted to do everything possible to keep him in. I was admitted to the hospital for 3 days and luckily with medications the preterm labor stopped, my placenta healed and I was able to continue my pregnancy at home.

When our daughter was born several weeks later the lactation consultant we had been working with recommended that I did not try to breastfeed yet due to the risk of triggering my body to go into labor again with our son. We gathered as much donated milk as we could for our daughter but we ended up feeding her formula as well. Seeing how much pressure is put on parents to breastfeed and the stress that it causes when a parent cannot was really hard. It really effected my spouse to have to tell people every day, even strangers, that they could not breastfeed. My due date came and passed and we started trying to get our daughter to breastfeed then. I also tried pumping. We wanted to supply our child with breastmilk and also wanted to meet our other child so induction of labor from breastfeeding would have been welcome then. It did not work though. Nor did foot massages, spicy food, black cohosh or any of the other labor inducing tricks I had heard about.

Our son was born 2 weeks late. I had originally hoped for a homebirth in a tub of water but we decided on a hospital birth for both of our kids and we hired a doula to accompany us. After 3 days in labor with my membranes stripped 3 times, pitocin for induction and artificial rupture of membranes we finally got to meet our son. He was healthy and amazing but my placenta, which had been separating during my pregnancy, was being incredibly stubborn and would not come out. The umbilical cord was pulled off and every medical staff in the room got elbow deep in my uterus trying to dig it to no avail. I was taken back to the OR for a dilation and curettage to remove the retained placenta.

Life with 2 newborns was crazy. I felt like a milk factory, feeding around the clock. I would feed one baby for 20-40 minutes, then pump for 30 minutes, then repeat with the other baby. Then it was time to feed the first one again. I never had more than 60 minutes at a time to rest, I started to understand why sleep deprivation was used as a form of torture. I thanked my mom for breastfeeding me so many times as I had a new appreciation for how painful and exhausting it was. The first few times were excruciating, I don’t feel like people talk about it much for breastfeeding was not some “beautiful, natural thing” for me. It was like scraping glass on my nipples non-stop. And I just had to keep doing it to get my supply up. So with all this breastfeeding and sleep deprivation I thought that it was just normal to feel half dead during the postpartum period.

After several weeks of feeling like garbage I finally told my spouse one day that if I passed out to please call 911 right away, not to try to help me or figure it out. My spouse was quite alarmed and didn’t understand why I would say that. I explained that I was feeling light headed all the time and dizzy and just terrible like I was going to die. But every mom that I mentioned that too said “yea, that’s how it feels after having a baby” so I just thought that all those super moms out there were stronger than I am. I had even called an advice nurse who listened to my symptoms and diagnosed me with mastitis over the phone and started me on antibiotics. But I still felt like I was dying. My spouse wanted to just take me to the emergency room right then but I assured them that I wasn’t going to die right then, I just felt terrible but I agreed to go buy a thermometer and see if I had a fever.

My temperature was 104F. So I agreed to go to the hospital. I was already a week into the antibiotics I had been prescribed for presumed mastitis so this made the tests for anything infectious a little harder to run at the hospital. I was septic. My blood pressure was really low and my heart was racing. I hadn’t ever been away from the babies for more than a few minutes since they were born and now I was being admitted to the hospital with “high fevers of unknown origin.” The guilt I felt for not being there to feed my children got even heavier. I had already not been able to breastfeed my daughter for the first several weeks of her life, now I couldn’t feed either of them. But I realized if I died then I wouldn’t feed them either so with a heavy heart I agreed to stay in the hospital and be separated from my newborns.

The doctors ran every test and imaged every part of me, each day coming up with a new idea of what could have been making me so sick. I also got to sleep though which was amazing. I slept for at least 2 hours every night which I didn’t realize was a such a luxury until I had kids. I was pumping and dumping to keep up my milk supply every 2 hours around the clock. The lactation consultants had really stressed how important it was to pump or feed at least every 2 hours. The kids could not drink my milk because I was on so many medications. About a week into my hospitalization I requested a lactation consult to see if it might be possible for me to pump at less frequent intervals or if I really needed to wake up every 2 hours and pump for 30 minutes around the clock. I explained that I was still so sick and I thought that maybe if I slept for a full night that would help my body to recover. I just didn’t know if I did that if my milk supply would drop drastically and then I would not be able to feed my kids when I got home. I already felt so much mom-guilt for not being with my family and I wanted to do whatever I could do to get better.

The lactation consultant confirmed that according to the data new moms should pump every 2 hours and had no flexibility with this recommendation even in the case of sepsis. On day 10 my fevers subsided and I was discharged home. I was still ill for a few weeks but I didn’t feel as terrible. I had hoped to spend my maternity leave at home bonding with my babies and feeling joyful and wonderful like I had during most of my pregnancy. Instead I was sick for pretty much all of my leave. That was a bummer. After about 2 months of breastfeeding it was no longer painful and I was able to enjoy the bonding time I had with my twins while they fed. I did get mastitis twice while I was breastfeeding and it was most definitely not what made me so sick in the postpartum time.

My daughter who was a champion for going from bottle to breast as a 6 week old without hesitation self-weaned around 6 months old. I pumped for her until she was a little over 2 years old. My son breastfed until he was 3 years old, just at bedtime for comfort at that age. We eventually came up with a new bedtime routine with lots of cuddles to help him get to sleep. Our kids are 4 now and they are both healthy, happy, wonderful humans. My spouse and I are doing great too and have known no challenges in life like those of the postpartum weeks.

What is your truth?

Accept help when offered. Ask for help when needed. The saying that it takes a village to raise a child really is true, do what you can to find or make your village. And I do think breastfeeding is great. But I also think that there is way too much pressure for everyone to breastfeed. Not everyone can. And that is ok. Formula exists for a reason. It is ok to feed your children formula. Don’t feel bad about that. If you feed your child breastmilk then you are a good parent. If you feed your child formula then you are a good parent. If you feed your child then you are a good parent. That’s it.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

My spouse and I had the unique and incredible experience of carrying our children together at the same time. It was amazing to be able to relate to all the aches and pains of pregnancy as well as all the flutters of growth and joy. We first heard about this project a few years ago and wanted to be a part of it but we hadn’t made the time for it until now. Life with twins sure is busy. But it’s beautiful. And we can’t wait to see some beautiful photos.

Colleen Reid

Colleen Reid (40), mother to Finnegan Danger (12) and Eamon Prufrock (5)

Oak Park, IL

Colleen shares -

I had a miscarriage before I knew I was pregnant, and before I realized I wanted kids. It was early, but I named her Scarlett, and losing her was very hard. Like each of my children, she changed my path and taught me many things. She was a gift, and I’m grateful for her, even if our time together was short.

How has parenthood impacted your body image?

The journey to accepting my body has been purposeful, and the road has been winding. I have been abused most of my life, specifically sexually, but emotionally as well. Up until only a few years ago, the abuse was daily and I was not free to be myself.

I felt the pressure to be beautiful at a young age. My idea a feminine was based in abuse, codependency, and unattainable cultural expressions of femininity. In college, I toyed with my gender a bit, trying on masculinity for size, ultimately becoming more and more comfortable with being femme after I had children.

I went though a time where the sexual abuse was so overwhelming, and so destructive, that I told my partner I was asexual, fully believing this was the case. His response was not supportive. I was not allowed to be asexual. I was expected to have sex with him, and if I wouldn’t, it was sex therapy or divorce. It was made clear that this was a crucial piece of who I was supposed to be, and I wasn't doing it right. But my body had never been mine. My choice had never been respected. And who I was as a sexual being was completely unknown to me. Because I had never *really* consented. I acquiesced, as was expected, by the men in my life who ‘needed’ things from me. And when I tried to pull back, or take distance from the sexual part of my relationships, I was emotionally abused and blamed for their unhappiness. Crying through sex, and panic attacks with sex were my normal.

I became unexpectedly pregnant with Finnegan on the very day that my father died. I don’t believe in many things, but I strongly believe that he was a gift from my dad on his way out. Initially, I was elated. But it didn’t take long for things to get messy. I developed hyperemesis gravidarum. I lost nearly 50#. I lost a lot of hair, and ruined my teeth, and the severity of the malnutrition also gave me osteopenia and serious spinal problems. I didn’t eat or poop for weeks on end, and my organs began shutting down, which is intensely painful. My doctors tried to comfort me by telling me that women in German concentration camps were able to have healthy babies as long as they were able to stay hydrated, and that starvation didn’t harm their fetuses.

My body was failing me. I was so hopeful that his experience would be redemptive, and beautiful. I wanted to be the divine feminine as I grew, and labored. But instead I was hospitalized more than a half dozen times, given 5 rounds of steroids, and home care for daily IV fluids and medications round the clock. I was broken. And there was just no hope for me. I felt stupid for thinking I would be capable of anything more.

The home birth I dreamed of was taken from me as I developed pre-eclampsia. And I literally sobbed the entire way home from the doctor and while I packed. I felt certain the hospital would kill me, and I would die. It was a HORRIBLE hospital, and a terrible experience. He was occiput posterior with a brow presentation, and very difficult to deliver. I was given an epidural to control my blood pressure bc they worried I’d have a stroke. And then they cut my vagina open to make the delivery easier. It all felt barbaric and terrifying. But I survived, and I brought home my baby and heavily stitched perineum two days before Xmas.

Nursing was a very pivotal piece of body acceptance for me. My breasts were GIGANTIC. After having HG, I was also very thin. I felt terribly vulnerable to predators and men who would hurt me walking around with these giant things. It was also really difficult for me to deal with constant NEED for my body from my son, and surrendering myself to the demand of another, even a baby, was triggering.

But I was determined to do what was best for him, and stuck it out. And magically, something wonderful happened. I grew to love my breasts, and the power that they gave me to soothe his sweet child. That was the first time in my life that I ever liked having a body. My tiny boy taught me to find safety in surrender, and within my skin. And it was so amazing. It changed me. I even wrote about it and was eventually published on the cover of International Doula Magazine.

I became a Birth Doula, La Leche League Leader, child birth educator, and a bereavement and abortion Doula. I also helped pioneer the nation’s first integrative model of care that included birth doulas, midwives, and OBs. I spoke at several conferences and am quoted in a handful of books and articles. I found my place helping women see the strength and beauty in their own bodies. It was redemptive, and beautiful, and the most satisfying work.

Years went by, and the issues from my pregnancy worsened, leading me to have two spinal surgeries, and 2.5 years in physical therapy. All of this left me with permanent nerve damage in my right leg from the hip down, and parts of my abdomen and genital region. This was the beginning of disability for me. And it was hard to shake the feeling that pregnancy broke me. And it must have broken me because I’m less than. Inferior. Not entitled. Just like with sex.

It became clear that having more babies was a terrible idea. And I grieved. I had a Mirena placed, and I tried to move on. But that Mirena migrated due to a hyperflexed uterus, and a nerve damaged pelvic floor. Most of the time they fall right out— but mine was embedded in my cervix, and not working. At my 5 week placement check, they informed me it wasn’t working.

I was pregnant.

I wrestled a lot with this pregnancy. I decided it was a gift, since I had wanted another baby so badly, and hoped that my years as a birth worker had prepared me for another difficult pregnancy. But HG is never easy. I managed to only lose about 25# this time, ultimately gaining weight by the end, which was better than showing up to deliver almost 30# under my pre-pregnancy weight.

But I was also having pre-term labor from about 20 weeks, and was literally covered in some kind of hives that were relentlessly ugly and itchy and miserable. And my blood pressure continued to climb as the weeks went by, and the medication wasn’t helping as much as it should have been. I went to MFM every week. And there were always questions about my baby’s movements and behavior. He was too energetic. They always asked if I was diabetic. But I wasn’t. Something was off, and we didn’t know what.

At 34+5, my blood pressure was raging. Eamon was growth restricted, measuring small, and it was time to meet him. I was contracting like crazy but not feeling it yet, likely due to the nerve damage in my abdomen. When checked, I was 3cm and 60%. It was time.

After helping so many women champion their births, I was really hoping I could have a smooth birth with no problems. But what I got was the most traumatic experience of my life.

Eamon came in 3 contractions once it was time to push. He was 4#10, and only 16” long. The tiniest of things. They whisked him away to the NICU almost immediately. My OB gave me a moment with him, but the Neo people were not happy about that. It was time to deliver the placenta, and then sit in that strange space where you’ve just had a baby but you don’t HAVE a baby because they took it from you. Except the placenta wouldn’t come. The cord was brittle and broke. The placenta was degraded badly, and needed to be manually extracted. For the birth muggles here, it means my doctor put his entire fist inside of me up to his elbow, and fished out my raggedy placenta piece by piece. We had no idea why it was such a mess, but he thought the preterm labor was likely because the placenta couldn’t provide baby with adequate nutrition any longer, and that perhaps it formed poorly due to the damned mirena that was still in when I got pregnant. It’s also worth mentioning that my OB was also my boss of almost 10 years. Getting fisted by your boss in front of an audience is super awful, even if you understand the necessity.

I cried desperately in the days following, because I feared I had made a horrible mistake by having him. That perhaps I didn’t want another baby after all. I knew it was okay to not be in love with him yet. But I didn’t even want to be. My body had broken him. And he needed so much help. And it was all my fault.

He was intensely colicky. I was forced to leave all of my jobs to care for him. Crying every single hour of his life until at least 3 years old. He nursed every 2 hours exclusively for 18 months because he refused to eat solid foods— he has a litany of issues to manage now, though he is a happy boy. And the guilt I experience over not having done better for him seems to be inescapable.

I was soon divorced. With a special needs baby, a body that didn’t work, no job, and nothing going for me. But slowly, slowly, I found myself. And at 37 years old, I learned the true meaning of consent. And I learned the true beauty of sharing your body with someone you love. And THAT changed everything.

That tiny preemie just turned 5. He doesn’t know he’s special. Or that he’s difficult. His brother is 12. No one hurts me anymore. I’ve discovered that I’m queer (pansexual), and the joy I take from bodies in general, has been so redemptive. I have leaned to love me through loving others who look like me. And while it’s still difficult to love a body that doesn’t work, or that hurts me all the time, I think we’re going to be okay. This chubby broken body of mine is MINE now.

What is your truth?

I am braver than you think I am. I am stronger than you think I am. I can do impossible things. I’m smart, and I’m capable, and being disabled doesn’t change that. I also strongly believe that people treat you according to who they are, not who you are, or your value as a person.

Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?

This is a hard question. I watched almost everyone I know participate. And I have been afraid. I held back the ugliest parts of my story at the gathering, because I feel like most people just can’t deal with it. As a retired birth worker, I’m sensitive to triggering others, or causing secondary trauma in others. I also don’t like the way people look at me afterward when I speak my full truth. The sharing was hard, but the photos were easy. It took me a long time to allow myself into that healing space. Because I have a lot of work to do, and I don’t have time to do it. The trauma is soooo big. And it’s all wrapped up in my abusive marriage and sex work and being queer.... who I am is in that story. And I guess I’m afraid to show people that. Because I know I’m awesome, but I don’t take it well when other people don’t think so. I guess I was afraid of confronting those triggers. Thank you for giving me the space and the encouragement to do this. 🖤

Andrew Benson

Andrew Benson (32) and Avree (11)

Minneapolis, MN

Andrew shares -

“During my pregnancy, it was a balance of being in awe of what my body was growing and terrified that I was pregnant at all. I had an overwhelming feeling that pregnancy was not supposed to be happening to me yet it was. After pregnancy and breastfeeding, I gained a new appreciation to what my body was capable of. I knew this was going to be a one-time experience for me. Now that she is older, I am judged heavily on my appearance and parenthood. From being questioned heavily about my ability to parent because my appearance changed to how am I going to lead her into future because I don't present as feminine.

The year after Avree was born, I was challenging every part of who I am for her. I had never really thought about having kids from my own body until faced with a positive pregnancy test. I struggled with my image and my ability to be a parent. I had an abortion about 6 months after Avree was born. I had an affair and in retrospect, it was my escape from married/motherhood. After the abortion came a depressive episode that led to an attempted suicide. I went into a 72 hour hold at the hospital and discovered my truth of being in a gay marriage with a straight man and a parent to my daughter. I came out as gay (but not trans as I did not know that term yet), left my husband and later divorced. I didn't understand my conflict with motherhood until my abortion. I am humbled every day by these series of events and continue to choose my kid any time I have doubts about my life.

You can be queer and a parent. Normative narration/history does not drown out the individual parental love we can show, express and teach.

Our kids actually brought on this possibly. Angie {of Mid Drift Movement} and I are parent’s to preteen friends. Angie has brought different interview possibilities my way as this (my gender identity and parenting) is a topic that I get heavily judged on yet, find that it is not discussed in a respectful manner often enough. I've had my years of experience and love for my child questioned by family, friends, and strangers. Rarely do they truly want to hear my answer. But I feel like this series will finally let me talk. Through words. Through art.”

Stephanie Peterson

“I have had a complex and complicated relationship with my body; in addition to being visible as a Black woman, I have always been one of the largest bodies in a given room. I lost a bit of weight in my early and mid 20s but, like nearly every person who tries intentional weight loss, I gained it all back and then some within a few years.

I was at my highest adult weight when I got pregnant and gained more weight during the pregnancy than was socially acceptable. Still, I adored pregnancy because it gave me a perspective that I sorely needed: for the first time, I had to trust that my body would gain the weight it needed to properly nourish and sustain my growing baby. For the first time, I paid attention to my body’s hunger and satiety cues rather than trying to follow a set diet or schedule

Now, at almost eight weeks postpartum, I can say that I have more love and respect for my body than I’ve ever had before. The process of carrying and delivering my daughter proved that the trust I had in my body was well-placed and that the number on the scale is not a valid indicator of my health or physical ability.

My postpartum journey has been typical from what I can tell, but it has also radically changed me. I expected to change, of course, but I did not expect that change to be as complete as it has been. There is no aspect of my life - physical, mental, or emotional - that has escaped unscathed.

I did not expect for every part of myself to be so attached to this new life. Audrey is more than my offspring — it’s as though I’ve grown a new limb or organ, some part that is so essential to me that I have no idea how I survived without it before.

It is perfectly OK to doubt yourself, even if it’s taken you years to get to the point of parenthood. No one knows quite what they’re doing at first, and it isn’t easy for anyone. Everyone has their struggles; not everyone will be open about them.

I am a fat queer Black woman. My story is real and valid but I hardly ever see it, let alone see it celebrated. I wanted to commemorate the birth of my child and celebrate my entry into parenthood at the intersection of these identities.”