Casey (32 - they/them) and Adrian (2)
Minneapolis, MN
How has parenthood impacted your body image?
Because I am trans (non-binary), I knew pregnancy would be a massive challenge for me in terms of body image. I didn't even know how I would dress/present myself to the world, given the inundation of gendered stereotypes that come with a pregnant person's experience. Although I felt like I was agreeing to sort of willingly stifle my own gender identity journey in many ways for that time period because of the sheer lack of resources to support folx like me, it was also an experience I had always wanted to have. Holding those two things at once was delicate, often times devastating and dysphoric, but also incredibly beautiful and affirming.
I went from not wanting to chestfeed at all to somehow figuring it out with Adrian and ultimately chestfeeding him for 2 years and 3 months. It was a meaningful experience which, now that it is over, I'm really proud of myself for doing. It was excruciating and also eye-opening all at once. Having my body "back" now, in a sense, has left me feeling more empowered about the fact that my trans body is valid and incredible, and I have more confidence in my own body in a way I have truly never felt before. I'm super proud to be trans and even more empowered now in standing in my truth and knowing that I'm not cisgender. I want to emphasize very clearly that my experience isn't reflective of every trans person's experience - I know most people know that, but I want it to be out there. Everyone's experience truly is valid, and I obviously have privilege in ways others don't. I'm excited to see where this journey of gender identity and body empowerment takes me. Most importantly, I am so, so grateful for the privilege of being Adrian's parent. He is my greatest joy and is such an amazing human.
What was your postpartum experience?
My conception/fertility journey was long and exhausting, and I relate to many others who have gone through that struggle. When I finally conceived, I didn't want to believe it, because it seemed so far from possible at that point. The world of infertility often seems so isolating, because those who haven't experienced it naturally can't understand how devastating and excruciating that process can be. It was like being thrust into an entirely different social group with all these new terms and medical processes. As a queer/trans person, I also faced a lot of very blatant discrimination when it came to fertility treatments when compared to cisgender/straight people going through the exact same processes that I did. The health care system simply isn't set up to assist folx like me, and it was a challenging time. The amount of advocacy a pregnant person has to do in order to get truly patient-centered care was alarming to me.
I experienced precipitous labor, which is an abnormally fast birth. The onset of contractions and the ways that labor presents do not follow what you expect of a "typical" birth (whatever that means!), and it was really frightening and confusing - and indescribably painful. It felt like one long, never-ending contraction, and I couldn't breathe or truly even understand that I was having a baby in that moment. I had a lot of people tell me afterwards that I was "lucky," but to be honest, it was incredibly traumatic, both physically and mentally. I was 10cm dilated by the time I got to the hospital. I gave birth on my hands and knees thanks to the assistance of my midwife, and having had that experience and knowing what it feels like, I cannot believe we essentially force folx in labor to do anything other than what their bodies are telling them to do in that moment.
In the end, I still wonder how so many people who have given birth talk about it like it's a single moment in time, and often the comments we hear in everyday life make it seem like birth isn't actually really traumatic on one's body. It's a major event. When we talk about "postpartum," I absolutely love the idea of a 4th trimester, because for me, the physical and emotional effects of pregnancy and giving birth still linger over two years later and have forever changed me. I always find others' birth stories to be amazing, and exchanging birth stories with others has been so helpful in my own journey of healing. I hope we can move towards normalizing conversations about both the good and traumatic parts of pregnancy/birth/parenthood - and to stop regulating each others' bodies when it comes to these massively personal experiences and decisions.
What is your truth?
I think everyone faces trauma and stigma and judgment, and everyone has things about them that make them experience shame. We have a culture that is designed to reinforce certain ideas as "normal" or "acceptable." We tend to want to silence people who challenge our long-held viewpoints, and we have a really hard time listening when marginalized folx are sharing their stories about their own experiences, especially when it comes to birth, gender presentation and parenting. I want that to change. I just want to emphasize how important it is to know that you do not have to follow anyone else's idea of beauty, of body "standards," of how you present yourself in terms of your gender or any other identity, or of how you should love or how you should parent or how you should move about the world. Our bodies are incredible - they are our OWN bodies to claim, not anybody else's - and our voices matter. Nobody should feel pressured to have children, to not have children, to feel criticized about their bodies, or to feel like they have to hide their experiences of loss and grief. I truly believe that the way to chip away at this stigma is to continue to share our own stories and show those who can't do so, for so many valid reasons, that they are not alone and that others feel the way they do, too.
Why did you choose to participate in this movement and share your story?
I have long been supportive of this project, and I would scroll across a trans person and their story and I would think, "They are so brave. I could never be that vulnerable." But I realized how powerful that vulnerability and visibility is, and I wanted to stand in solidarity with those parents, because I know what a struggle all of this can be. They inspired me. We exist, but we're often excluded entirely from conversations around pregnancy, birth, reproductive rights and parenting. I think that sometimes the most amazing thing we can do for our little ones is to stand firmly and unapologetically in our own truths and identities so that one day, they can have their own individual voices about their own powerful and beautiful stories. I am truly grateful for every single human (especially those in our little 4TB group) who has stepped up to share their personal, painful, and really courageous stories with all of us through this project, and I am honored to add my voice to it.