This isn’t medical advice.

This is just my story.

I’ve been pregnant four times.

And I’ve had four C-sections.

Each time, I learned something new — not just about birth, but about my body, my mind, and the quiet strength motherhood asks of us.

People often assume that once you’ve done it before, it gets easier.

That the fear fades.

That you somehow get used to it.

But that isn’t always true.

Before the first C-section, there’s a fear that’s hard to describe.

It’s the fear of the unknown.

You trust the doctors.

You tell yourself everything will be okay.

You focus on the baby, because focusing on life feels safer than thinking about surgery.

What you don’t fully understand yet is that birth doesn’t end when the baby arrives.

Recovery comes later.

And it asks for patience — physically and emotionally.

With repeat C-sections, the fear doesn’t disappear.

It just changes shape.

Your body remembers.

Your mind remembers.

There’s a quiet awareness that settles in — a knowing that this will take time, energy, and gentleness afterward.

Each surgery feels different.

Each recovery brings its own challenges.

You may feel strong one moment and deeply vulnerable the next.

And both can exist together without canceling each other out.

There’s also a very specific kind of fear that comes with a C-section — one that’s hard to explain unless you’ve been there.

It’s the fear of the million things that could go wrong while you’re lying on that table.

The fear of being awake while your body is completely open, trusting strangers with something unimaginably fragile.

The numbness from the epidural feels strange — your mind alert, your body not quite yours.

You feel disconnected and hyper-aware at the same time.

And then comes the part no one prepares you for enough.

The first time you’re asked to stand.

The pain is immense.

Your body feels heavy, unfamiliar, resistant.

Every step hurts. Every movement feels like too much.

And yet, the very next day, you’re encouraged to walk.

To move.

To push through.

Somewhere between the pain and the exhaustion, frustration takes over.

You feel overwhelmed. Barely held together.

And then — you see your baby.

That tiny face.

That quiet presence.

And somehow, in the middle of all that pain, something shifts.

It doesn’t erase what you went through — but it makes it meaningful.

Not easy.

Just worth it.

Recovery is often spoken about in timelines.

Weeks. Milestones. Checklists.

But healing doesn’t always move in straight lines.

You push through because you have to.

There are babies to feed.

Children to care for.

Life waiting, even when your body is still catching up.

Often, it’s much later that you realize how much you carried quietly.

Healing isn’t just about the scar on your body.

It’s about learning to be kind to yourself in the process.

For every C-section mama out there

There’s something I’ve carried quietly through all four of my C-sections.

The way C-section mothers are sometimes spoken about —

or spoken over.

How easily comments are made, often without thought.

How casually people say things like, “It wasn’t a real delivery,” or “At least you didn’t feel the pain.”

As if birth only counts when it follows a certain path.

And I want to pause here, gently, and say this.

To every C-section mama —

you are not less of a mother.

What you experienced was real.

Your body went through something real.

Your recovery was real.

You carried a life.

You made choices for safety, for love, for your baby.

You healed from surgery while learning how to mother — often quietly, often without recognition.

That takes strength.

“ There is no hierarchy in birth.

No better or worse way to become a mother.

Every delivery that brings a baby into the world deserves to be honored.

Every story deserves space.

Every mother deserves respect.

If this is your journey too, I see you.

And you belong here”.

– Mama A❤️