My Story

Hi, I’m Casey—Welcome to My Story

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This is my journey—raw, unfiltered, and deeply personal. Postpartum isn’t the polished picture we often see in baby books or glossy Instagram feeds. For me, it’s been a path paved with resilience, vulnerability, and an ongoing fight to reclaim my voice after experiencing trauma in one of life’s most sacred moments.

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When I first saw those two pink lines, I felt a rush of excitement, hope, and anticipation. Like so many first-time moms, I believed a few trusted books, advice from friends, and my maternal instincts would be enough to guide me. But beyond the pages of What to Expect When You’re Expecting lay an uncharted wilderness of raw, unspoken truths. Truths I wish I had known before crossing that invisible threshold from pregnancy into motherhood.

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I wasn’t prepared for the cold indifference of the hospital room, where compassion was scarce and the rhythmic beeping of machines drowned out human connection. I wasn’t prepared for the terror of being dismissed mid-panic attack while lying on an operating table during an unplanned C-section. The sterile environment, the lack of empathy, and the feeling of being reduced to just another patient on an assembly line left deep, psychological wounds. My birth trauma became a silent storm. A haunting, relentless presence that lingered.

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One week after my hospital discharge, postpartum preeclampsia added another layer of fear and uncertainty to my recovery. My body, already battered and fragile, became a source of anxiety and unpredictability. But the physical struggles paled in comparison to the emotional and psychological unraveling that followed. The flashbacks, the intrusive thoughts, the suffocating anxiety, all of it consumed me. I was trapped in a cycle of guilt, shame, and overwhelming grief. I grieved my previous life, the birth experience I thought I would have, the joy I thought I’d feel, and the mother I thought I’d instantly become.

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The lack of adequate postpartum care left me navigating this darkness alone. Appointments were rushed, mental health was brushed aside, and the very system designed to care for me was riddled with cracks too wide to ignore. What should have been a season of bonding, rest, and gentle healing became a fight for survival. An internal war waged silently in sleepless nights and tear-soaked moments when the weight of it all felt too heavy to bear.

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Postpartum isn’t just a physical transformation. It’s a complete unmaking and remaking of your identity. I’ve come to realize that a C-section isn’t “just another way to give birth.” It’s a major surgery, and recovery demands more than we’re ever told. I wish someone had handed me more than a hospital bag checklist. I wish they’d told me to prepare my mind and soul. I wish someone had said that those dark, intrusive thoughts weren’t a sign of failure, but rather a part of the healing journey, one that shouldn’t be walked alone.

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Postpartum asked me to let go of parts of myself, to grieve the woman I was before, and to make space for the woman I was becoming. The journey has been messy, imperfect, and often lonely, but it has also been deeply transformative. Healing hasn’t been linear, and survival hasn’t always been graceful, but both have been necessary.​ I share my story not to shock or dramatize, but to break the silence that keeps so many of us suffering in the shadows. If my words can make one mother feel seen, if they can offer one moment of comfort or connection, then this vulnerability has been worth it.

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This is my story. Raw, real, and anything but glamorous. But it’s also a story of hope, resilience, and the quiet power of getting back up, again and again. My hope is that in sharing it, you’ll know you’re not alone and that your struggles are valid, your feelings are real, and your voice deserves to be heard.

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Welcome to my corner of the world. I’m so glad you’re here.