Today was a big day. Amelia had a blood test—but this time, it was taken from her hand instead of her elbow. They couldn’t do it yesterday, and honestly, I’m glad they waited. Because yesterday? Yesterday I completely fell apart.
I had a full-blown panic attack and passed out in the waiting room. The heat didn’t help—perimenopause hot flushes have become a new, uncomfortable part of daily life—but more than anything, it was the sheer wave of trauma crashing in that knocked me off my feet.
Birth trauma is something that lingers. Even when you think you’re coping well, something small—a smell, a sound, the look on your child’s face—can send you spiralling back to that moment you feared for their life. And when you’ve lived through the world of NICU, of prematurity, of needles in tiny arms and the hum of monitors, it doesn’t take much to trigger that fear again.
Yesterday, the clinic staff were incredible. One of the team even went in and held Amelia so I didn’t have to. I’m not sure she’ll ever know how much that meant to me. It wasn’t just a kind gesture—it was a lifeline. Because in that moment, I wasn’t a mum with a toddler; I was a terrified woman, back in a hospital with flashbacks of cannulas and transfusions and all the unknowns.
Today, though, I had support. My mother-in-law came with us, and I honestly don’t think I could’ve gone through it again without her. Just knowing she was there gave me the strength to walk into that building. Not everyone has a family who shows up, and I’m so grateful that we do.
Support doesn’t always look like big gestures. Sometimes it’s someone simply being there. Sitting beside you. Distracting your child. Holding your hand. Making you a cuppa when you can’t move from the sofa. Family—whether they’re related by blood or chosen through love—can make all the difference.
This whole experience also reminded me of something else: I’m not the same person I was before pregnancy and birth trauma. I’m still a podiatrist, but I’ve decided not to go back to anything involving local anaesthetics. I just can’t. And that’s okay. It’s okay to acknowledge your limits and to protect your peace. Right now, I’m happy focusing on simple nail care and helping people in a way that doesn’t cost me my mental health.
To anyone else struggling after a traumatic birth or parenting experience—please know you’re not alone. Whether it’s a partner, parent, friend, or even a kind stranger in a waiting room, lean on the people who want to help. You don’t have to be strong all the time.
Let’s remind ourselves: asking for support is not weakness. It’s wisdom. And it’s love—in action.
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Have you had a moment when someone’s support made all the difference? Share in the comments or message me privately—your story matters.
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📚 References & Resources:
Tommy’s – Support for Families with Pregnancy and Birth Trauma Birth Trauma Association UK Mind – Coping with Panic Attacks NHS Inform – Support from Family and Friends
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