Body Memory & Getting Parenting Leave Right (this 3rd time) by ej McGaughy

Body memory is so real.

I’m about to have my third biological child. I have about 4 weeks/1 month left in this pregnancy if all goes according to plan. This (third) time as the hips pry apart, the feet swell, the breasts fill, the pelvis hurts, the stomach lurches ever more outward, the exhaustion mounts, the irritability spikes, the sacred end/new beginning signaling itself in all the ways — I am reminded, somatically, of having been here before. With my other two.

And with those memories of the other two pregnancies and end times surfacing, I find myself in varying levels of beautiful nostalgia and painful confrontation.

When I look back at 2012 and 2013 when I gave birth to my first two, I can’t help but see the ways I embodied internalized oppression and participated in perpetuating institutional sexism and ableism. It’s not a fun thing to recollect, but I believe all of us who live on this earth *must* reckon with the ways that we uniquely participate in dynamics of internalized and institutional/cultural oppression if we want to end it. So here I am.

My two prior pregnancies were situated in a PWI (predominantly white institution). My predecessor had a baby during her time there and when I first got the job it was almost exclusively other women who told me (read: gossiped) about how my predecessor’s pregnancy, birthing and maternity leave negatively impacted the organization. I don’t remember all of the details, but I do remember internalizing the message that I’d better not show weakness of any kind when it came to my reproductive life. In fact, if I’m honest I think I internalized a commitment to proving to them that my predecessor was an aberration, and that I could single handedly prove how strong, capable, and productive pregnant people could be while on the job.

Let me pause here and just acknowledge how truly sorry I am for failing to not only recognize the sexism and ableism being lodged at my predecessor by those other women, but more so, that I didn’t defend her, her baby, her entire family, and the dignity of those gossipping women by challenging their participation in sexism. She deserved better from all of us. And in some ways, this piece of writing is one of the ways I am trying to be about repair.

I happened to be the first out queer person employed by that organization ever, and my first pregnancy materialized via artificial insemination with a known donor. Some folx in that organization, upon hearing of my pregnancy, were supportive, loving and full of joy for my new family. Others were completely scandalized by it. Needless to say, I felt like I had something to prove on that front too.

The Sunday before giving birth on a Tuesday, I called my two cis/het white male colleagues and told them I was tired. Too tired to work. I felt like an abysmal failure. It was like I was letting all women, all queer people, all pregnancies in the work place — past and future — down. I beat myself up profusely before making that call and cried when I hung up. I just couldn’t do it.

Perhaps that level of self-abuse was partly about naivete because I’d never been pregnant before. But the 3x a charm mom I am now looks back at that Sunday morning and just wants to sob at the ways I embodied and exhibited internalized sexism and ableism.

What was I doing to my body, to my child, to my organization full of women, girls, gender non-conforming people and queers by working/living that way? By pushing that hard? By trying to set “the bar” for pregnant working people so high that even I couldn’t attain it? I was, signaling through my actions, that this is how we need to grind, exist and “make it” if we want to lead in these orgs.

My second child was born 19 months later and I fell into a post-partum depression that almost ended me. Perhaps the biggest wake up call came when one of the members of my organization, after hearing about my postpartum, commented “I never would have known. She did her best work after those babies came into the world.” Until I couldn’t anymore, I hid and denied that anything was wrong. God forbid I’d prioritize my own well being and the wellbeing of my babies over my work life.

I’ve been very very fortunate to learn and grow since then in body, spirit, and mind. About intersecting identities, about how oppression works, but more than anything — about the world that birthing people and all children/families deserve.

So in honor of my predecessor/colleague and what my first two babies have shown me, I’m giving this third baby what all of them deserve/d. And I’m telling y’all that I’m doing it because I want to off-set that bullshit I publicly demonstrated the first two times around.

I’m taking four weeks off in advance to ease my body into the birthing process. I’m taking three full months off (of everything) and giving myself permission to ease back in part-time if need be. And while I feel really proud of this, I also want to acknowledge: 1) three months isn’t long at all 2) this is possible because I carry immense amounts of economic privilege and work flexibility which should NOT be the reasons maternal care is possible/accessible.

I’m doing this because I can. But everyone who needs maternal/birthing care, rest, leave, and support should have access to it for as long as they need it. This is so much bigger than personal choices. What if we had structures that actually valued human life enough to care for its material origins? Can you imagine that world?

Back in October, Tricha Hershey of The Nap Ministry, wrote “Rest is not some cute lil luxury item you grant to yourself as an extra treat after you’ve worked like a machine and are now burned out. Rest is our path to liberation. A portal for healing. A human right.”

May there be a future where/when our body memories of birthing are full of gratitude for the space we were given, the rest that enabled our peace, and the children who came into this world less stressed and more nurtured because of it.