A look behind the pregnancy glow: perceptions vs. reality

Last July, I had to unexpectedly step away from work and begin my maternity leave early—at only 26 weeks pregnant—due to severe health complications. I remember trying to act like everything was fine. (Raise your virtual hand if you’ve pretended to be fine, when you clearly weren’t.) I fully convinced myself that I could take meetings from my hospital bed and still work. It was all going to be fine. 

Luckily, my manager, @Michelle Sibbitt quickly called and said, “Not to worry about work. We've got it covered. Just focus on your health and family.” It was a good thing she called when she did, because my daughter arrived just a few days later. 

Where the story begins

I found out I was expecting in March 2020, right before a majority of the United States went into a full lockdown. My husband, Sean, and I were so thrilled to start this next chapter in our lives.

While living in stretchy clothes and skipping an extensive commute were definitely perks, they were outweighed by the disadvantages of being pregnant during a global pandemic. I lived in constant fear for the health of my baby and myself. I took sheltering-in-place so seriously that my own mother never even felt my pregnant belly. It was difficult to be excited about my bundle-of-joy when the state of the world was all doom and gloom.

In the months following, Sean and I would continually cycle from crippling fear to pure joy. At one point, inconclusive test results led us to believe we had lost our baby. After discovering that was a *medical error*, we were then told there was a chance that our baby had a rare chromosomal disorder that would likely result in miscarriage. And if our baby made it to term, she wouldn’t survive her first six months of life. An amniocentesis was scheduled the next day.

Suddenly the possibility of ending my pregnancy—and the life of my sweet 18-week-old baby, who I already loved more than life itself and dreamed about meeting every night—became very real. 

Simultaneously, the intensity of my professional career was skyrocketing. Working as an employee communications professional from March to June 2020 was very demanding. Given a large population of the global workforce shifted to working remotely and communicating with employees became business critical—the entire profession’s value was amplified overnight, which equated to greater visibility and much longer days. I leaned into the craziness because work was my only escape and kept me from spending my days agonizing over the unknown. 

In late May, I was wrapping up my most visible project since joining LinkedIn. I was part of the team that pulled together the company all hands for our then-CEO’s departure. Fortunately, the event was a huge success. I received so many congratulatory emails and moments of recognition. However, my celebration was short-lived because that same day was my amniocentesis. I remember closing my laptop, washing off my happiness and mentally preparing for the worst.

A week later we received our test results. Our baby was, as my doctor said, “genetically healthy.” Finally, some good news! She explained, my pregnancy was still considered high-risk and I should prepare for an earlier delivery. I was so caught up in my own elation and relief, I wasn’t really listening. My baby was healthy, and that was all that mattered.

The struggle was real

Fast-forward to week 26 of my pregnancy. I was diagnosed with severe preeclampsia and admitted to a level-four specialty care hospital. I was suffering from debilitating headaches, extremely swollen legs (so much that I didn’t even recognize myself) and scary high blood pressure. For the survival of my baby and myself, I was told I could deliver at any minute. The thought of being stuck in a hospital for 14 weeks during the height of the pandemic was terrifying.

My symptoms quickly worsened. At 27 weeks and five days my blood platelets dropped so low, the only option forward was to deliver my baby via emergency c-section—or else I risked not “making it.”

When Isla (EYE-la) was born, she weighed 950g, or 2lbs 1oz with all her head gear on—so she probably weighed even less—and was placed in the third percentile. I wasn’t able to hold her until the day after her birth, which felt like an eternity. She remained on breathing support in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) for the first two months of her life.

For those who’ve had the good fortune of never stepping foot inside a NICU, it’s a hard place to describe. At least as a mother, you’re ridden with so much guilt, thinking of all the things you could have done differently to keep your baby inside of you just a little bit longer. You think the worst. You never quite get used to all the alarms and your heart rate spikes every single time one goes off, even when it’s not for your baby. You come to know if other parents are having a good day or a bad day. Your back aches from the uncomfortable chairs. Your eyes are so weary from lack of sleep and staring at monitors all day. You’re anxious and stressed, which hinders your milk supply—that “liquid gold.”

Bear in mind, all this is happening in the background because the main thing consuming every ounce of your mental, emotional and physical capacity is watching your baby fight for their life.

And when you hear, “Congratulations! Your baby is ready to go home,” you panic. Suddenly this dreaded place becomes your safe haven. I knew Isla was safe there. Were they sure? They knew what they were doing, and I was just a first-time mom. What if we had to bring her back? I was petrified for her to leave the NICU and I was seriously doubting if I could do this whole preemie mom thing.

When Isla came home, she weighed 5lb 3oz, and I remember thinking that was really big. (She had already more than doubled her birth weight.) Still, I panicked over every little thing. Every bottle feeding, every nap, every breath that felt too shallow. I was still so scared of her. Could I really give her everything she needed?

It took us some time to find our groove at home. But by the grace of God, I began to understand what my preemie baby needed. She had different cries which meant different things, and I knew that. I began to look forward to spending all day together, just her and I. Compared to the months prior when I was an anxious ball of emotions. I felt like I was finally earning my mom title.

We only left the house to go to necessary in-person doctor appointments for Isla, which are a lot for a preemie. When people—doctors, other parents and random strangers—saw how small she was they would make remarks. I hated that. It was a constant reminder of how I failed my daughter by not giving her a viable environment she could thrive in. People would also say careless things like, “Oh, my friend had a preemie. You guys are going to be fine.” PSA: this is the most hurtful thing you can say to any parent in this situation. It’s diminishing, dismissive and perpetuates a vicious cycle of silencing parents and their experience. I sure didn't feel "fine" and their unsolicited commentary created more angst over my situation and unknown future.

Lessons learned

After much thought, here’s where I landed.

1.     Give moms (and dads) the space to share the reality of what they’re going through

Before I got pregnant, I only knew one woman in my entire life who had pregnancy struggles. So, when I found myself in my unique situation, I felt very alone. During a time of social media filters and highlight reels, although progress has been made, pregnancy is still viewed through rose-colored glasses. Expectant moms can’t even share their excitement until after their first trimester because talking about pregnancy struggles might be too uncomfortable. The reality is women struggle to get pregnant, women struggle while pregnant and women struggle with motherhood. We don’t need society to make this all better, but we do need people to feel safe and welcome to talk about it—to help women who are trying to become, or are expectant or existing moms, feel less alone.

2.    Stop calling moms (working and stay-at-home) superheroes

While I understand the complimentary intent, this stigma adds to an outdated and unsustainable myth that we can do it all. News flash: maybe we don’t *want* to do it all. We’re human, just like everyone else. Being a mother is a huge blessing and is magical; it is also challenging and hard. Yet, moms are not afforded the luxury of saying this because we might be seen as ungrateful. Instead of telling us what we are, ask us what we need or how you can help support us.

When I was a temporary stay-at-home mom during my maternity leave, I was exhausted. Keeping a tiny human alive is a full-time, unpaid job (both monetarily and in terms of recognition). Then throw in cooking, cleaning and laundry (how does a tiny human require so much laundry? I’ll never know). The effort is endless (and I only have one child; parents with multiple kids, I bow down). The idea of self-care or “me time” is a joke. My new-found definition of luxury is a shower. And while I’m on my soapbox, I would just like to say in no way, shape or form is maternity leave a vacation. You’re learning so much by trial and error and doing your best to just survive... definitely not my idea of a vacation.

3.    Offer fully paid and flexible family leave options + return-to-work programs

I am extremely fortunate to work for a company that goes the extra mile to support working parents. So you can imagine my shock when I discovered the United States ranks the lowest out of the world’s richest countries when it comes to paid parental leave. In fact, the U.S. doesn’t even have a mandated paid parental leave policy; and 1 in 4 women are expected to return back to work just ten days after giving birth! For months (let alone ten days after birth)—on top of going back and forth daily to the NICU—I was stressed, worried, sleep-deprived, frustrated (with my lactation struggles), mentally exhausted, physically weak, anxious, suffering from postpartum depression, and did I mention sleep-deprived? Nowhere near my best, and definitely in no condition ready to go back to work. 

While I’ll always be an advocate for better support of *both* parents, I’d like to focus in on moms for the unseen and lasting consequences we face for choosing motherhood. Becoming a father is viewed in a much more positive light and often boosts status, earnings and career prospects. The hard truth is, as a mother, your career suffers when you step away for maternity leave or to be the main caregiver. And if you decide to come back to your career, you have to work twice as hard (on top of all your new responsibilities at home) just to gain access to the same opportunities you had before you left. By supporting moms during this huge life transition, through fully paid and flexible maternity leaves and strong return-to-work programs, moms will be more equipped and ready to come back to work, which could lead to better work/life balance and career advancement.

Closing thoughts

Women are expected to put a positive spin on everything. To the extent, if I’m being honest, I fear that part of my message will be lost for being too cynical. I want to be crystal clear; I absolutely love being a mother and my career, but these are hard truths, and we shouldn't sugarcoat them any longer.

As a new mom, I refuse to pass down old ways of thinking that will force my daughter to live in a box society has deemed sufficient for her. What a terrible burden that would be for Isla to bear. I want her to always add to the conversation and speak up for what she believes in—especially when it’s hard and goes against the status quo.

I hope by sharing my experience on a platform as big as LinkedIn, it will encourage others to do the same. I believe the more we talk about the real issues affecting us (as unglamorous or uncomfortable as they may be), the more people will adapt and more importantly, enact solutions! Together, we can step towards a happier, better supported and more realistic way of living not just for us, but for future generations.

***A quick update on Isla. Thankfully, she’s doing so well. She’s just shy of seven months and has grown tremendously. At her last doctor appointment she measured in the 55th percentile for a full-term baby. Sean and I joke that we got the spark notes version of parenthood, we went from 0-60 so fast. And while we’re still figuring out this whole parenting thing (during a global pandemic, no less), we know one thing for certain: we couldn’t be any prouder of our not-so-little preemie.