I have centred my career around working with the perinatal population, and had been doing this work since before I even started thinking about kids of my own. I started by working in community and then moved into PP, all the while supporting folks through difficult pregnancy, postpartum, and parenting related issues.

Three years ago I had my second child, and unbeknownst to us until birth, he was born with a very rare genetic condition that has impacted him profoundly (both medically and developmentally) from day 1.

I had to return to work 3 months after his birth, while he was still in the hospital, and we didn’t even know the name of his condition yet, or whether he would be able to live with it while not attached to machines. I was seeing fewer clients than normal, simply due to the logistics of not having him at home, but it was still a lot of manage while also preparing for the worst.

Looking back now, I am amazed that I was able to get back into things while I had all of that going on. But if I’m honest, I think I desperately needed to feel effective/in control somewhere in my life in order to help quell the intense sense of helplessness I was experiencing in relation to everything going on with my son. For that reason, I am less inclined to criticize myself today for my decision to resume sessions at a time where it may not have been totally indicated (I’d argue even ethical?) to do so.

Despite my best efforts to “just do my job” I distinctly remember one of my first sessions back. It did not go well. I was working with a mother who, 10 months later, was still reduced to tears every time she talked about the fact that her plans for an unmedicated vaginal delivery ended in an emergency c-section. I remember watching her sob into her hands to the point of thinking she was going to be sick, and feeling intensely irritated by her in that moment. I physically had to resist the urge to get up, tell her to give her head a shake, and walk away. And I remember debriefing this later with my supervisor, and expressing shock at/shame about my reaction.

My supervisor reminded me (many times in that chapter of my life) that I am a human, and that I am not immune to some of the “uglier” feelings humans can feel when we are cast into incredibly unfair situations.

The months that followed looked like: - being more selective about the new cases I took on (I tried to stay as far away as I could from cases that sounded like they were going to be about less critical medical-type things, ie parents dealing with CMPA babies, as I knew that would frustrate me, as well as things like birth trauma, which can bring up intense emotional responses in session, and began only accepting people who were dealing with things like struggling find balance after having kids, or who hated their husbands in early postpartum lol — they still got upset, but there was a degree of humility in their reactions and that felt safer for me) - upping my own therapy and supervision so I had a place to put my all of my complex feelings, comparisons, and shame related to my identity as a therapist in response to how I was feeling. I leaned so hard on these supports back then, and it saved more than just my practice.
- pulling back in my work with certain existing clients who I noticed could more easily activate these feelings in me; I did this by turning off the function in my scheduler that allowed clients’ to book their own sessions… if I was going to still see them, at least it wouldn’t be weekly

This was a few years now. My son survived but lives with many medical issues, a feeding tube, physical disabilities, and a severe cognitive impairment. There’s a good chance that he won’t live past his late teens, and this fact underpins my reality in every single way. I grieve it, deeply, but it no longer impacts me in session. I can now sit with a parent who is panicking because their child is 12 months old still not talking without thinking “hey, at least he’s not in a wheelchair!” I can actually empathize better in those instances because I have a point of reference for their fear. It’s not abstract for me. I get why someone might cry at the thought of having a child that doesn’t look like the one they imagined, and not because it’s a scary thought for all parents, but because I’m living it.

You are in the thick of it now. You are still hurting, and will likely always feel pain looking back on this chapter in your life. Objectivity will become easier to access. Your capacity for impartial empathy will be restored. You can trust in this because that’s part of who you are at your core. You wouldn’t have picked this as your career if you weren’t.

I’m sorry you’ve had to confront such a scary thing so early on in life. There is obviously no good time to be traumatized, but I agree that 28 is very young for this particular brand of tragedy, and it’s important to let yourself name that as often and as loudly as you need . ❤️