Riley arrived after an unexpected c-section nine weeks ago. These sleepless nights where I’m stuck on the couch pumping or feeding, lead to a stockpile of meandering thoughts. I’m shocked how little women share about this transition to motherhood. I’m not talking about which product to buy or how to set up one’s nursery, but the forbidden discourse of interpersonal challenges women face. To start, before and even during my pregnancy, I scoffed at the idea of maternity photos. It wasn’t until I was in the throes of a year-long (*cough, lifelong?) journey that I stopped to ask myself what’s holding me back? Why was I facing such resistance to this common memento?
Re-framing this idea that maternity photos are cliche helped set the stage for empowerment that I hope everyone can take home. This misconception nearly resulted in missing the opportunity to document this once-in-a-lifetime shoot. I’ll only be pregnant with Riley once.
I don’t have many photos of my childhood. I remember seeing very few photos of my biological mom and her children. Many women hide from the camera after having children. Our bodies change so much during childbearing years, and the social pressure to “bounce back” or to “not gain too much” is debilitating.
Were my disparaging ideas around maternity shoots a defense mechanism because I lacked access to these luxuries growing up? Is it a trauma response to the limiting belief; that I am not loved or that I don’t deserve to have the family of my dreams? When these creepy-crawly parts of me show up in fear and intolerance, my parts and I sit down together and discuss what I, Melissa, truly want for myself and my family. Parts work is a tool I picked up in therapy.
I spent my entire life fighting to repair the rupture of my biological family. As adults, my bio siblings and I make up for the lost time in moments like this maternity shoot where I dragged them to the river on what ended up being the day before I gave birth.
Our family often is redefining itself for ourselves by empowering and challenging one another.
The Yuba River is an iconic scene for Northern Californians. This adventure was a fitting echo of wedding photos that my husband, Stephen, and I took months prior.
On my wedding day, I was nauseous and wrought with first trimester woes. I intentionally used a photo of me in my wedding dress to announce the pregnancy on Facebook, knowing it would elicit judgment. My post was a small act of resistance to help normalize women making choices for themselves, their bodies, and their families.
And yet here, I found myself putting off a maternity shoot because of fear and shame. There is no doubt in my mind there was a layer of shame cushioned by potential social criticism present in my maternity shoot pushback. Every time I look in the mirror and see the newly engraved stretch marks that span my stomach, I feel the social pressure and criticism; bounce back and don’t gain too much weight. You have no idea how many weird comments people made about my swollen pregnant body.
Women are shamed for dressing a certain way or posting about their lives online. The worst part is a lot of this shaming stems from other women. It’s crazy how the patriarchy pits us against each other. When I find myself shaming others (and we all do) I remember our judgments say more about us than they do about the victims of our thoughts or words.
A storm of limited communications skills, unhealthy socialization, and capitalism result in women having unrealistic expectations for experiences such as pregnancy and motherhood. It’s a daily plight. I envisioned pregnancy would be healing. I’d stop drinking and only eat organic food from the farmers market, practice prenatal yoga regularly, and float through 10 months like an Instagram goddess.
Instead, I spent the first-trimester eating smooshy burgers from McDonald's every day, I barely left the couch unless it was to throw up, and I suffered a devastating aversion to water the entire pregnancy. And no - things did not let up in the second trimester as promised. Not everyone’s experience is like mine, and I do have friends who genuinely loved being pregnant. I have a sneaking suspicion they are the exception, not the rule.
I fell victim to my own toxic positivity, spiritual bypassing, and internalized patriarchy. The omnipresent social criticism almost robbed me of documenting this joyous moment in my life. By the time I mustered up the energy to do a maternity shoot with my sister, I earned the right to feel beautiful and ethereal. Because all women everywhere, no matter what their race, size, class, or shape deserve to feel beautiful when and how they want to. And, as the stewards responsible for carrying the species forward, it’s important we teach this genuine confidence and respect that comes with it to our children, no matter their gender.
My questions for you are: How do you feel about maternity shoots? Do you have any limiting belief holding you back from documenting some of your most precious moments? Or have you had to support someone you love through these types of challenges? Share your stories in the comments.