How 2 Women Are Working to Make Sure There Are No Future Victims of Obstetric Violence

Updated on 9/28/2015 at 6:07 PM

Though having a baby can be an overwhelming experience, the prize at the end is normally worth all of the trouble — but unfortunately for some women (as many as one in three), the negative care experiences they have during birth stick with them for long after their bundle of joy has arrived.

Birth photographer and doula Lindsay Askins was working at Improving Birth — a group advocating evidence-based care for moms and babies — when she heard firsthand the traumatic birth experiences of some women. She decided to create something with her photography that would help to spread the stories of women who became victims on days that should have been among the happiest in their lives.

With the help of her colleague and friend Cristen Pascucci — Vice President of Improving Birth — the duo came up with Exposing the Silence Project, a photo project that Lindsay hopes will be "a platform for women to speak out about how they were bullied, coerced, manipulated, and even abused during their pregnancies and births." Cristen told us, "We both realized that it is necessary to bring to light what's going on with birth in America, because so much of this trauma and damage is from the care these women received, not the actual birth."

The pair has ambitious goals for the project. "My hope and goal is to push this topic into mainstream America where it is something everyone knows about, something that pregnant women are very aware of, something families consider before choosing a care provider and birthing place," said Lindsay. For Cristen, it's not only a matter of bringing this issue to light, but also advocation. "Treating women with respect and compassion during this very vulnerable time will result in better health outcomes and happier moms and babies!"

Read through to see some of the photos from the beautiful black and white series and to read these brave women's stories.

"I was lying alone in the operating room without my husband. My arms flapped, hummingbird quick. I wanted to hug myself. They threatened to tie me down, so I kept my body in a crucifix. I cried. I vomited. I pleaded with the anesthesiologist to please wipe my mouth. He pretended not to see. Then, it was hours before I held my baby." — Heather, Berkeley, CA

“Imagine if the maternity care system in our country actually treated all women, regardless of age, race, ability, lifestyle choices, appearance or financial status, with respect and dignity. . . . What if care providers validated our emotions and feelings during one of the vulnerable times in our lives? What different stories we would have to tell? At the age of 19 and without a partner by my side, I didn’t have the strength or knowledge to know I had choices. . . . Eight years later, I still do not feel like I consented at all — and to this day, the negative, traumatic effects linger.” — Laney, Denver

"For a long time after his birth, I always referred to his birthday as 'the day he was born,' rather than, 'when I gave birth to him.' I know for some people this isn't that big of a difference, but for me, the language difference is was major. I just didn't feel that I birthed him, I didn't even hear his first cry, and I certainly didn't get him out on my own." — Pamela, Boulder, CO

"I was, like, the eighth person to hold my baby. That was the most traumatic part for me. What the heck just happened and why did everyone else get to hold her before me? I had to watch this young nurse washing her with my husband. . . . I was just lying there. Watching." — Meredith, Harrisburg, PA

"We can’t talk about it, because it’s women who write other women off. It’s the female friends and the sisters-in-law that say, 'It doesn’t matter.' And then the more you talk about it, you realize it DOES matter to them. They've never had a place to talk about it or tell their stories. You can see the pain and the terror in their eyes when they do talk about it, even years later. You can see it on their faces. You’re supposed to enjoy every moment of it — you’re not supposed to be traumatized by it. And don’t ask for help . . . because 'good' mothers don’t need help! So plaster a smile on your face . . . " — Leah, Baltimore

“My thoughts are from my heart for all mommas and their babies. They are deep and hard to summarize; however, my intention is to forgive the [doctor] . . . and all of those involved in the birth of my beautiful strong daughter, Emma Danielle. I was trying to stand up to listen to my body to aid me in a pharmacological-free birthing experience and now I'm standing up to 'expose the silence' because my body told me to do so.” — Gina, Philadelphia, PA

"It was so miserable; I was a complete outsider. The thing that is supposed to be the greatest day of your life, it’s just another day on the job for these people. I was surprised at how mundane and routine everything was, and how little respect they gave the staff in terms of being able to use their own judgment. . . . They yelled at me for everything. They never told me what I wasn’t supposed to do, but then they yelled at me after I did it. Chastising me, 'Look at what you did! Now I have to clean it up — you messed it up.'" — Christel, New Jersey

"Had I known while pregnant with my own children the realities versus myths about the life changing journey that not only I was walking, but one my husband and my son were also walking — and had [my doctor] valued me as a woman, capable and willing in making healthy choices for myself and my child, versus scaring me and forcing me down a path my body and baby were not ready for — my family would have had a different introduction to the world! That was taken from me and it didn't have to be!" — Renee, New York

"The attitude of the doctor that fixed me up was that of a judge giving me my life sentence as I woke up from anesthesia. This was followed by days of being treated like a child, a specimen, and finding that my ‘no’ didn't mean a thing in the hospital, and that my needs were an inconvenience. In one of two traumatic postpartum ER visits, I was even mocked after waking up from anesthesia. I didn't understand what had happened to me for four weeks, until a specialist I was seeing for my healing described things in detail. I felt a strange comfort in finally understanding the mash-up of poorly stitched flesh that was my womanhood, as well as horror in the same breath at hearing the words ‘You almost died . . .’ I'm still getting over it.” — Elizabeth, Richmond, VA

"The one emotion that was consistent during my daughter's birth, almost 13 years ago, was shame — shame for not birthing her vaginally, shame for not being able to breastfeed her, shame for not feeling a connection to her right away. The nursing staff in particular reaffirmed this emotion over and over again, one nurse even saying to me as she wheeled me to my recovery room after my Cesarean, 'You know you’re too young to have a baby . . . ' And I believed them." — Kim, Riverside, CA

"My birth experience could have been far less traumatic if the hospital staff would have listened to me and trusted that I know when something is not right with my body. I told the nurse repeatedly in the hours after my son was born that something was not right. The nurse dismissively said, 'Oh, it's just the Pitocin,' shrugging my concern off as if I was just an oversensitive patient. At the very least they could have provided me with aftercare with actual 'care' about what happened to me. I honestly don’t think the nurses in the recovery room knew the experience I had been through. Once I was in recovery, I felt like a piece of meat on a conveyor belt shuffled from one room to another until I was out of the door and out of their hair." — Staci, San Diego, CA

"I begged the nurse for help, letting her know that my body was pushing and I couldn’t stop it. I was 28 hours into labor and unmedicated. She told me I couldn’t possibly be ready [to push] because I was a first time mom. I repeatedly asked her to check me or get the midwife. Instead, she paced around my bed insisting I wasn’t ready and refused to check me or get help. When my mom tried to check me, the nurse physically closed my legs and said, 'She not ready. I been nurse longer than she been alive, I know when they ready. She's not ready.' I fought my body’s urge to deliver my child for a solid 50 minutes. I was later diagnosed with postpartum PTSD and endured a painful, 11 month physical recovery because of the choices made by my abusive and dismissive nurse." — Leslie, Los Angeles