Last week, my husband, Owen, and I welcomed our baby boy into the world. It was a natural birth, and Owen supported me every step of the way. The pain was intense, as one would expect, and I couldn’t help but let out some screams.
However, instead of offering comfort, Owen whispered in my ear, “Can you stop screaming? You’re really embarrassing me.” Those words made me furious.
By the time our son was placed in my arms, my joy was mixed with anger. How could Owen try to silence me during such a profound and excruciating experience? I made up my mind to teach him a lesson once we got home.
The car ride back from the hospital was silent, with only the soft coos of our newborn breaking the quiet. My mind was consumed with thoughts, carefully planning my words. But when we entered our home, Owen turned to me with a peculiar expression.
“It is a woman’s duty to endure pain gracefully,” he said in a strangely formal tone. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but I think you could have handled it better.”
His words stunned me. It wasn’t just the condescending tone, but the complete lack of empathy and understanding. How could he, the man who witnessed every contraction and helped me through every push, believe that my pain and my reaction to it should be managed for his comfort?
I gathered my thoughts and began to speak, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Owen, do you have any idea what childbirth feels like? Do you have any concept of the pain, fear, and sheer effort it takes to bring a new life into this world?”
He tried to interject, but I raised my hand to silence him.
“You don’t. And yet, you thought it was acceptable to tell me to be quiet, to not embarrass you. Do you understand how that made me feel?”
His face softened slightly, but I wasn’t finished.
“I was scared, Owen. I was in agony. And instead of supporting me, you made me feel ashamed. For what? For expressing pain? For being human?”
“I… I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he finally responded, a hint of remorse in his voice.
“Well, you did,” I replied, my voice breaking. “And it’s not just about the birth. It’s about our entire relationship. If you think it’s my responsibility to endure pain gracefully for your comfort, then you don’t understand the true meaning of partnership.”
Owen looked down, his face turning red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I truly am. I was so focused on my own feelings that I didn’t consider yours. I promise to do better.”
Taking a deep breath, I felt the weight of his words. “I hope you mean that, Owen. Because being a father means understanding and supporting your family, even in their most vulnerable moments.”
He nodded, his eyes meeting mine with newfound sincerity. “I do mean it. I want to learn, and I want to be there for you and our son in every way possible.”
In the quiet of our home, we stood there, holding onto the promise of a fresh start. Healing from the hurt would take time, but his willingness to understand was a step in the right direction. As we embarked on this new chapter as parents, my hope was that we would build a partnership grounded in empathy, respect, and unwavering support.
