Like I said, I was hoping to avoid the exact kind of birth I wound up having. But it turns out that birth experience as unavoidable, and the fact that I got through it (with, as it turns out, a smile on my face) made me feel really powerful. Sure, I didn't want a C-section, and I was nervous about it, but it happened and I lived through the situation and the accompanying fear to the point that, if I ever needed another C-section again, I wouldn't be afraid.

Overcoming fear is a damn rush, and it made me feel awesome.

OK, statistically I was going to to live because it's extremely rare that a mother dies during a C-section. So it's not that I was realistically afraid of death during childbirth (though I'm sure we all are to some degree, of course). But I had a team of doctors cut me open and pull out a screaming, bloody infant, and then they just stapled me back together and wheeled me into a recovery room. Oh, and I was awake the entire time. On paper, C-sections sound like something out of Greek mythology, or an ancient Viking legend about some warrior maiden with an impossibly cool name famous for her metal-ass birth story.

Yes, there are factors here that make it far less dramatic than a cosmic legend (anesthesia being a big one), but just thinking about what this delivery entails is enough to make you feel badass about it.

You'd think major abdominal surgery would take walking off the table for, like, weeks, right? I mean, I've seen enough movies to know that when a man is wounded in battle with a bayonet he's reclined in a field hospital for several weeks. But there I was, postpartum, walking around carrying my baby within hours of surgery. How cool is that?!

I have to admit that I felt pretty damn proud of myself and my ability to move around after delivery. It took effort, and I knew it was important not to overdo it, but I was doing it.

Probably one of the worst aspects of C-section recovery, for me, was the fact that the surgery can delay milk production. In my case, my milk didn't come in for five days. This is within the realm of normal, but no one told that to my very, very hungry and increasingly pissed off infant who took to nursing every 20 minutes to try to fill his tummy. Have you ever tried to do anything every 20 minutes for several days? Much less something you've never really done before? Something you've never done before but need to do in order to keep someone else alive? Well, let me assure you it's not pleasant.

Eventually it became clear that I wouldn't be able to get through this trial period without the help of formula supplementation, which worried me because I knew there was a chance doing so might ruin my breastfeeding efforts. But I persisted and went on to nurse my son for 17 months in spite of a rocky start.

Basically every human activity requires some degree of core strength. You never know that more than when you have zero core strength whatsoever on account of having had major abdominal surgery. It took a long time before I was able to sit up without assistance, but I did and it made me feel like a goddamn Amazon queen.

It was cool to track my progress. My first day home from the hospital I walked around the floor of my apartment building. The next day I walked down to the corner. The next day I could walk around the block. I could feel myself getting better and better, stronger and stronger, and more and more like my old self.

Of course, I think I got drunk with that power and pushed myself too far too fast, but the point remains that my accomplishments made me feel like I could accomplish more.

There's strength in strength, and there's also strength in being able to admit when you need to sit one out. The latter really requires you to take account of your experience, own it, and own it enough to feel like you don't have to prove anything to anyone (including yourself). There was a freedom in that feeling, and just a sense of power. I knew I could push myself, but I decided that I didn't have to. I was awesome. I was doing enough. And I was worthy of self-care and a considerable amount of recovery time.

My C-section scar (though largely invisible now, which is in and of itself miraculous because a baby came out of there) is incredible. It started off as a massive, swollen, puffy, scary looking wound and then over time just became this long, thin line. Whenever I look at it (or, since I can't see it so well anymore, press down and still feel the puckered muscle and scarring beneath the skin) I feel a surge of pride. I think about everything that I went through before, during, and after my birth and get a tremendous sense of accomplishment.

My experience empowered me to be able to talk to other people about their C-section experiences, and I'm really grateful for that. Unfortunately, I think this is a procedure that has one of two narratives written into it: either you're a failure who didn't really give birth, or you're a martyr who underwent something tragic to deliver her baby safely and "all that matters is that everyone is healthy."

But that first narrative is complete crap and the second one leaves no space for the million other emotions that can come up during a C-section delivery. So talking to other people about their C-sections by talking about mine made me feel empowered. Hopefully, it can make other people feel empowered as well.

No matter how you do it, the fact remains that birth is basically one of the most badass things someone can do with their body, period.