I got pregnant in 2008 accidentally. That being said, I was thrilled and concerned since I would end up a single mother. The father was difficult during the first 4 months of my pregnancy. By “difficult” I mean that he was being selfish (“what about ME?”) and said that I did it on purpose to trap him, which was funny and I think I actually giggled. Then he demanded a paternity test via amniocentisis (no) before I left California, where I was living at the time.

At five months along, I moved back to the Midwest from California with my two dogs and old cat. I rented a house online, sight unseen. It was fine but my stuff was 2 weeks behind. I asked my family if I could crash for a bit and all of them said no. I was five months pregnant, kinda homeless and they all said no.

I get my place, my friends help me move in because I’m gigantic at five months. Work is going fine, life is okay, the pregnancy is pretty much textbook. All is well, for a bit.

Then technology and outsourcing killed my business overnight. That happened on Monday. My father died two days later rather unexpectedly. During the debates with my dad’s side about how to handle his funeral arrangements, the Funeral Director pulled me aside and said “I did the obit and noticed that you aren’t married. Are you interested in a closed adoption for the baby you are carrying?” (truncated conversation) My dad just died and I’m being asked by the FD if I want to give up my child. Fuck. You.

My business is dead, my dad is dead, and then I slice the crap out of my right hand. Blood everywhere. With no health insurance, I clean it up myself and super glue my skin back together.

Bright spot: a delightful baby shower. My friends were generous and kind and excited for the wee one to arrive.

Then I go into labor. Thirty four agonizing hours all resulting in an emergency C-section.

For the better part of the nine months I was pregnant, I was under more stress than a normal pregnancy. I firmly believe that my son, who is now 10, needs a hit of adrenaline or cortisol to feel normal. He needs to stir something up. I talk to him about my pregnancy and him swimming in cortisol drenched amniotic fluid and he needs to be aware of when he wants an adrenaline hit.

All of that to say that I think this article has some serious merit but chronic, unrelenting stress doesn’t just have to come from abuse.