I was completely taken aback. The man I thought I knew, the man I had trusted and loved, revealed a side of himself I had never seen before. As we settled into the new routine of caring for our newborn son, I couldn’t shake off his words. They echoed in my mind, fueling my anger and determination to make him understand the gravity of what he had said.

A few days later, as we sat in the living room, Owen was holding our baby boy, smiling down at him. I took a deep breath, deciding it was time to confront him.
“Owen, we need to talk,” I began, my voice steady. “What you said in the delivery room, and afterwards, was incredibly hurtful and disrespectful. Do you have any idea what it felt like to go through labor and hear you tell me to stop screaming?”
He looked up, his smile fading. “I was just trying to keep you calm,” he said defensively. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Trying to keep me calm?” I echoed, incredulous. “By telling me to be quiet? By calling my pain and struggle an embarrassment? Owen, childbirth is one of the most intense experiences a woman can go through. It’s not something you can just stay silent through.”

He looked down, not meeting my eyes. “I guess I didn’t think about it that way.”

I continued, “I want you to understand what it felt like for me. And I want you to understand the importance of empathy and support, especially in moments like that.”

A plan began to form in my mind. I wanted Owen to experience a fraction of what I went through, to feel vulnerable and helpless, just as I had felt. It wasn’t about revenge; it was about making him understand.

The next day, I set up a surprise for him. I found an online childbirth simulator that men could use to feel the intensity of labor pains. When Owen came home from work, I presented it to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, eyeing the device warily.

“It’s a labor pain simulator,” I explained. “I want you to try it, to understand what I went through. Maybe then you’ll realize why your words were so hurtful.”

He hesitated, but eventually, he agreed. I set up the device and started it at a low level. As the simulated contractions began, I watched his face contort in discomfort. I gradually increased the intensity, and soon, he was gripping the arms of the chair, his knuckles white.

“Okay, okay, I get it!” he gasped. “Turn it off!”

I turned off the simulator and looked at him. “Now imagine that, but for hours, with the added emotional and physical stress of bringing a new life into the world. And then imagine being told to be quiet because you’re embarrassing someone.”

He sat there, catching his breath, looking at me with new understanding. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t realize… I was wrong to say those things.”

I nodded, feeling a mix of relief and lingering hurt. “It’s not just about the pain, Owen. It’s about support and respect. I need to know that you’re with me, that you understand what I’m going through and that you respect my experience.”

He reached out and took my hand. “I do, and I will. I’m sorry I failed you when you needed me most. I’ll do better, I promise.”

From that day on, Owen made a conscious effort to be more supportive and understanding. He attended parenting classes with me, learned about the physical and emotional challenges of childbirth, and made sure to be there for me and our son in every way possible.

Our relationship grew stronger as we navigated the challenges of new parenthood together, with empathy and respect at the core of our partnership. And while the memory of his hurtful words lingered, it also served as a reminder of the importance of understanding and supporting each other through life’s most difficult moments.