I've posted about this many times before on MN and I think I probably sound like a stuck record on it so I apologise.
After dd was born (traumatic and long, intervention-heavy labour, eventual emcs), I felt very desperate indeed. I had nightmares and flashbacks. I felt I'd failed, let everybody- including my precious baby -down. I couldn't understand why. Why my body couldn't do the supposedly natural, why I'd felt like such a passive bystander in my dd's birth, why so many other hands had to touch dd before I did, why I couldn't move past it. I avoided programmes and discussions involving birth. I had such a visceral reaction to it all. I felt bitter and envious and I thought my body had let me down. I was ashamed of myself if I'm completely honest.
Several things helped in the end.
Acknowledging truthfully that I had no choice over what happened. I'd gone into it so prepared, I'd done everthing 'right'. It does not matter. It wasn't mine to control.
Talking talking talking. To a counsellor who was also an obstetric consultant. He could listen but he could also answer questions. I needed to tell the story many times to as many ears as possible, real ones and MN ones. It all helped me process.
Understanding that I could feel sad about it all and that was okay. It didn't mean I couldn't be a good mother. That what happened after she was born wasn't anything to do with how she was born. That in the things I could control I was doing my level best.
The application of time. The most surprising thing which happened was dd grew up and asked about her own birth and this confirmed something I hadn't quite grasped before. That it wasn't just me battling against a spiral of problems. We were both there. And when she asks about it, she doesn't ask 'why couldn't you' or 'why didn't you' she asks about what happened the moment she was born, what she looked like, can she hear the story about pooing on the nurse again, did she cry etc etc. And all these questions reaffirmed what I should have accepted all along. That I gave birth to dd. I didn't reenact a textbook labour. I didn't have the baby in the book. I had dd. And her position and my body and chance/luck/fate gave us the experience we got. And it's a story now. The story of the day we met. I did nothing wrong. I know that now. I think I forgave myself.
And when I had ds 4.4yrs later and it all went the same way again, I laughed my way into theatre and out of it again because I knew one day I'd have a funny, wonderful, interesting little boy who would ask me about the day we met. And what a special day that was.