When I was deep into challenges I didn't understand and floundering, I had the most trouble feeling like I was all alone. As if these troubles were specific to me, and I was somehow broken in a way other people aren't. Well, I am broken. And almost as soon as I started sharing my scariest things, I learned that most people are. Most of the things I go through aren't unique to me.
Feeling like I wasn't alone in things made everything seem easier. It helped me show myself grace and helped me empathize with others. It has been more grueling than childbirth to work through these things. Having no chance of an epidural compounds the difference. And yet, I would not give up how I have changed to avoid the pain. I like myself better on the other side.
I digress, but my motherhood journey has definitely spiderwebbed into other areas of my life. Pictured above is my only child. She is also the 2nd of 4 if you follow birth order studies. I struggled with infertility. I was ripped apart by miscarriage. Our miracle child was a high-risk pregnancy every week of the process. Every one of those things made other relationships challenging.
When I learned I was miscarrying for the first time, my husband and a close friend bunked down with me and movies. It happened as smoothly as it possibly could at home. And for those scientific-minded, like my daughter, the sac never broke. It was quite unusual, relatively clean, and the process made me feel supported in my home. It also gave me a strange sense of confidence in my body. Somehow its ability to go through a miscarriage so smoothly offset the self-loathing of having a miscarriage.
Self-loathing is a stong description, I know. I believe it's accurate. I remember apologizing to my father for miscarrying. It shocked me. And yet I meant it as an apology. I never have understood where the guilt came from. There was nothing I could have done to prevent it, and yet I felt so much guilt and insecurity. I wondered if it was some sort of ingrained idea from the ages where women's responsibility was to have healthy boys to keep the family going. I do not believe in those concepts and yet experienced similar emotions.
I never want my daughter to go through a miscarriage. However, if she does, I hope I would be invited to hold her, comfort her, and sit in it with her. I hope she'd see me loving her and grieving with her. I would not judge her for a miscarriage, and yet, I judged myself for one. It makes no sense.
But wait! It gets worse! During miscarriage #2 and child #3, I almost passed out on the bathroom floor from loss of blood while my toddler was knocking on the door asking me to play. And during that, I still felt guilt. Doubting myself and my decisions about how to handle things.
If someone I know is experiencing something even remotely close to this, please call me!!! I will come and play with your child, make sure you have fluids & check-in to make sure you don't need to go to the hospital. I want everyone around me to feel like they have that support. Dealing with miscarriage is enough all by itself. Please let someone take care of you, mamas.
That brings us to miscarriage #3 and child #4. I desperately wanted to give my husband a son. He would have had a lot of fun with a son. He adores our daughter, of course. I think it would have been fun for him to have a son as well. And it would have been the last opportunity for our family name to be passed on in the traditional sense, so the family implications led me to keep trying as long as I did.
I definitely had support following that experience, tho. I was at the family cabin with my immediate family, my parents, and a family of cousins. My toddler was outside playing with everyone and well-cared-for. I was napping. A lot. I had lost so much blood that my nurse SIL was angry that they hadn't given me blood. Amid that support, the seeds of an unplanned future were growing.
My toddler had some issues related to a highly hereditary condition that I have. My biological parents were convinced they did not have this condition. They showed embarrassment and exasperation when I tried to talk to them about my treatment and work through the condition. They got angry when I named the symptoms that we shared. I was strongly encouraged by my parents to be quiet and hide the things that embarrassed them. I was disappointed that this highly hereditary condition wasn't being discussed within the family to help people get through it and avoid unnecessary suffering. Another cousin was experiencing similar things and an uncle later asked me why he hadn't heard earlier, after my grandmother received great relief from similar treatment in a care facility. The divergence of the ways had already begun. I had grown into a different person than they wanted me to be & chosen a different approach to adult life.
During one of my naps at the cabin, I heard crying and woke up. One of the other adults apologized but asked me to come and help. I did. Noone had done anything to cause distress. My daughter was safe. She was struggling. I assured her she was safe and backed up the family for being appropriate, then implemented some of the non-medication fixes I was learning (for myself initially) with her. I did this in front of all of them. In just a few minutes, she went from crying to giggling.
As she went up the steps to go get a snack, there was silence for a minute. Then, someone said they had offered her a snack, as well, and there was lots of unnecessary explaining. I reiterated that they didn't cause it. Then, someone said, "What just happened?" and someone else said "How did you do that?" It didn't make any sense to them. I glared pointedly at my father in front of everyone and said, "This is why I do therapy. That was therapy. It works." and turned on my heel, going back to the house.
I should have been more kind. I own that. Please understand that this is a glimpse of a much longer set of interactions, and wasn't a one-time thing. My frustration was so high, and my energy was so low from the miscarriage and parenting a toddler. I had dreams of my parents, especially my mother going through this treatment with me and growing as adults side by side and having an adult relationship. I simply didn't get that.
So, this mother's day, for those of you who are motherless, I can relate. I am an adult estranged child. I have been for years. It's not what I wanted, I tried to work through things over and over again. It didn't work. I met with multiple professionals for help and advice. And this Mother's Day weekend, I hope that my genetic mother is well and happy. I sincerely do. I will always love her. I simply couldn't have a relationship with her and be a healthy person. The biggest criticism I get around that is a concern for my daughter. I consulted professionals and her opinion and they consulted her. My husband/her father was involved as well, of course. The decision was not just mine. She reassures me when I feel guilty about it. Trust me. It was a big concern for me, as well.
Along those same lines, I find myself relating to people whose mothers have died. I grieve the loss of that relationship, just from a different angle.
That brings me to another kind of mother. I have had many sometimes moms step into my life, and I am so grateful to them. They have helped fill a need in my life, and they were simply caring and being themselves. Those women were willing to engage with me in a real, authentic way. Just as kids in joint custody situations have the benefit of seeing more than one option & the different results of different decisions, I have had the benefit of picking and choosing the mothering advice from bits and pieces of interactions with many mothers.
I am trying to be the best mother I can be, and I am wildly imperfect. My favorite relationships are wildly imperfect. They are also wildly loving, reparative, and flexible. My daughter knows that saying "I'm perfect" is always sarcastic from me. I make mistakes and admit them, sometimes in a better way than other times. I know she will have scars from me. I believe everyone has parent-inflicted scars. I hope the fact that I know I am imperfect will go a long way toward reconciliation.
So, embrace your Mother's Day weekend. Be a great dog mom; I was for many years. It totally counts! Celebrate various kinds of mothers and embrace your own way of mothering, whatever that might mean. Do your best to find gratitude and fulfillment. And if you have sadness around that, embrace it, then find your gratitude as well. You are enough. Don't let a holiday create negativity in your life if you can help it.
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