Now with that said, I am ashamed to admit that I had a hard time feeling this way when I first met Little. I held him, fed him, and cared for him as any responsible parent would, but I didn't feel love. In fact I felt regret. I often joked about this with others, but it was, unfortunately, all very true. I hate myself for having had those feelings. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself. I had honestly wished I had never gotten pregnant and given birth. Before me was a stranger that screamed at me all day long (the colic drama to come later), ripped up my nipples, refused to be put down causing incredible pain in my arm and back muscles (did I mention he was nearly 10 lbs???), refused all the comforts offered him (swaddles, pacifier, crib, car rides, etc.), and basically was just "take take take" with not a smidge of "give," not even a smile or an hour of silence so weak mom could rest.
Most of that is pretty normal for parents of newborns, but I had the added insult of postpartum depression. My hormones were so out of balance. That coupled with the lack of sleep and I was basically a zombie. I felt empty inside, hopeless. I wanted to run away. Leave the baby and my husband behind. They seemed content with each other after all, they would be fine. But I was drowning. I couldn't breathe and I just wanted out. I knew then that these were horrible feelings to be having so now I had guilt to add to my depression.
My mom also had struggled with postpartum depression, so she could tell immediately that I had it. She stayed with us for that tiresome, first week and witnessed my emotional madness as I would swing from anger and rage over the silliest things to fits of tears as I gazed at my screaming son. When she left we all cried. She told my husband to keep an eye on me, and tried to encourage him, because now he had the burden of taking care of our colic-y babe and me. In this story my husband is the hero. He is my hero. He is my son's hero. He is the this small family's hero. His perseverance and enormous heart rescued me, and sheltered my son. I praise god greatly for putting him on earth so he could fulfill this crucial role.
So many people surrounded me during this dark time, friends, family, strangers, childhood friends. They may never know how deep and profound their time affected me. The simplest phone call, or visit did wonders to lift my spirit, to remind me that I was still me. I put all my energy in making my outward appearance look as strong as possible. I was ashamed of my own thoughts and I did not want others to witness them. But I was not well, even if I looked it, and your time had a powerful impact, even if you thought it was not necessary, to me it was.
After about 13 weeks, I finally started to feel like myself again. Well not exactly. Nothing has ever been exactly the same, and it could never be, because now I am a mother, forged in the fire of trial and despair, but I came through, I survived, and I bear the the scars of that darkness both physically and emotionally.
I have this picture as my background on my phone. It isn't the cutest picture of my son. And it certainly isn't the most recent. But it is from that dark time. He was only a couple of days old. I look at it and speak to that tiny baby. I tell him how sorry I am for those first 13 weeks. I look at it and hope that my darkness did not leave scars on his spirit. I look at it and tell that baby "I love you" because I wasn't able to when he was actually that small. I don't know how long I will keep this picture up, reminding me of that time and my terrible weakness. But for now I keep it there. I am not ready to forgive myself yet, but I am getting there.
I love you! And you don't need to "forgive" yourself. You did not willfully do anything wrong that needs to be forgiven. In fact, the opposite. "I held him, fed him, and cared for him as any responsible parent would." You know that is a loving act, right? You didn't feel the emotions because of the chemical imbalance in your body, but you choice to do the selfless thing ANYWAYS. "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends."
ReplyDeleteSo, you did not choose to have postpartum. Right? I'm all about taking responsibility for stuff, but this one isn't on you. Mothers already carry around more guilt than they should. Don't add this one to the pile. Sweetly kiss the picture, and then let it go. It makes you feel guilty every time you look at it. Carrying that around is not good for you or Little. Happy Mama is a good Mama. :)
I'm crying tears for your bravery to be so bold and tell the truth of what so many women live alone in silence and shame. Tears that God gave you a husband and friends to help get you through it. And tears of praise that you can now look into the beautiful eyes of your son and tell him with your whole heart that his mama does love him. Thank you for sharing this.
ReplyDeleteGod bless you mama! He only knows the mama that you are and would never trade you for another. You were and are the only mama he needed and wants. Though we are never perfect, those babes were made for us and to them we are perfect for them. Good job girl. We all have struggles. Years from now you will be overwhelmed with the tremendous mountain of joy that we all get to experience that tips over and then some vs the days that we did not like our kids (there will be more, just ask me the mom of a 23, 21, 18, 14 and 6 year old!)
ReplyDeleteI know this feeling so well. After the initial shock of the first sleepless, painful month, things were golden. I think the happiest period of my life would have to be from when he was two months old until he was three and a half months old, at which point I went back to work full time. I don't have the energy to describe the details of our gradual descent into hell, but I too carry a lifelong regret for the way I felt and talked about him, and sometimes, the way I responded to him. I never hurt him, of course, but there is a very wide gradient between active harm and tender loving care. The difference between your story and mind is that my son was older, more aware. This dark period for us, when I was wishing I had never made him, and wanting to run away and leave him, couldn't stand to look at him sometimes, so I had to just set him down and walk away for fear of hurting him if I stayed... He was more than 6 months old. He stopped gaining weight, stopped babbling, wasn't smiling much anymore... because he knew. We are both okay now, but I will live with that regret for the rest of my life. ...but in spite of that, I do *not* carry around a reminder of that horror with me every day! There are reminders enough without tormenting myself about it. I took Silas with me to my appointment with my psychiatrist, the one who rescued us out of that dark hole (by the grace of God), and he said, "He seems like a very happy child." And he *is* a happy child, because he knows his mommy loves him. Six months ago, he wasn't sure. But today, he knows. Children are resilient. And so, so forgiving. This is one of the many reasons Jesus tells us to be like them. So follow your little one's lead and forgive yourself. He is happy and growing and thriving because of your love and care. Accept the gift of his love and happiness and take it in.
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