I
wrote this piece for an audition to participate in a local production of Listen To Your Mother (LTYM) which was
created by Ann Imig and held annually across the country. LTYM gives motherhood a microphone, giving
people from all walks of life a chance to share their stories regarding the
many different sides of motherhood. My
story wasn’t chosen for our local production of LTYM this year, but that’s ok,
there is always next year and there are more stories for me to tell if I
choose. If this story helps even one
mother in some way, then I feel it has done its job.
This
piece has been writing itself for 7 years, 7 years before I even had the
courage to share or the opportunity, or for it to be finished, only to realize
it will never be finished. I wrote this
piece in my head and in my heart long before I ever touched a keypad. It is real, it is truthful, it is a story…..my
story and I am ready to tell it.
“This Isn’t the
Way It’s Supposed to Be”
“I’m
pregnant” I said to my husband one early morning in September of 2008, from
that moment on my life would be forever changed. The moment the words left my lips I knew
instinctively that the baby growing inside me was a girl. From then on I knew what to expect, the
nausea, the cravings for onions….but only from McDonalds and only on a
cheeseburger, the swollen ankles, even the complications but what I didn’t know
was that depression was also right around the corner. I had a “normal” pregnancy with my son just
the previous year, no signs of pregnancy depression or post-partum depression
so I had no idea of the emotional rollercoaster that was heading my way. For the first few weeks after we found out I
was pregnant we just sat on this piece of information thinking it was just a
dream that we would wake up from, or that maybe the home pregnancy test was
wrong. I mean how could it be right,
weren’t we the same couple who had just been told by a fertility specialist
that our chances of conceiving on our own were pretty close to zero? Weren’t we
the same couple that endured shots and nasty hormone therapies just to have our
son?
Slowly
we began telling people of our news; I remember telling my best friend, sitting
on my couch while my son played at our feet.
Immediately she sensed something wasn’t right, she sensed the lack of
excitement in my words, she knew what was happening. As we told more people I remember thinking
“maybe now it will seem real”, only that never happened just as it still didn’t
seem real at the ultrasound or when I first felt my baby move. As the pregnancy progressed family and
friends were getting more and more excited, and all I could think was “why am I
not excited?” I vividly remembered the
way I felt when I was pregnant with my son, how happy I was; wasn’t that the
way every pregnancy was supposed to be?
As the months continued zipping by and my belly continued to grow my
feelings of disconnect for the baby girl I was carrying did also. There was no excitement or happiness; instead
there were growing feelings of sadness and despair.
I
wasn’t able to share my feelings with anyone except my husband and my
midwife. The little bit I did share was
greeted with a “oh you’ll be fine” or “don’t worry everything will be OK” even
“just wait until you see her”; all I wanted was to say “FUCK can somebody,
anybody justify my feelings, can’t anyone see I’m drowning here”? This was not an enjoyable way to spend any
amount of time, especially not during the 9 months of carrying an innocent
baby.
At
last, the day came, May 14 2009, a day I was dreading and looking forward to at
the same time. I was scheduled for a
C-Section and hoped that everyone who had been reassuring me was right, that
the minute I saw my baby girl all those feelings I had would disappear and be
replaced by feelings of love and joy.
Instead, the first time I saw her over the curtain in the OR she spit up
all over me….not quite the blissful moment I had been hoping for. After an uneventful hospital stay and my
husband being home for a week, I was alone.
Alone with her, (and my son) you see I was ok as long as there were
other people around, people to do all the things I should’ve been doing. Holding her, changing her diaper, snuggling
her late at night, now it was all me.
Only thing was I had no desire to do those things, I mean how could I
after all I didn’t even like her? Still
the whole time day in and day out I kept hoping these feelings would disappear,
you know after the sleep deprivation wore off, or I got used to a new schedule,
or heck even while nursing her…..all this time I was hoping that these feelings
of drowning into this emotionless relationship would disappear, knowing that
they weren’t “normal”. Instead of
magically disappearing I was the one who disappeared, becoming like a robot
just going through the motions.
There
were parties, and meeting friends, holidays and family dinners, conversations
and silence and through all of these nobody could hear me crying out
“HELP”. People would say “oh she’s so
cute” or “how is she sleeping” all the familiar nice things that are always
said when a baby is born. All I wanted
was someone to say “how are you” and the courage to answer them honestly. That moment never came, so instead I continued
to “fake it until you make it”, all of the smiles, the happiness, the jokes…all
faked, which can be quite tiring on an already sleep deprived depressed
mother. This manner of faking it
continued, and continued, yes there were occasional moments when I could let my
guard down and say how I was really feeling, what was really going on but they
were few and far between.
With
every passing milestone, every fleeting day, I would hope this would be the one
thing that would snap me out of this funk.
Yes, there were counseling efforts made but when it came time to decide
to pay my counseling copay or buy my baby the specialized formula she now
needed I paid for the formula. As the
days passed there were moments I could see the old Michele returning, the
Michele who cared about other people, and the Michele that felt pretty after a
haircut. It’s hard to say when exactly
these feelings left, or if they really have just turned into feelings of acceptance. Acceptance that she is my daughter, she is
stubborn, hard headed, loving and helpful.
She is smart and loves her family, she likes to dance and cuddle, she is
just like me.
The
thing I remember hearing during this time was “how can you not love her”, “how
can you not see her as your daughter”, as if I could control it or caused
it. The one thing I do not remember hearing
was “it is OK not to love your children the same exact way” or “you are going
to feel overwhelmed” or even the truth “depression is a chemical imbalance,
lets help you”.
There is so much more to my story, so many more feelings, so many more details that I haven't revealed yet. There are days when I think I beat postpartum depression, that I am a Warrior Mom, and there are days I find myself reliving all those emotions and feeling guilty, days when I think I haven't beat this but rather it has just become part of who I am. Recently (2016) someone, a family member blamed me for causing my postpartum depression and said "you wanted children so badly", as if I had a choice in how I felt in the months and years after my daughters birth. The pain and the guilt may never go away, but I will fight until my last breathe for my daughter and to resolve the feelings I felt and the depression I feel everyday as a result of her pregnancy and birth, that I promise
There is so much more to my story, so many more feelings, so many more details that I haven't revealed yet. There are days when I think I beat postpartum depression, that I am a Warrior Mom, and there are days I find myself reliving all those emotions and feeling guilty, days when I think I haven't beat this but rather it has just become part of who I am. Recently (2016) someone, a family member blamed me for causing my postpartum depression and said "you wanted children so badly", as if I had a choice in how I felt in the months and years after my daughters birth. The pain and the guilt may never go away, but I will fight until my last breathe for my daughter and to resolve the feelings I felt and the depression I feel everyday as a result of her pregnancy and birth, that I promise
On
June 18, I will be participating in a local Climb Out of the Darkness to support Postpartum Progress and raise
awareness of post-partum depression.
This post and this walk are the first time I have talked about and
acknowledged my struggles with both my pregnancy depression and subsequent
postpartum depression publicly. I hope
that someday these subjects won’t be hushed and “brushed under the rug” or have
such a negative taboo around them, but rather spoken about in a healthy
way. I hope that this post helps make a
difference to even just one mother, or anyone who know someone that may be
suffering in silence. Please consider
clicking on the above link and making a donation to help spread the awareness of
postpartum depression.
Edit: This post was edited to reflect the 2016 climb and appropriate links
Edit: This post was edited to reflect the 2016 climb and appropriate links
