The journey of motherhood usually starts with our own mothers. We are shaped by how we are mothered. And I was one of the lucky ones.
As a friend, therapist and instructor I have learned not everyone has had a loving mother or been given a healthy foundation to be a mother. I have listened, even witnessed a few times, some of the worst mothering possible. I remember one of my adolescent clients would report wanting to commit suicide just to be put in inpatient to get away from her abusive mother. Another client also had an abusive mother and in addition to making a report to Child Protective Services, all I could do was help her come up with a safety plan. It was one of the most helpless times in my life.
As an instructor of undergraduate and graduate psychology and counseling courses, I often had my students write papers on very personal matters. This was purposely done to help students identify their own issues, biases and triggers. I have read some of the worst humanity has done to another human, even from the hands of their own mothers.
I share this because it is easy to take for granted being raised by an amazing mom. My mom bent over backwards to ensure all of my needs were met and then some and then some more. She was always there, take care of my brother and me, helping us with homework, driving us from one activity to another, preparing countless meals, often all on her own because my dad worked so much and was often out of the country on business.
When I was in college or early twenties it became obvious that not every friend of mine wanted to spend time with their moms. They did not have that kind of mother-daughter relationship that my mom and I had. Being homesick meant missing my mom, not necessarily the house we lived in.
When I was previously engaged I asked my mom to be my matron of honor but she turned me down. Even though I had six wonderful bridesmaids I did not ask anyone else to be my matron of honor because my mom has always been my best friend.
I have wanted to be a mom for as long as I can remember. There were times when I thought about being a career mom, work full-time and be a mom. At one point when I was in my twenties and single I announced to my family that I wanted to be a mom so bad I would just do it on my own. By this time my pain was intense and I was going from doctor to doctor trying to figure out what was wrong with me.
When I was had been dating my ex-husband for about six months I remember I finally had a name to all the pain I had, Hypermobility Syndrome, or HMS. Like most people who learn of what they have I began to research it. This task was not easy at the time because HMS was almost unheard of here in the states. I finally stumbled on a website that provided some much needed validation. Unfortunately, it also told me it was genetic and that I had a 50% chance of passing it on.
My heart broke.
I remember sitting on my couch at my old house and told my ex I did not think I should have children, biological or adopted. The research told me even taking care of babies and children would be tough on my body. Between the potential of passing HMS along and what it would do to my body I really did not think it was a good idea to have children but I also knew God would provide. There was internal conflict on what was the right choice.
It is important to know even then I just thought I had HMS. It was years before I learned I had Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, an entirely different ballgame that I would pass on.
About four years later we were married and I was still did not think it was a good idea to have a child but my ex really wanted to be a dad. And while I was open to adoption, he was not. I was petrified knowing my pain would only increase with pregnancy. I was even more scared about passing HMS on. When my anxiety would increase I would lean on God which always helped. Over the course of those four years we talked about what would happen if our child would inherit HMS. We concluded we would know what it looks like and could seek treatment. It was just pain after all.
In the end I wrote a letter to my ex saying while I was very nervous what it would do to our relationship. At the end of this infamous letter I said “I’m in if you are.” The letter was left on his pillow to read.
About a year later we were ready to try to get pregnant. Having HMS also meant there may be issues with getting pregnant so we prepared for it to be a struggle. We kept telling ourselves and everyone else that we would be one and done and be grateful for one child. The irony is I had what is called Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, PCOS, which can also cause fertility issues but I had no idea I even had it.
We put it in God’s hands and if we were meant to be parents then we would be. I was pregnant within a month of trying.
I have always called Jake, my blessing, for this very reason. God blessed me with Jake.
Jake was the happiest and cuddliest baby. He and I were on this journey together where I was learning how to be his mom and he was learning the world around him. He was our day-maker because he made our days so awesome…nights not so much. From the day we brought him home from the hospital he struggled with sleep. Despite everything we researched and tried nothing worked.
For me motherhood was not what I saw in movies or read in books. Sure there were picture perfect moments but more often than not it was a struggle. I remember a conversation my mom and I had when Jake was about nine months old or so. She pointed out how back in her day there was not the expectation to nurse, make the baby food from scratch, work full-time, keep house…basically do it all. Unfortunately my generation has been set up to be super women all the while not to show the stress, anxiety, and/or depression that came with it. My mom lifted quite a bit of weight that day.
When Jake was two years old we finally had a name for why he struggled with sleeping, Sensory Processing Disorder or SPD. Jake was about three and half years old when he was also diagnosed with Restless Leg Syndrome. So yeah, sleep was hard for him. By the way, sleep is used as psychological warfare and I can assure you years of sleep deprivation takes a toll.
Before Jake was a year old I went off birth control and began to chart my ovulation over many months. My cycles were all over the place which again was because of PCOS. The chances seemed quite slim that we would get pregnant again but after two months of trying I was pregnant. My OBGYN even high-fived me because she did not even think I could get pregnant again.
I have always called Alivia, my miracle, for this very reason. God gave me the miracle of Alivia.
Alivia, or Ali as we often call her, was equally cuddly and simply adored her big brother. There were so many highs in that year after Alivia was born. There were a lot of lows too. While Jake was struggling with sleep Ali was a champ but when solid food was introduced she began to throw up so much she was lovingly given the nick name “Pukey Girl”. It wasn’t until she was about four years when we learned she had been suffering from Cyclical Vomiting Syndrome or CVS. All that time we thought it was just acid reflux unfortunately it was so much more than that.
As much as I loved infancy and first year with both of my children it took its toll on me physically, emotionally, socially, personality…you name it. Most parents with newborns are initially in survival mode but eventually it levels out. We were in constant survival mode for years and it took it’s toll.
My ex and I had so much love and support from so many people especially from our parents. Unfortunately it is not always enough and the struggle is there. I look back to those first four years I was a mom and I realize I was not connected to God like I am today. Without a doubt if I had been it would have been easier. Unfortunately I had allowed myself to walk away from God and His church to be closer to my ex.
Even before Jake was born I knew I wanted my children baptized but to me baptism meant making the commitment to raise them in a church home and to teach them how to have a relationship with God. This became a huge source of contention between my ex and I. He was raised Catholic but had no interest in raising our kids in a church. I was not raised in a church, baptized Episcopalian as an adult and open to any church who allowed women to preside and was welcoming to everyone. As you can imagine, we were quite divided on the issue. I am a huge fan of agree to disagree but in this situation all that meant was a constant stand-still which left very little room for God.
When Alivia was about six months old I had Postpartum Anxiety. I’ve written about this in detail in my post Six Months In http://www.risingupstrong.com/six-months-in/. The sleep deprivation had gotten pretty bad but there was more to it this time. My ex, the kids and I were staying with my parents for a few days, why I cannot recall. What I do remember was finally fessing up to my ex at dinner with how scary my thoughts were and then we sat my mom down that night and told her. I could tell she was scared for me. We agreed I would call my doctor the next morning, which I did and was immediately put on a medication.
But what is seared in my memory forever is when we were out on the driveway, car packed ready to go, and I started crying. I did not want to leave. I just wanted to stay with my mom. I wanted to stay with my dad too, but moms always know how to make it better. While I don’t remember the exact words it was something to the effect of “she needs help”. It wasn’t what she said, it was how she took my face in her hands, looked right in my eyes and was visibly upset. She heard me. She validated me. She would help get me better.
Jake was three and half and Alivia was about a year and half my body was falling apart. I was in so much pain. I was having more and more symptoms. The name Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS) kept coming up in various doctor appointments and after more research, I knew I had been mis-diagnosed. I had to advocate for myself and get to the correct doctors to be diagnosed properly.
When I researched EDS I crumbled. I knew I now had passed on more than just pain.
When Jake was about four years old and Alivia was two years old I began to really push to have both of them baptized. In the end I had to make the very tough decision to do move forward with or without my ex. While he attended church those six months leading up to their baptism, he did not participate much.
This was a defining moment. I knew with potentially having EDS my kids were going to need God to lean on, a church community to lift us up. I knew if I pushed for this our family may become divided because my ex had made it clear his beliefs in God were just not there. After making the decision to divorce, the kids and I really settled into our church home. Eventually my mom started to come with us as well which was an unexpected gift.
When various symptoms began to occur I did not hesitate to get the kids diagnosed. I believe in knowledge is power and we needed all the knowledge we could get to treat the current symptoms as well as prevent others from occurring. At times this has felt like an uphill battle with my ex as he is not always on the same page. Thankfully after involving numerous specialists he seems to understand EDS.
When my ex moved out I did majority of the packing including our mementos of the fourteen years together. I came across that very same letter I wrote about having being parents. After reading the letter again I realized some of my worst fears had come true.
Then I tossed the letter in the box marked “Pat”.
When you have a child or children with any type of need, special or not, we do our very best achieve it. I advocated for them to be properly diagnosed which continues to give them accesses to treatments they need. I advocated for them to receive 504 plans at school which affords them opportunities to be successful regardless of their medical issues. I advocate for them by having what I would call tough discussions with their father who is not always on board with their medical issues. I advocate for them by educating our friends and family about their differences. I advocate for my kids by nurturing their relationship with God.
Mothers are not called “mama bears” for nothing you know.
My mom has many passions in life. Her family, reading, travel, painting, colored pencils, gardening, words, animals, the ocean and lighthouses just to name a few. There is a certain structure lighthouses have and of course they are on a large body of water. I recently read that each lighthouse is unique in some way in that no two lighthouses are alike. And of course there is usually an old home attached to lighthouse that used to provide shelter to the lighthouse keeper and his family.
My mom is my lighthouse keeper. She has been the light on the darkest of nights, the roughest of waters. There have been a handful of times during my journey of motherhood thru my divorce when I felt as though I was just treading water without a life jacket, without a life raft. But now when I look back there was always a beacon of light. God was always there but so was my mom.
My mom kept the light burning so I could always find my way back. Back to Jake and Alivia. Back to my family and friends. Back to myself.
Mom, the keeper of my lighthouse, thank you for loving your grandchildren and I they way that you do. Without your fierce, fun and nurturing love I would not be the mother that I am today. Thank you for always believing in me, helping me find the strength to rise up.
Mom, thank you for always keeping the light on for me to find my way.
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