You've Changed Me Forever
And maybe that's not such a terrible thing
Absolutely you have.
I’ll give you one example through visceral phenomena: I’m in the shower—casually getting into the crevices of my skin, exfoliating the dead off of me. Rinsing the shampoo and conditioner down my back from the ends of my hair. Whole time, there’s this unintentional and subtle sway from left to right and back again. Occasionally it becomes circular or introduces a bounce in the knees. There is no baby in sight, and yet there I am: rocking my baby. In shared spaces, curious, observant eyes look to identify those who have also comforted, rocked and bounced an infant to sleep at 3 am. All unable to stand still when not shadowing wandering children. Routinely shifting their grounding from one leg to the other. The presence of this simple sway (that I’ve heard stays for years, or even lifelong) proves that postpartum, birthing, and caregiving can, will and does change lives forever.
You did this to me. And I’m not mad about it—all of the time.
The frustration arises most when I can’t seem to fall asleep in a timely manner. I fight sleep like a child who’s curious to experience more of the world. I let my mind take its time calculating all of the things that need to be done each evening for the next day’s success. I guess you could say I’ve become more forward thinking, which is probably a good thing.
The feeling returns when I can’t find the childcare that would offer me a break from responsibility. It leads me to often wonder if I’ve trapped myself here, or if I’m honest in my decision to become the type of mother that I am. The kind that still breastfeeds her two year old after many notions and promises to quit. The kind that allows her child to cling to her because a small circle of people provide trustworthy care. The mother who fell back on familial support—choosing to return home to her parents because it felt safer than being out with a man she can’t trust. Who chose to go back to school as a primary caregiver. And who crawled herself out of depression with an infant.
[Still] grieving the family I thought I was building for us—another point of frustration. My disappointment and acknowledgment of betrayal slights me in the mirror daily, reminding me that it will linger for as long as I allow. For as long as I choose to numb it with distractions. I gave up vices. I gave up any addictions. I gave up trying before. I could do it again.
My life, grounded in uncertainty—that’s what motherhood is for me [right now]. This skepticism infiltrates my thoughts of self. I tend to spend quite a bit of time pondering deep introspection (hence the beginning of this publication): How well am I doing? Can people recognize all that I’m doing and that I’ve done so far? Will someone get me a present for pushing so hard for this child? Advocating so often? Using my imagination to create memorabilia from daily rituals and adventures? Will I always buy my own flowers? (I actually don’t mind this. I am picky about my flowers).
My humanness longing to be recognized in a vast world of wrong direction and praise. My purity resisting erasure. My body feels the tension of paradox.
How can something be so selfish and so selfless at the same time?
The teabag of indecisiveness has steeped into the waters of my writing. I’ve become timid to write anything deeper than the things most commonly observed by my psyche. I question: should I keep the secrets of my feelings hidden under layers of soreness and fatigue? Muted hints at my protected heart don’t seem to be enough to set it free of the trolling anguish—keeping me un-alive in mundanity and pleasure alike.
As I find laughter between the stoicism needed to keep pushing forward with the child we made together, I identify how well I am doing with the pain of differences. I find resilience hidden in plain sight. A foundation that has held me up through the emotional turmoil of two years transitioning into something I haven’t known myself to be. A mother. A protector of my own peace, even in the face of human chaos. I sit grounded in the body that seems vaguely unrecognizable, trusting it to carry me to and through anything I choose to move closer to. Though it too has changed and been changed. Forever.
THANK YOU. THANK YOU. THANK YOU.
xx Abby
