This photograph, of me, will always be my favorite from that time.
This is so much of what motherhood has felt like to me. Everything is a foggy memory because I was in constant fight or flight. Something that might seem like a normal inconvenience would send me into a full spiral. I would look around at other mothers and say, “How are you enjoying this? Why did you choose to have another baby and do this to yourself all over again? What’s wrong with me? Am I ever going to enjoy motherhood?”
I wasn’t someone who fell in love with her baby right when they put her on my chest. It took me almost two years to feel that for her. Yes, I had love for her and would do anything for her, but she felt like a stranger to me. I couldn’t let her in because I was actively fighting motherhood every day.
I’m not someone who ever wanted children. In fact, my now husband and I had many conversations where I told him I didn’t want to be a mother and if that’s something that he felt he couldn’t live without, I would completely understand if he needed to walk away from our relationship. I would never want to take that away from him, but I also knew it wouldn’t be right to have a baby out of his need, not mine.
When I found out that I was pregnant I had to make some hard decisions and do a lot of self-reflecting. This was not a decision I was taking lightly and I weighed it HEAVILY with what my wants and goals were. Could I handle a baby? Did I even want a baby? The answer is layered and difficult.
There were many conversations with friends and doctors about pregnancy. I was terrified of giving birth (I have a lot of medical phobia). I wanted to make sure I had everything I needed. I took the vitamins. I went to every appointment (which were a lot because I was 38 years old and considered higher risk). I listened to birthing podcasts. I made a loose birth plan. I had many conversations with my husband about wanting the golden hour with our child and to make sure they didn’t take her away in that first hour. I wanted a natural birth (which happened for 7 hours, until I thought I was dying and begged for an epidural). I had everything ready at home, for her and for my healing journey.
But, I felt outrageously underprepared for what postpartum would be like.
I felt like I had made the biggest mistake in my life in that first year and 1/2.
Why did NO ONE warn me about the regret? Why did no one say, “Shannon, I know you and this might not be the path for you.” Why did no one tell me that being a mother was shit and the worst decision I would ever make?
No one told me because it’s not their place and everyone’s journey is different. I still struggle with it, though. If were’ being honest, I still have a hard time knowing that I hadn’t heard other women talking about regret after having their children. Even before I became pregnant. I had heard it was hard, but it was never explained to me in a way that I try and explain to other women.
I know so much of that comes from shame.
We are ashamed to admit that we regret a child that we brought into this world. We are afraid of what other people will think. We’re afraid that they will take it to mean that we don’t ferociously love our children. We are afraid that they will think us horrible mothers and unfit to raise our own. Shame, shame, SHAME!
This is why we feel the need to start every sentence about this topic saying, “I love my child, BUT…”
Let me say it here, and say it loud, “I WOULD GIVE MY LIFE FOR MY CHILD. I WOULD PARISH IF ANYTHING HAPPENED TO HER. I WOULD FIND LIFE VOID WITHOUT HER PRESENCE. BUT THIS IS THE MOST SHIT THING I HAVE EVER DONE.”
I was talking to my husband this weekend about how even though there are so many hard parts of parenting, the absolute worst is the anxiety of having someone I love more than myself live outside of my body. I will never be able to sleep the same. I will never go a moment without worrying about her. I will never feel okay with her navigating this world without me one day.
Beyond all of that, what I couldn’t do was regulate myself. My fight or flight was so bad that I couldn’t even enjoy the good moments. I would find myself dreading pickup time to go get her from daycare. I would dread every moment after picking her up, until she went to bed. Then, when she was sleeping, I would feel so much shame, regret, love, anger…
WHEN WAS I GOING TO ENJOY THIS? WHAT IF I NEVER ENJOY THIS. WHAT IF I ALWAYS REGRET MY CHILD. WHAT IF I HATE THE REST OF MY LIFE. HOW IN THE WORLD CAN I BE A GOOD MOTHER IF I HATE THIS? HOW WILL THIS AFFECT HER?
HOW WILL SHE KNOW HOW VAST MY LOVE IS FOR HER IF I CAN’T ENJOY THIS?
I needed help.
My closest friend and husband were the ones to finally call it.
It takes a village.
The truth is so much of me didn’t want to make that appointment with my doctor because I was angry. I was angry at the system. I was angry at how many mothers have to go on medication after having babies. I was angry that I had chosen this. I was angry that I had gone 41 years without it and now I needed it. I was angry that no one warned me of this fate. I was…angry.
But, my child is more important than my anger.
I knew deep down that I could be an amazing mom. I know the love I have to give. I know that I’m a nurturer by nature (thanks to my own mother).
It was time for the help.
I started taking them two months ago and it’s like I can breathe again.
It’s still really hard. I still struggle. But, I can see the light. I know that the “hard” is temporary and that it will be exchanged for another type of hard in the future. I can say with my full chest now that I don’t regret my daughter.
Thanks to the help of SSRIs, and my village (albeit small), I don’t regret my daughter. I don’t take that lightly because the shame of the opposite of that new truth was too much to swallow.
To those that haven’t had this experience with their own journey into motherhood, I feel it important to say that my daughter never went a second without knowing and feeling my love. I put her before myself, sometimes to a detrimental degree. And no, I don’t owe anyone this explanation, but I feel it important in case you have a woman in your life who is struggling like I did. Please see her. Please know that she loves her child with all of her being, but she just can’t get past herself.
To those that have gone through this, or something similar, I see you. I’m holding space for you and I hope that you also get the help you so desperately might not know you need.