This Kid Saved My Life!
This kid saved my life, literally. I have always wanted to do something to share my experiences of being a mom and just putting out there the experiences I have had until now, in hopes that I might meet a kin who will read it, view it or listen to it and go "ahh, I see" and "I understand". I am not someone who likes to be on camera. To be honest after gaining all my baby weight I began to body shame myself by avoiding all the things I would have done pre-pregnancy, such as taking a picture or recording a video (but this will be for another story). Also, I talk too damn much so doing a podcast would take forever. Then I thought, writing...hmm... I can do that. And thus this blog is born.
Now back to the topic at hand.
I know it seems cliche but it wasn't until my son was born that I began to slightly (emphasis on the word) understand all that my mother has been talking about for the past twenty years. I gave birth to my son at 23 years old. At the time (and some would argue even now) I was definitely young, definitely immature and absolutely going through a huge identity crises. From the age of 19 to 23 I struggled a lot with the existential question of who am I? During those four years I went through a hospitalization in a psychiatric unit, multiple psychiatric and general emergency room visits, multiple sex partners with no effort to protect myself and just a never ending downward spiral. This may sound weird, but I tried to stop each one of those things. Each day I woke up and told myself to stop it. Stop laying in bed crying. Stop getting absorbed in your own thoughts and losing track of the world around you. Stop sleeping with guys who are on average 6 to 13 years older than you, just stop it. Though to you it may seem like a foolish thing, for some reason I honestly thought that's all I could do for myself.
Now as bad as the picture I have painted seems, I wasn't the type of kid that was wild or rebellious. On the contrary I was actually very obedient. I was almost like Dr.Jekell and Mr.Hyde. I went to school, had good grades, had acceptable and ambitious "friends" (in the eyes of my mother) and I worked. At some point, on average I was working about three jobs on top of all the other things I should've been doing. I was that person in the family. The person everyone could brag about. The exemplary eldest daughter. However for context, exemplary in my family wasn't hard to achieve. I come from an immigrant black family where the highest education level achieved was a high school degree. If you made it past that and didn't get pregnant as a teenager you were good as gold. For some reason however, it felt so important to not bring shame to my family. That's why I had these two sides, almost like a double life...though that sounds more cryptic than it actually was. Anyways, for four years I struggled enormously.
When I found out I was pregnant with my son, the fear I felt is hard to explain in words. Not fear of taking care of another life or giving birth or any of that stuff. The fear was more around how I saw myself. I feared for the child because it was inside someone as "evil" as me. You might think it is a strong word but that is actually how I saw myself. Overtime I went from experiencing indescribable fear to a lack of emotional attachment towards the pregnancy (this will also be for another blog).
When I gave birth the struggles continued. Though not formally diagnosed I believe I suffered from Postpartum Depression. Loving my son wasn't instant but I fulfilled my responsibilities. He was fed, clean and attended all his medical appointments. The ooey gooey rainbow colored feelings that parents describe after the birth of their child just didn't connect with me. But then it did. I cannot tell you how it happened or when it actually happened but I remember glancing at him playing one day and I had an instant thought "I love you and I would do anything for you".
He taught me how to love even when I didn't have love for myself. When I say my son saved me I don't mean that everything I struggled with disappeared. I just mean that they happen a bit less. I dislike myself a bit less and I enjoy the world a bit more. Everything is happening in bits. My son became an anchor for me. Something I could hold onto through any storm. There is a bible passage that states the life that God has planned for us is never anything we could fathom and I thank him for this.
Isaiah 55:8-9 New International Version (NIV)
8 “For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,”
declares the Lord.
9 “As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
Thank you for reading!
The Weight We Must Bear…
You will never keep a man, If you don’t learn to cook
peel the potatoes long ways not sideways and do as I say. In life you should learn to close your ears and your legs always wear good underwear, you never know when you might end up in the hospital.
Always have steel wool by your kitchen sink
it is hard to scour a pot with the soft side of a sponge.
If you can get your foot up off the ground, don’t look back.
Get pregnant as soon as possible; you won’t have the energy later don’t stop to reflect, the present can’t back up into the past soak the nappies before you wash them.
Don’t go outside and tell nobody we’ you don’t have,
If you don’t talk they will never know.
Turn off the lights when you do it, never let a man
know who you are.
Dust every day, sweep once a week, wash your
clothes once every two weeks and only cry
when no one is looking.
The Weight We Must Bear…Part Two
When I was nineteen I spoke with my grandmother who lived in another state at the time. Well she still does. She is my mother’s mother. I remember her reaching out to “build” a relationship with us (us meaning my mother through us). My mother never got along well with her. My grandmother was, is a business woman. She had an entrepreneurial mindset. I remember hearing about how she used to travel around the Caribbean selling products. While here in the United States she would talk about using her gray Honda odyssey, I don’t remember the year, to drive around, selling vegetables out the back. Callaloo specifically. The funny thing was she owned the van, had the idea but didn’t drive. She taught me my first lesson in entrepreneurship, just do it and figure out the details as you go.
That evening I sat in my room while my mother called me, “Come get the phone, it’s Bibi” she yelled. “Bibi is the name my mother and aunt calls her. I always wondered why, but eventually figured their relationship had too many cracks to withstand the pressure of the word “mommy”. I exchanged pleasantries with her by following her cues. I answered her questions with short but polite responses. I always gave a little chuckle after she exclaimed how much I’ve grown and how much she loved me. I asked enough about her, for her not to question that I cared. And I did care, because I never let the discomfort in my gut make its way out, mid answer or mid chuckle, screaming “I don’t know you?”, “who are you?”. After sharing about school and my absurd major in Creative Writing and English Literature, she asked me a question that puzzled my nineteen year old mind, “When are you going to get married?” “You need to get pregnant as soon as possible, a man isn’t going to want you if you get too old”.
“What the fuck?” “Are you out of your mind?” Is what I wanted to say, but the pleasantries and the chuckles and the short polite responses wouldn’t let me. All I could say is “I’m still in college grandma, I’m way too young for that”. My nineteen year old self struggled with processing that encounter for years. Despite all my accomplishments, honor roll throughout high school, Dean’s list throughout college, employed and going to school, not getting pregnant at seventeen… I still failed.
This grandmother whom I barely knew, after hearing my response, solidified my failure in concrete through the heaviness in her breath. And this was one of the many moments I realized, getting married to my silence and pregnant with my grief is the burden that the woman must bear.
My Heart Beats Too?
Sunday is our special day. It’s the only day we spend completely together, from sun up to sun down. On this day he is truly my ride or die. Where mama goes so does he. If I walk into the bedroom, he follows, with legos, multicolored cars and dried up playdoh in tow.
On this day I hear his constant calls of mama where are you? Mama are you using the potty to pee pee or poo poo? Mama what are you making? Mama can I help too? I'm really good at helping cause I'm an elf....... Mama, I love you. These words are my everything, they coax my spirit to keep going. They are that 'puff' I need even though I don't smoke.
These words also cover me like a heavy blanket, warm and most of the time necessary, but not useful for all seasons. These words sometimes burden my bones. "Sure you can help baby but mama needs you to be careful". I give him a butter knife and a scallion as he helps me with dinner.
In my profession I learn about positive parenting, proper parenting, healthy attachment, positive reinforcement etc… All these things that feel good to talk about but sometimes that’s all they are. “Mama let’s play hide and seek”. These words are like a constant echo as they continue to pour out of his mouth. “Mama, it’s your turn to hide”.
I, 2
I move swiftly around our one bedroom apartment searching for a place to hide.
3, 4, 5, 6
Playing with a toddler, you must hide without really hiding. You nestle with one body part sticking out and when they find you, you celebrate their incredible accomplishment.
But what if I hid, really.
7, 8, 9, 10 “Ready or not here I come”.
I continue to stand in the broom closet, peeking through the spacing in the door. I watch as he searches with laughter. I continue to watch as his brisk little feet begin to slow down reflecting his sudden ponder.
“Mama?” “Mama?” “Where are you?”.
I don’t move, though I know I should. I hear the slight shift of his voice go from play to not play but I continue to stand there. In my mind I was not in this broom closet. In my mind I am on a bus to somewhere. On this bus I text his father I have left.
“Mama where are you?”.
One minute has passed and I open the door to his eager eyes glaring with happiness.
“Mama I found you, I found you”. “I am really good at hide and seek because I am an elf......”. I hug him and in that embrace my heart beats.
- I love you more than life itself