Do I start by saying I'm sorry or that I've missed you?
Two simple statements, straight from the heart.
I'm starting with something simple because what is to come is so very complicated and deeply personal. I am also in denial about just how long it's been - the longer I leave it, the worse my denial gets - so let's just not go there! I have written and re-written this 'first' post many, many times - sometimes in my head, sometimes saved as a draft. I'm not sure why it has been so difficult for me to commit to, although I do know that I am a little scared about saying all this 'out loud'. So while keeping the comments section open is extremely important to me [I'd love to hear about all of your thoughts and experiences], I'd like to ask you to please be gentle with me...not because I can't face criticism and not because I think you'll be anything other than sweet and kind, but because I may not be alone in needing a little calmness, a little comfort, a chance to breathe. And perhaps a sigh of relief that I'm not the only one struggling.
First, a little summary of life, then and now.
:: [then] had a baby :: three months of visits from family and friends :: one month of packing and soaking up all that we loved about california :: moved back to canada, while J finished work :: spent the summer apart, visited with family :: one last trip to california :: together for one month in italy and scotland :: two months in scotland alone with ella :: together again for christmas :: returned to canada :: searched for a place to call home :: finally found a place :: moved in :: started to discover our life as a family of 3 :: lost oscar [poor guy] :: parents divorced :: finally settling in [now]::
Somewhere amidst all of that I lost my words, my sense of self. I have struggled. Personally. Emotionally. Physically. I'm hesitant to say that this loss of self stems from post-natal depression because to this day, I don't really understand what those words truly mean and I am somewhat skeptical of the diagnostic criteria. During my first post-natal check up, I told my surgeon that I felt very down. He told me to come back to him when I stopped showering or taking care of Ella. I have never stopped showering and I always try my very hardest to take care of Ella in the best way possible. During subsequent post-natal check ups, I always tried to answer the pre-requisite checklists as truthfully as possible, and then, I would stumble.
Do you feel sad for no reason?
Do you find yourself crying without knowing why?
Do you have trouble sleeping?
Yes, I have felt sad, but there have been reasons for me to feel sad. Yes, I have cried, but I know why. And yes, I have trouble sleeping, but I've always been that way. I still don't have much clarity about what exactly was going on during those dark, silent and tumultuous months. What I do know now though is that while there were many reasons for me to feel the way I felt, Ella and being her mummy were never part of it. Slowly the silence is not quite so silent and the darkness is not quite so dark anymore. The trouble sleeping, however, is still here :)
After being so very unwell during my pregnancy, Ella's birth couldn't come fast enough. And when it did come, it was long and traumatic in ways I could never have imagined. Recovering from an emergency c-section was also much harder than I expected. Amidst the pain, the medicated fog, the injuries I sustained while in labour, the child who screamed to be fed and could not be, the loneliness of being so far away and the fear of being good enough parents to this little being that had just turned our world upside down, there was love and warmth, excitement and wonder. Then some things were said. Hurtful things. These things were not said by anyone nearby, but by someone who should have been nearby. That was when the pain started to mean more than the love and warmth, the wonder and excitement. I shouldn't have let that happen, but I did. Our first weeks together were difficult. My first obstacle was coming to terms with the idea that she was mine. I just couldn't accept that this perfect, beautiful, quiet, happy little girl was ever inside me and that she was what made me so sick. And that on those days, when I had thrown up for the 12th time, I seriously felt like not being pregnant anymore. For some reason, I expected her to be a sickly, timid, fussy little baby. Instead she was chubby and sweet and barely ever cried. She didn't really need me. She was just so happy to be held, fed, changed and dressed by anyone [she's still the same, except now I absolutely love that about her]. I started to blame my withdrawal on my inability to breast feed. Despite many attempts, I just couldn't cope with the pain. I was too damaged and too sensitive to even try giving her breast milk in a bottle. I cried whenever she cried. In the hospital, I begged the nurses to feed her some formula, just once, just so she wouldn't cry so desperately. It was an extremely difficult decision to make, but in the end I felt that our bond was just too important and I left the hospital, chest bound with bandages and a seriously uncomfortable case of engorgement :( I tried again at home, with no luck. I felt so confused. How could I love this little person so, so much, yet not feel connected to her? How could I feel so strongly that there was no way she could have been a product of my pregnancy? I look back on this now and it seems so foreign to me, but at the time, it was very, very real. Time passed, family and friends visited, we moved, I got distracted.
Then, when Ella was about eight months old, during our trip to Italy and Scotland, life became stressful and unsure. Jobs fell through, panic set in. The darkness that I had so diligently avoided came flooding back, punctuating every thought with vulnerability and feelings of inadequacy. There was only two things that I was sure of, that I loved my little Ella-Bella with every ounce of myself and that I would do anything to keep her happy and healthy. And a happy and healthy little girl needs a happy and healthy mama. And a happy and healthy papa, too. Keeping this thought very close to my heart, I became silent and focused, determined to make things better.
With the onset of summer and sunshine, the words are coming back. This, I can say out loud. I'm happy. I love every second of being Ella's mama and we are slowly building our little nest for our little family. I am re-discovering my love for making and I am flooded with ideas. I have lots of plans. I may not have the time to realize a lot of those plans, but that's okay because while I love creating, I also love thinking about creating. Planning, making piles. It's one of my favorite things to do. I also have a lot of catching up to do. All those unread blog posts and unseen flickr photos. Another of my favorite things. But first, I have to go be a mama to my little monkeypants, who has a cold and is very grumpy.
One last thing.
Today. I. Will. Hit. Save.
