This is the second in a series of posts on my walk through clinical depression. If you are just joining me here at PeaceLedge, please start with the first post.
I had wanted all my life to be a mother. When I was growing up, if anyone asked me what I wanted to be, my answer would be one of two things: a mother or a teacher. Now here I was, with my hopes for my life fulfilled: I'd been a teacher, in both Canada and Russia, and now I was a mother.
So why wasn't I joyful? Where was the thrill that I'd heard would come when I held my little girl? Intellectually I knew that I loved my daughter, and there was nothing I wouldn't do for her, but the feelings I'd expected weren't there.
My life was reduced to going through the motions. I talked to My Girl as I changed her diaper and dressed her, I nuzzled her tummy, cuddled, and played. But it was all external. These were things I did because I knew that I needed to do them. There was no internal drive pressing me toward My Girl, only a knowledge, coming from years of studying child development, of what she would need to thrive and a determination that I would give her that if it was all I could give her.
On the outside, apparently, things looked pretty good. I was what my doctor referred to as "a high functioning depressive". (Maybe somewhat perversely I was a bit proud of that.) I attended church and weekly Bible study, and I took great care to look nice for those things. I didn't realize then the impact all my subconscious masking was having.
::
People I knew, friends, acquaintances from church, would hold My Girl and coo at her, admire her, tell me how lucky I was, how blessed. And I knew it was true.All around me there were people whose hearts were breaking: friends who had been married years longer than we had been, longing for a child of their own, but unable to conceive; a friend who longed to be a wife and mother, but was unable to find the man who would see her beauty and potential; acquaintances from church who had, one year earlier, lost their two year old daughter in a drowning accident; family members whose first child had been desperately ill for his first two years of life and was still struggling. Compared to that, we were walking an easy road: a loving marriage, good careers, health, and now a beautiful, healthy, content baby girl. Why wasn't I happy. Why was I sad all the time? Why couldn't I enjoy these blessings? Why wasn't I thankful? Why couldn't I smile and laugh anymore?
And so the guilt began. Guilt over being 'ungrateful' for this little one. Guilt over having so much when others were suffering so deeply. Guilt over not being joyful with what I had. Guilt for not loving motherhood. Guilt over not measuring up to my expectations of what a mother should be.
::
::
yes, yes, yes. again, thank you.
ReplyDelete