Tag: motherhood

Please God, Give Me a Break

Grace by any other name1 Comment

“I can’t even celebrate good news because it’s tinged with negativity, and because something else comes up. When will I just sit in the normal turmoil and trouble I already have? You know that even an old rheumatologist heard the very abbreviated version of my life and told me You were unfair in making my life so hard. Can’t I get a break?”

Words I’d say to God right now.

I’ve told people who care, that each aspect of my life on its own is enough to cause strain and continual stress. But now when it’s all combined and on my shoulders, it’s unbearable. Yet bear it I must.

We have solved the heart issue- a little bit. If you call beta blockers a solution, then yes. But if you think it’s great, they’re not. But I can’t even rejoice that at least her heart rate isn’t a problem because now we have yet another problem.

I think we have floating rib syndrome. I hope I’m wrong. I hope it’s something we can fix. I hope it’s nothing major. I hope it is not as bad as I think… My same Ammy whose knee hasn’t even closed up yet, has complained of pain, chest pain for a long time now. We all thought it was linked to her heart but given I had two heart rates on different days both under 100bpm, it had to be something else. So today I asked her to describe exactly what this pain is like.

She said that it’s like something is loose in her chest under her ribs. Like it’s flapping around. It hurts when she breathes in, when she’s jumping and when she’s running or walking fast. I tried to feel.

Her rib is loose! It’s horrible! It clicks and you can feel it grating in her sternum as it vibrates the bones when she moves it back and forth. Her other side (right side) is normal. There is no moving rub. I can only think lf floating rib syndrome. But I have never studied it. It’s just a term I came across long ago and just sounds like it.

I’ve emailed the paediatrician to ask who to see. Her knee has not even closed up yet!! Why? Why is this poor girl suffering so much this year? And when will my heart get a break from anxiety and worry??

Gratitude- Nov 23

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I asked my daughter’s birth mom (Let’s call her Q from now on. Anytime you see Q, know I’m referring to her. Much less cumbersome!) for her banking details some time this week. She responded not too long after, apologizing for being late- believe me, that was not late at all- and saying that “this one kept us up all night.”

If it were anybody else, I would have overlooked it. But I don’t recall referring to no to any of my children as “this one,” and given she had tried to give her to me temporarily, it set off some alarm bells. I sent her some voice notes telling her that our situations are VERY different, but emotionally, some things are exactly the same.

I told her how I had our firstborn then our second born while our first was still a baby. I told her how I had such terrible postnatal depression that I’d lay my daughter on the bed and cry WITH her, wishing over and over again that I could place her for adoption but knowing I couldn’t exactly do it secretly. And I didn’t have money for psychiatric care and didn’t know it was possible to stay getting help in the community clinic. Then again, how would I have attended any therapy with two babies??

I told her that I too didn’t sleep, and described the reflux and colic I dealt with, people who weren’t even living in the house asking if our baby was sick but all doctors telling us they were doing well.

I told her that I know she’s even more vulnerable than I was. And I begged her to be as open and honest and vulnerable as possible with the counselor she will be seeing. I don’t want her harming herself or her baby.

She wrote back saying I was right. Different but exactly the same. She even found herself telling her oldest daughter where to take the baby if she disappears. Her teen asked her where she would disappear to.🥹

Postnatal depression is ROUGH. The loneliness, the tears. The number of times I asked God why He allowed me to have children if I wouldn’t even be able to soothe and comfort them (Evidence to me that I was a bad mother. This part makes me well up. I wish I had someone tell me that being a good MOTHER has nothing to do with being able to make an upset baby stop crying.)

Thankfully, she has support. Her relative is bathing the baby as she has never been a mom. Her eldest was raised by her aunt till aunt died in 2020. This is brand new to her. And what if her desire to pass the baby to me was also borne of depression? I reminded her that if her current anti depressants aren’t working, and it’s been long enough on them by the time she goes for counseling, to let them know. There are others to try. I don’t want her daughters to lose her.

And so, as I look back to how useless I felt. I look at today. Today, my children need me in order to be calm. My presence soothes in a way no other presence can – not all the time for my little girl, but much more often than not. I am a safe space for my little children with big feelings and no idea how to express those feelings. I am NOT a bad mother. They don’t cower in fear away from me. They don’t fear that I will beat them, or throw verbal bullets at them. They know I will try and understand and take their vulnerabilities into account. Where typical Black mothers would be smacking, I search for the cause and I forgive. Where extra words are needed, even when I need to lie down and my bones are screaming, I can give them.

I’m thankful for today. Today, I am certain that I’m not a bad mother. My children’s hearts are safely tucked away in mine.