This post is for the women who are silent. The ones that will quietly nod their heads and wipe their angry tears. Birth isn’t always what you dreamed it would be, is it?
It’s for the ones who longed for deep in their very being to have a peaceful, tranquil and spiritual birth. Maybe your first birth was traumatic and you refuse to do it again. To be disappointed again. To loose your hope again.
I’ve been where you are. Struggling with postpartum depression. Feeling empty and alone. Struggling to bond with your baby. I promise it passes. I promise you will be whole again.
I’ve written my daughters birth story on the blog, but with her first birthday coming up I feel such intensity to write out the first year of her precious life. She was made for me to love.
Jesus knew the whole time I would come through. But he also used this dark time in my life to love me—to show me exactly who he was and to show himself faithful to me. He romanced me in ways that I can’t explain in words, but I will try.
I heard from a friend today that she was struggling with PPD and she asked me to pray. Listening to her pain and trauma, I was overwhelmed with grief for her. It took me back almost a year ago to the intense anger I felt towards my body, and God. I had to share it with women I don’t personally know, but that I love, that I pray for daily and want so much to wrap my arms around and let them cry. Let them cry for what could have been. Let them be angry. Let them process. Hear them out.
Most of my friends, before reading this will have no idea how I felt. That’s okay. It was something I had to deal with and wrestle with alone. Me and my Father. And boy, did we wrestle. Have I ever mentioned before that I am stubborn?
As a Christian woman I had it ingrained in my mind that I needed to have joy in all things, I needed to suck it up and get over my hurt and move forward. I needed to be overjoyed I had a healthy child. Let me tell you, I was. I was over the moon grateful The Lord saved Adah like he did. She should have died. In the process of me birthing her, I could have died. My husband could have lost his high school sweetheart and mother of his children right before his eyes. How could I have been so selfish?
I struggled with lies since she was placed on my chest at 7:10 p.m. My body was worthless. God didn’t see me as strong enough to birth at home. I would have given up anyway. My body was too small to birth her. I’ve never felt so small.
Lies. All of them.
I was so stubborn in fact that after my two-week mark was up to drive; I was out on the town. I was super mom. I was ignoring the fact that I was completely dead inside. I had no feelings towards anyone. I was moving forward a corpse.
I stopped talking to The Lord. I was mad as hell. There’s really no other way to describe it. I thought he ripped my life long dream way.
You know it’s okay to be mad at God right? He isn’t going to strike you with lightening or kill your Momma. He knows. He loves you through it.
I put on a beautiful mask. I got my hair done. I shopped for new clothes. I tried to find my self worth in being intimate with my husband. I made up new recipes. Nothing worked. Nothing would have ever worked, but laying my hurt at the cross.
When Adah was around six-months-old, one Sunday at church I went up to the front for prayer. I couldn’t mask my life anymore. I couldn’t live a lie that I was a happy mother of three. I was a miserable mother of three. I had someone praying over me. I was cold as stone, but I knew I had to do something for my children. I pray to this day they weren’t affected by my horrible, hateful attitude and that they will forgive me. This person immediately started speaking joy over me. Joy? How could I have joy when I was so ticked off? That’s when it clicked.
During that prayer I realized that I was human. That’s seems simple right? But to me it was liberating. I was free to cry. I was free to be disappointed. Free to be angry for a season. Free to question what I believed in.
So that is what I did. I questioned my faith, and wrestled with my Daddy for a year. He showed me relentlessly how romantic he is. How he loves to woo me in the midst of my anger. To soften my features. To make my smile genuine, and not plastic.
He loves me so much so that in this year of confusion and anger he gave me the home of my dreams. He gave me a home that for once in my life I feel at peace. A home that brings a natural smile to my face when I walk in the door. He wasn’t mad at me for being mad at him. No. He loved me through it. He walked me down the aisle to my destiny.
Every time I walk outside on this land I feel such expectancy for what’s to come. I feel like everything worked out to glorify Him—who loves me despite my flaws and selfishness. He who loves me when I’m kicking and screaming like a child.
What else have I gained this year?
An amazing bond with my daughter. She has rocked my world to my core. Her sweet disposition has softened me, made me into a much better mother and a much more patient mother (even though at times I don’t feel like it). My bond with her is more than I could have ever asked for. She will breast feed until she goes to college, and if she wants, and I am still producing …after she gets married. That’s not weird right? Ok good.
Adah will forever in my eyes be my sweet baby that transformed my life. What a blessing she is. What a light in my darkness. She guided me out with her smile. She guided me out with the cute way she wrinkles her nose. She guided me out with the way she loves on her big brother. She guided me out with the way she lights up when Daddy gets home. She is a light. She brought me joy when I refused it.
Her middle name is Harbor. And was she my Harbor in my storm.