When I found out I was pregnant I was not happy. I mourned, I raged, and I died a little every day. After that 6th test I was flooded with feelings of disgust, disappointment, and shame. As a survivor of rape and sexual abuse, finding out I was pregnant was the biggest trigger. I felt violated, oh how had my body betrayed me once again? My womb was holding onto many traumas that was kicked into the spotlight with the landing of my sun.
Up until I found out I was with child, I was an avid day drinker and drug indulger; at the time I was severely severed from reality, in a reckless self-sabotaging daze, suppressed, psyching myself out.
I sobbed as I accepted that I had to immediately let go of my addictions; emotions and the bottle. For days I had panic attacks knowing that with the choice to have this child came the certainty that I would soon have to face the darkest parts of my inners. Sober.
I’ll be honest, I kept the pregnancy a secret from the father for a month. And in that month, I barely spoke. I spent that month picturing my life if I were to get an abortion, and wondering if I could “subconciously” manifest an accident if it came to that.
I remember I pretended to cry at my first ultrasound because I felt obligated to feel something towards this new life. I had decided to go through with the pregnancy, but wasn’t ready to tell anyone but the father. He was overjoyed, I felt used. I wasn’t surprised by all of these intense feelings ever though. I wasn’t ignorant to the symptoms of sudden withdrawal or prenatal depression.
Somewhat in denial I thought the feeling was going to pass; or at least cool down once the hells of my first trimester froze over, but that wasn’t the case. I feel blessed to have known about prenatal depression. Simply being able to identify the experience was a tether for my sanity. I’m not ashamed to admit that I wholeheartedly feared that I wasn’t going to love my baby because I didn’t feel anything at first. I was anxious, stressed, overwhelmed, and withdrawing. The first 1 ½ trimester I often sat and genuinely fantasized about disappearing shortly after my sun was born asking myself if I could do it. I’d be in my head attempting to reason, telling myself that the baby could replace me and he would be free of all that I was. I feared I would neglect him, as my past life flashed before me. I was under my own judgement. I hid my pregnancy for 6 months as I immersed myself in introspection. I knew I was going to take my baby down with me if I didn’t get my shit together. It toke me 4 months to gather enough courage to fight for my sun and I.
It was then decided that I would have to guide myself to grow my love for my unborn sun. Yes, I decided. Up until the day he was born, I made conscious decisions to intentionally on love him. Every day mindfully courting my baby I would joke. By the time third trimester ended I had made colorful mantras that I laminated and taped onto my wall. I repeated them to myself and my sun out loud every rising, or whenever needed. I attended mom groups, and random pregnancy classes. I found a lot of my love while cooking for him. Knowing I was nourishing him with I encouraged myself to spark up conversations with my lil alien. It was uncomfortable in the beginning. A bunch of meaningless small talk. Literally talking to my sun about the weather during my breaks while rubbing my belly awkwardly, faking it until I made it.
Towards my 3rd trimester I had conjured up a certain love for baby’s life. By then I was in a transcendental dance with my shadow-self and my inner child, and I had surrendered to the process. I knew I was at the part of my healing where I alone would have to burn within myself to find my authentic myself. I knew always that I would do anything for him.
X was 12 days late and we were induced at that, so when I finally merged with the universe, and danced out this light passionately I laughed to myself. As the love I at first had to learn, came unconditionally, immediately. I awed in disbelief into the eyes of the universe. I forgive myself; I didn’t know all that he was, are and was going to be. I didn’t innerstand.
I received many looks when I talked about my pregnancy as if it was a burden, but I’m sure I’m not the only mama who’ve felt like that at some point in their motherhood. I open up and share this all with the reader with the intentions of bringing awareness to the stigma of pregnancy. I wish it was realistic to ask people to be neutral until directed when it comes to approaching pregnant women. I wish to innerstand why people feel entitle to question random pregnant women, or judge them for ANYTHING they are experiencing. At the same time I see that the solution to this problem is not that simple, and runs parallel to the patriarchy currently having the power to control women and their bodies. But we’ll save that for another time.
What I think is important about this awareness is innerstanding that this shit can get dark. Pregnancy can be the most isolating experience. It can be a sad experience. Just one of the many sacrifices we make as mothers. Having no control over ourself as we dive into the abyss of the unknown again and again for this new life. Not knowing how you’ll react, not recognizing yourself or your body at times. Yet remaining strong, and brave. It’s important to be openminded to this, to be sensitive to the many variables, to not make assumptions as it’s not always cutsie photos, unity, and baby showers. In retrospect this is in fact a dangerous transition that many mamas and babies; especially melanated, don’t survive. So be courteous, and show some respect. Open the door for them, or let them cut in line or something. Treat these walking Gods with the grace and innerstanding they deserve for the rest of their lives. The support is needed and cherished. For without us, there would be no us.
Freegrandmaa 