Sunday, July 26, 2015

Dear Ehren: Ending the physical violence

Dear Ehren,

When your grandma had me, she was still a teenager. From the beginning, her choices left her in a position where she was ill-prepared to care for me. She did her best, drawing on the examples she had from her own childhood. Unfortunately for all involved, the cycle of abuse and neglect goes back for generations in our family. Having a baby as a single teen mother is no easy feat, and your grandma soon found a partner to help her. This partner was the first to hit me, but not the last.

Grandma married this man when I was about 1 year old and concealed from me that I was not his daughter. A few years later your uncle was born, and we all lived in a small house together in a rural community. I noticed from a young age that I was treated differently. The realization that it was because I was unwanted "excess baggage" didn't come until I was an adult. I suffered physical violence at the hands of my "dad", "grandparents", mom, aunts, uncles, other male partners of my mom's, and babysitters. When I recall moments of my childhood, the strongest memories that come to mind involve being struck or abused in some way.

You should know that I didn't take it all without fighting back. I often put my hands in the way so that it was harder to hit me and would try to talk my way out of it. One evening, I was wrongfully accused of stealing a bottle of liquor from the refrigerator. I was pulled from bed where I was sleeping and interrogated. I denied it repeatedly, but the adults in my life did not feel it fit to believe me. Instead, I was beaten across the back, behind, and legs with the buckle end of a belt. I knew it couldn't stand. I was beaten for being honest about a bottle that had simply been moved out of a child's reach. The next day, I went to school where we had gym class and were required to run a mile on a track. I chose that day to wear short shorts to showcase the bruises on my body. I felt so vindicated when my teacher noticed. Child services was involved, and I thought I had finally saved myself and my brother from this man. Unfortunately, this was not the end for us, and we lived with this man for at least 6 more months before a divorce was even considered.

This is where the cycle will come to an end. I will never hit you. I will never spank, swat, slap, or otherwise strike you. From all of this awfulness, I learned to stand up for myself. To fight for what's right. To always do the right thing. That's why I know, and can promise, that I'll always protect you. I'll use words, not my hands. Additionally, anyone who does harm (or attempt to) will be immediately removed from your life permanently. I have no tolerance for an adult exerting physical aggression towards a child. It is inexcusable, immature, and disturbing.

These are my promises to you, sweet boy. Even when you try my patience, I will always love you and never, ever harm you.

Love always,


Friday, June 26, 2015

Dear Ehren: A promise

Dear Ehren,

You are amazing. You are smart. You are brave. You are precious. You will never know the life I knew. I will be here for you until my very last dying breath, and I will always protect you. I will never forget that my primary duty in life is to protect you. I exist to keep you safe. My choice to have you as my child means that everyday, I will make the best choices I can for you to have a safe and healthy life.

I want you to know your worth. I want you to grow up feeling loved. I hope you always feel like you belong to your family. Yesterday, I realized these are the things I didn't have. These are the things that I can never get back. You'll one day grow up to know your parents as middle-aged adults. You won't recall the struggle that is the first year of parenting. You will never witness years of self-abuse I  experienced as a result of a childhood that was demoralizing. You will never know years of sexual, physical, and emotional abuse at the hands of adults that your mother trusted. You will never know what it feels like to be denied. You will always be mine.

I am sure someone else is reading this thinking "she can't guarantee that." Son, know that I will work tirelessly, until the end of my days to ensure that you never endure any of these situations. These are situations that are NEVER acceptable. These are situations that you can never fully recover from. I want your heart to be full of dreams and your head brimming with ideas. I have battled as an adult for the past decade to move beyond years of abuse, and realized that I may never be whole. I will never recover the innocence of a child. I may never be able to be reprimanded at work without crying. I may never be able to handle a hand on my shoulder from a colleague. I may never be able to accept a high-five without flinching. These are the things that I can ensure you won't have to endure. I intend to slowly unwrap and share the abuse I've survived, at the cost of relationships and privacy, so that you can truly understand how brave, courageous, strong, and incredible I, your mother, am.

I promise to always love you. I promise to always protect you. I promise to break the cycle of abuse. I love you more than you know now. If you choose to have a family one day, you will understand this love, and I hope that you will thank me and love them even more than I love you.

Love always,


Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Dear Bruce: A story of love lost

Dear Bruce,

As we approach the second anniversary of "you" I feel like I'm bursting with the need to share. A long long time ago, back in 2013, I was in an awful work situation. All I requested for my birthday was a new job. Alas, I did not get a job offer on a lovely silver platter for my birthday. Instead, I was treated to dinner at Anthony's by your father. The smells were awful to me, and I joked to him that I must be pregnant. We both laughed and moved along.

The day after my birthday, I took a pregnancy test and got that new job I wanted. I was pregnant. My new job was to be your mom forever. I called your dad, who had left for work only 3 minutes earlier, and we celebrated over the phone. This was by far the most distracted day at work I've ever experienced. We were elated and terrified, because the timing wasn't quite right, but it was going to be awesome anyway.

For my birthday weekend, your dad took me to the WA coast where we walked on the beach with Lucy dog for days. We planned everything we could. We named you "Bruce" so that we could use a code word in public. Suddenly, we were parents. Our priorities shifted in an instant. I cried and teared up numerous times that weekend, mostly out of sheer excitement. (Partially out a financial-based terror.) It was, by far, the most perfect weekend I can recall. It was the beginning of us as parents. It was the beginning of you as our child. We were bursting with excitement. We even used crabshells in the sand to make our birth announcement that weekend. This was the pinnacle of joy. I have never experienced such pure, innocent, uninhibited excitement before or since then.

We returned home from the trip on Sunday night. Tired, weary from the trip, and I just wasn't feeling right. I went to the bathroom and when I wiped I saw blood. And I knew. From that first instant. I knew it was over before it had ever really began. I felt like my world was shattered. I knew I'd never be the same again. I knew I owed every single one of my friends who had miscarried an apology.

I stayed up all night that night crying. I didn't really need to see the doctor to know, but I went anyway. I cried in the doctor's office with the nurse who drew my blood. I bawled when I saw the bloodstain I had left where I sat. I sobbed into your fathers arms all night. I spent most of the week at home and attempted to return to work on Thursday. I made it to 10 am before going home.

I spent all of May at home and never returned to that awful job. I owe you a debt of gratitude. Thank you for reminding me that life is fragile, for showing me that pure joy is worth the potential downfall, for giving me a glimpse of what life would feel like with my future children, for helping me to understand what Mother's Day is really about, for forcing me to evaluate my work situation and my priorities. Thank you for helping me find me.

I'll always be your mother, Bruce.

Love always,


Monday, April 6, 2015

Dear Ehren: Seven Months

Dear Ehren,

The months are just flying by. I can't believe that there are only 5 months left in your first year! Right now this is you:
- You do the worm to get around, but you're well on your way to a proper crawl
- You are fiercely independent and want to hold your own bottle and spoon
- You rarely giggle, but when you do, it's the best part of my day
- You are teething and no longer sleep through the night
- You are very difficult to get back to sleep once you wake up in the middle of the night. Very difficult.
- You are stubborn and demanding and you are louder than mom.
- You still get what you want, including nursing at 3 am (which I said I refused to do)
- You cry when mom and dad leave the room with you in the bouncer
- You follow mom and dad, by doing the worm, if they leave the room with you on the floor
- You talk A LOT by saying adadadadadadadada over and over again

 Sweet son, you are an amazing part of my life. I'm constantly in awe at how much has changed and how much has stayed the same. The future months hold more change, I'm sure, but right now is so darn sweet.

I love you forever,


Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Dear Ehren: Six Months

Dear Ehren,

It’s been 6 months. SIX months. Seis meses. Wow. I cannot describe the relief I feel for making it to six months. For what seemed like forever, it felt like we’d never live to see that sixth month. I thought we’d be counting in weeks forever. I was terrified that it would never get better. I had no idea how much I was suffering with depression and anxiety. I tell you this because one day, I hope you have a child, and I hope that you and your partner will support each other just as your father has supported you and me throughout this struggle.

I always knew that having a child would be hard. I understood that things would change, but I never realized that things would continue changing on a daily basis. That it wasn’t the singular change of “here’s your baby.” It’s a tumultuous rollercoaster of ongoing change. There was no way to truly fathom the chaos that waking every 2 hours to feed a baby while recovering from surgery and suffering with an undiagnosed gallbladder infection would inflict on our lives. I didn’t realize that breastfeeding would be so difficult, and the entire world of feeding and mommy guilt that comes with it. I thought I understood that my awful childhood would surface someday and that I knew what that meant. I thought I was strong enough to do this, on my own, without help. I was so wrong.

It took 12 long weeks for me to walk into that doctor’s office and say “I think I have post-partum depression.” A full 6 weeks after the lactation consultant referred me. I only said something because I felt so perpetually angry. I had no idea that anxiety could make someone so angry, agitated, and miserable. That’s what it was, anxiety. I was so scared that I was doing everything wrong and ruining you before you even had a chance at life. I was afraid that the supplemental formula and donated milk I was giving you were the wrong choices. I was terrified to take you out in public in fear of you becoming hungry. I couldn’t go to a doctor’s appointment on my own. I was absolutely obsessed with feeding. I couldn’t quit breastfeeding and I couldn’t continue. Mostly, I couldn’t stand how much I felt like a failure.

When you have to do something 8-12 times a day, it becomes all-consuming. When you feel like you’ve failed at something 8-12 times a day, you feel like you’ve failed at everything. That’s how I felt. I felt like I had absolutely and irrefutably failed you. I couldn’t feed you. I tried so many things from pumping to medication only to find that I couldn’t make enough to help you grow. You quickly fell from the 85% in weight to the 2%. I had to supplement with formula. At least 8 times a day, I was reminded exactly how I’d failed you. I tortured myself over it. I felt like the whole world was judging me when you cried after a feeding in public. I could feel every mom staring at me when I fed you a bottle. Everything I did felt like it revolved around feeding and it was all wrong. It was a dark place. I started to question if your father and I had done the right thing in having a baby. I started to wonder if I was so un-maternal that I couldn’t raise you. I feared that I had ruined my life.

I did not tell your father that’s how I felt until after I let it escape my lips in a therapy session. This letter is also the first time I’m truly admitting that I needed therapy to cope with a new baby. I needed an impartial person to hear what I’d been through and just say “damn.” For me, it took a professional to coach me into realizing that I had experienced birth trauma, that I had given so much more of myself than I realized, and that I needed to make time for myself as well. It took professional help for me to really understand that what you and I have done in the past 6 months has truly been incredible. Against all odds, we’re still breastfeeding. Against all odds, we’ve bonded so remarkably well that not one psychiatric professional has questioned my devotion to you. Against all odds, we’re happy together. I’ve given you so much more than I even knew I had to give. You have shown me what it means to be devoted in a way that no other relationship could. I have learned that I’m so much more than I ever fathomed I could be. We have grown together in these last 6 months, and I am eagerly awaiting the next 6 months.

The fog has lifted. The help that I was so afraid to ask for has made a world of difference for me. I now look forward to the next 6 months. I am eager to see you crawl (so much that I get on the floor and crawl in circles around you as an inspiration), love to watch you try new foods, and absolutely melt when you laugh. Your favorite foods are mango and pizza crust (just like daddy), but you just kept picking up the broccoli and asparagus spears to stick them in your mouth like they are familiar to you (these are my favorite vegetables). You are a child that is truly a reflection of both of your parents, and it gives me such great joy to watch you develop your own personality. It gives me such relief that the terror and anxiety of the first 6 months are both unfounded and gone. The anticipation I have for your development has created so much joy in my life. I look forward to tomorrow, and the weeks, months, and years following. I am just so happy that I’m now truly here to enjoy it, and I hope that if you ever have a child that you can enjoy it as well. Just remember, the hardest things in life are the most rewarding. You, sir, are by far the most rewarding and difficult part of my entire life. My heart explodes with love for you, my whole being loves your father for helping me to create you, and my inner voice is now cheering me on for being so good to you.

I can only hope that one day you experience this love and awe with someone you adore. You are my sunshine.

Love always,