I woke up hung over with so much regret. I drank too much and embarrassed myself by crying to the man who denies my little girl. In front of everyone. Pathetic.
One of my friends just had her son yesterday. There wasn’t a father. This has to be one of my triggers, because I was fine or so I thought. Now I sit here with my three children knowing that the wounds of my womb have deep rooted pain. I pray for healing but where do I start? I was a teen mom in an abusive relationship, I had my second child (that I hid from my family) two years later. After multiple deaths in the same year, in my deepest grief, I had my youngest. She kept me alive. There was a ten year age gap from my eldest to my baby. I was alone in that hospital. It was below zero and the nurses said I could go home because I didn’t have anyone to sit with the older two children. I know they pitied me. My mother just learned she had cancer and at the time was hospitalized. It was the four of us and the icing on the cake, my tire was flat. My ten year old son and I changed that tire in below zero weather. I just had a baby. I can still feel the anger and disappointment in myself. I did my best to hide this. I was not ok.
The first time I admitted my depression, one of my friends asked if I was ok. She had a dream I drove off a bridge with my kids. I had to take all of us because no one would take care of them but me. That was literally my plan at the time. How terrifying. I don’t recognize that person anymore. She was a stranger. I see stories like this. I cry for those mothers that didn’t make it.
Here I am six years later realizing the pain I carry is so complex and exhausting. I am mad at myself for poor choices in my relationships, my body and frustrated that I cannot move on. Motherhood is a gift. I love them yet I have ptsd from having children and the postpartum depression that seems to never go away. I lost my mind after my youngest. I had an abortion and almost died in the bathtub once. I am not ready to write that story but that has a lot to do with womb wounds. I am trying to pin point this depression.
Perhaps my pain is deeper. There is a reason why I am this way, right? It can’t be just my poor decisions and lack of self love. I realize my environment has programmed so much of my beliefs. I grew up on a reservation, if you google the poorest counties in America, my home is top 5. Historical trauma is big here. The social norms are hard to digest if you’re new. Then, there’s my maternal bloodline. I’ve witnessed a lot violence growing up, maybe that’s it? I am the oldest daughter and granddaughter. I was a mother before I was an actual mother.
There was a big moment in my life where I told myself, I would never be someone’s punching bag. I was around 12 and my mom was passed out. I didn’t bother her all day. I took care of my siblings and carried on. She finally called me in her room, her jaw was hanging and her face, unrecognizable. I was so angry. It took her six months to heal. He tried to come back while she was at work. I wouldn’t let him in and as young as I was, I firmly told him no. I was mad that he beat up my mom and left me to clean up the mess. I think about that often and how I allowed the same type of men in my life. I thought I was smarter. It never lasted with them but my inability to maintain a relationship is directly related to these experiences. I don’t know how to change it.
I am trying so hard to figure this out. I was fine for a year and this week, I went back to that sad woman crying that I am not good enough. I am not worthy of standing beside to raise this beautiful child. I know that’s a lie. I tried so hard to heal. I was the first to get a degree despite everything. I work hard. I am worthy and yet this little angry girl is there. She is so mad and all I can do is cry and reassure that we will not live like the women before us. They were strong but I watched them drink themselves to death. I planned their funerals with anger. Deep down inside I was mad that this life was so hard for them and the men just took and took from us.
Today is different. Despite the hangover, I woke up early, laid in the shower crying and imagining the embarrassment washing away. It didn’t work. I searched for free therapy. That didn’t work. I decided to write about it because I need to separate myself from this pain. This is my attempt to heal once again. I want to be sober and present. Today, I will start healing and stop wondering what is wrong with me.
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