My husband and I have done so much work trying to destigmatize mental health needs with our kids. We are a blended family, and therefore the foundation of our marriage is unfortunately filled with trauma from previous relationships. We knew early on that our kids would require therapy of some kind to work through the pain and disappointment that often accompanies divorce. When our daughter (his youngest from his first marriage) began to exhibit behavior issues both at school and at home, we assumed that it was her way of processing how hard it was to go from one house to another. She thrives on routine, and spending one week with her biological mom and brother and then one week in our full house of seven was really hard for her. I mean let’s be honest – that would be hard on anyone, let alone a six year-old. After a year of trying all the tricks we knew, we sought out professional help. Shortly thereafter, she was diagnosed with ADHD and Oppositional Defiant Disorder. It wasn’t really a difficult diagnosis to swallow because she pretty much checked all the boxes of that disorder according to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (the holy grail of mental health professions). They sent us home with Adderall and told us to come back for monthly appointments to check in. The stimulant medication certainly helped with the hyperactivity and focus, but not for the “defiance” or weekly meltdowns she would have for (fill in the blank…..anything from itchy clothing to her milk not being cold enough could send her into a tailspin). We tried our best but after years of walking on eggshells, my husband and I were sometimes shells of our normal selves if she was having a bad week.

After our move from Louisiana, a state with little to no mental health care support beyond basic therapy, we sought out a new doctor to monitor her Adderall. It was this person who first threw out the word “autism”. While familiar with the typical signs of autism, for some reason I just couldn’t see it in my own child. I was not in denial, because I don’t view autism as a “bad thing”, but I guess when you’re just so close to the person, it’s hard to have an objective viewpoint. A nine hour comprehensive psychological evaluation confirmed that doctor’s suspicions. The diagnosis came as a relief to our daughter, because it simply confirmed that there was nothing wrong with her or innately bad about her behavior…she just processes sensory and information and experiences differently than we do. We would now have to relearn how to parent a neurodiverse child.

I got home from that appointment and broke down into a puddle of tear-soaked guilt. How could I have missed it? How could I have succumbed to so many moments of frustration when she couldn’t help it. There were so many times that I took her behavior personally and I allowed it to put a wall up between us as a way for me to protect my emotions. This may sound crazy but I have yet to find a human that can hurt my feelings as much as one of my kids can. Motherhood is sometimes a mindfuck in that way. I know that I need to let this go. I know we were doing the best we could with the very limited knowledge and resources that we had at the time. I want to blame the system, and I know I can and should. It’s very broken and there are so many kids and families suffering because of it.

But dammit….I wish I could turn the clock back and do so many things differently. Be better for her.

Dear Mary,

About halfway through my pregnancy with you, I began researching “natural childbirth”, which is just another way of saying “unmedicated”. I had an epidural for the birth of both of your older brothers. Jackson’s birth was fairly uneventful. 15 hours of labor, more than half of which I couldn’t feel from the waist down. He never could get the hang of nursing, but was otherwise healthy. By the time I was 39 weeks pregnant with Timmy, I was ready to not be pregnant any more. I had been having very manageable contractions at work, so I decided to go to the hospital to check and see if there was anything happening. They decided to just admit me and put me on Pitocin since I was 39 weeks and uncomfortable. What followed for the next day was truly a nightmare. After 25 hours of labor, some very touch-and-go moments with his heartbeat, and a near brush with having to get a c-section, I finally delivered Timmy. Just moments after they cut the cord, I was too exhausted to even hold my baby. I spent the first 8 hours of his life asleep. It was a horrible, terrifying experience, and one that I was not keen to relive.

All of my research pointed to an adverse reaction to the epidural, by both myself and my baby.  His heart couldn’t handle the combination of the Pitocin and epidural, and my body couldn’t keep up with the cocktail of medications. When I got pregnant with you, I was determined to do it differently – so I told your dad that I wanted to give birth to you without ANY medical intervention. He was completely supportive of my decision. When I started to research our hospital’s protocol on natural birth, I was frustrated with what I learned. I would not be able to walk around during labor, or get into the water. I would also not be able to eat. All of the research I’d done, combined with my own labor experiences, showed me that these were things that I really valued during the labor experience. Walking around was non-negotiable, since I experienced terrible back pain the first two times. Not to mention, I became a little irritated at the fact that I had little to no control over my own body during the birthing process. This did not sit well with me. After watching the documentary The Business of Being Born, I was convinced that home birth was for me. Dad and I interviewed a highly recommended midwife and the decision was made as soon as we walked out of her office.  A week later, I fired my OB. I had my records transferred and began preparing for what I expected to be a wonderful, natural birth in the comfort of my very own home.

Towards the end of my pregnancy, your dad and I began to anticipate your arrival with each passing day. By the time I was 38 weeks, we knew it could be “any day now”. As this was my third pregnancy, we fully expected that I would at least go into labor a little early. During the 38-week home visit from our midwife, she felt around on my belly and became concerned that you were in a breech position. It’s not a major complication, but one that would keep us from having a home birth. According to Louisiana law, breech deliveries must be done at a hospital. And so, we began to research. Thankfully, I had a team of support to show me exactly what I could do to get you to turn. I knew right then that having a midwife was the best decision I’d ever made. Chances are, an OB would not have caught your position (I say this because no previous OB had ever checked my baby’s position in utero, but the midwife did it at every appointment). Knowing this info ahead of time gave us a chance to try and turn you around. So we spent the next week or so doing everything we knew to get your head down. I made regular visits to the chiropractor that practiced the Webster method. My doula came over and rubbed peppermint essential oil on the top of my belly, and she coached me in how to do inversions. A week after we’d discovered you’d flipped, I went to see the obstetrician that backs up my midwife for an ultrasound to see where you were. When she confirmed that you’d turned the proper way, a flood of emotion ran over me. I was back on track to having the birth I’d so desperately hoped for. 

When I was just a few days away from being 40 weeks, neither one of us could believe I’d made it this far without even a hint of a contraction. I was uncomfortable, of course, but now that you were correctly positioned, everything else was textbook. Waiting for you was just so difficult. We were both so anxious to meet you, and yes – I was so tired of being pregnant.

Another week went by with no sign of labor. Finally, when I was nine days “overdue”, Daddy and I decided that it was time to go furniture shopping. We had to buy a new sofa, and we took every opportunity to walk around in an effort to coax you out of your comfy little spot. In the middle of the furniture store, I began having some contractions that felt quite a bit stronger than the Braxton Hicks contractions I’d been having for weeks. Could it be?!?!?!  We made our purchase and went home. Daddy turned on his app that monitored the duration and frequency of my contractions. After a couple of hours, we decided to give our midwife a call. We told her what was going on and she agreed that it was time for the team to head over to our house. While we waited, Daddy blew up the birthing pool and began preparations for your arrival.

My doula sat with me during the contractions and the midwife monitored my progress and took notes.

And just like that – as quickly as the contractions started, they stopped. We waited a while longer for something to happen, but my labor completely stalled. The birth team went home, and I got into bed, feeling more than a little defeated. My body was disappointing me, but I knew at the very least that the real deal was close. We had a fetal non-stress test scheduled for Monday, so unless we went into labor during the weekend, we would head to our appointment. I sat at the machine on Monday while it monitored your heart rate and my contractions. We were given a clean bill of health and all signs pointed to the fact that you were doing great! So Daddy and I went back home and relaxed. That evening, contractions started up again. We waited a bit longer before making any phone calls this time, but after a couple of hours, the contractions began to take my breath away. 

The birth team, your aunt, and your grandmothers came over. Your brothers held my hand throughout many contractions before we finally sent them both to bed to get some sleep. As is the case with many births, my body began to labor late in the evening, so we knew sleep was necessary for whoever could get it.

For the next few hours, I walked around, ate miso soup, and even slept in between contractions. It wasn’t a deep or long sleep, but I was baffled at how my body would shut down during those several minutes to allow me some rest and renewal in time to get through the next contractions. I had developed a breathing routine that worked really well for my pain management. Deep, guttural moans got me from the beginning of the contraction, through to the peak of the highest mountain of pain, and back down to relief again. With each contraction, I imagined my cervix opening just a bit more. This helped me significantly, because it would guide me through the contraction and keep me focused on the purpose behind my pain. I was in awe at what my body was capable of. 

After several more contractions, I was eager to see if any progress had been made in dilation. I asked the midwife to check my cervix, and her report was less than favorable. I was only four centimeters! What a bummer…all of that labor and I still had quite a bit more to go. She checked me on my bed, so I just opted to stay there. The pain was causing me to have the chills, so someone covered me with a blanket. The women in the room each massaged me through the contractions as Daddy knelt on the floor and read affirmations to me. As the doula explained it:

“You moved around the house until finally, you surrendered. Laying on your bed, covered in a blanket and praying hands! I rubbed your feet, your sister rubbed your face, and your husband whispered words of encouragement to you.”

The midwife noticed that I was getting far too comfortable on that bed, so she encouraged me to get up and go to the bathroom, to keep labor from stalling any further. I did just what she asked, and then moved to her birthing chair in the living room. At this point, I asked to get in the water, so your grandmother began filling the pool, and went in to wake up Jackson. He was present from that moment on, and loved being a part of your birth. 

I sat and labored in that birthing chair for a few minutes with my sister in front of me and Daddy behind me. Contractions were almost unbearable but being in that seated position helped tremendously. There was little to no time between contractions and EVERYTHING burned. All of the books that I’d read explained it as the ring of fire, which tracks. I felt like I had less and less control over each contraction at this point. I looked at your Aunt Chris and told her that I didn’t think I could do this anymore. She locked her eyes with mine, looked at me and said,

“…you ARE doing it!!!”

A few minutes later, I heard a strange noise and felt a gush of warmth between my legs. I shouted to the midwife that it felt like my water broke. She ran over and looked to make sure that the fluid was clear, which it was. When she tried to get your heart tones, my position squatting on that seat made that nearly impossible, so they hoisted me up onto the sofa to check your heart to make sure all was well. Well…your heart was fine, but there was no time to get into the pool. You were coming and it was time for Momma to push! Just a few strong pushes and you were here!!!  I couldn’t believe it. There were cheers and tears all around the room. Ten fingers and ten toes and I simply couldn’t believe I did it. You see, my sweet child…we were a team that day. You and I had been working together to grow your perfect little body for ten months and then for those eight hours, we worked together to get you out. You helped me realize that my body is powerful….that I AM POWERFUL…and learning that is a gift that I’ll be forever grateful for.

I sometimes miss how disconnected I was from my body when I was younger. Though not a monolith, I think most adolescents feel some degree of invincibility when it comes to how their bodies move throughout the world. The carefree attitude of “nothing is going to hurt/stop me or slow me down” is one that accompanies a life lacking experience (and might have something to do with an underdeveloped frontal lobe). But I think it’s a necessary part of the growth process that allows us to have lived experiences with a certain degree of fearlessness that encourages us to explore the world. 

The older I get, however, the more my body’s limitations prevent me from living as fully as I’d hope. For one thing, sleep doesn’t come as easily as it once did. As a child, I’d often fall asleep in random places whenever I got tired. As a teenager, I’d sleep for 12 hours at a time. No insomnia, no nightmares, no getting up twice to pee. Now it takes pharmaceuticals and magnesium and turning off screens in order to clear my brain long enough to fall asleep. Wash, rinse, repeat.

In 2018, I started to experience intense pain in my shoulder, swelling and pain in my fingers and toes, and debilitating fatigue. The pain would come and go and I would sometimes go weeks feeling totally fine, so I ignored it for a while. I’ve been tired since I had my first child in 2000, so fatigue has never been a good barometer for my health. After the shoulder pain woke me up in the middle of the night, I made an appointment to see my doctor the next day. Many, many blood tests later, I was diagnosed with two autoimmune diseases – one of which is called rheumatoid arthritis. There is no cure for RA, and the causes are unknown. Left untreated or if my body does not respond to the medications, the disease can cause organ failure and severe deformation of hands and feet and other parts of the body. My life, and by extension my body, was forever changed with that diagnosis. Every decision I make is now governed by how it is going to affect my disease. Food that I eat, alcohol that I consume, stress that I experience – all of these things can cause a flare of the disease. 

I’ve learned to manage my symptoms with the help of medicine and doctors, but it will never not be a part of me. I am who I am today as a result of the limitations of my body, and though it often frustrates me, it has shaped my resilience. I still would love to look at my young self and tell her to be more grateful for her sense of invisibility. Youth really is wasted on the young.