Friday, October 15, 2021

light bulb.

I have encountered many surprising things in these first weeks of being a mom, but the most surprising things are not actually new. They are the familiar truths that I have seen in a new light—truths that I had previously acknowledged but struggled to take to heart. Loving our boy has given me a window into a deeper understanding of these truths: to know and truly believe them; to also accept them for myself as I whisper them over and over again to my son.

I told my therapist that becoming a parent has made them somehow tangible, as if I finally found the light bulb chain that’s been swinging above me, and I’ve finally turned on the light. Maybe you’ve experienced the same light bulb moment, or maybe you are still grasping around for the chain. Wherever you are at, I hope you find encouragement and hope in these things as I have recently:

It’s not a burden to care for you, even when you are having a hard time.

You can feel bad, and that does not make you bad. Feelings are something you have, not who you are. Feelings are finite: this too shall pass.

There’s nothing you could do to make me love you any less and nothing you need to do to make me love you any more. You are loved because you are worthy of love.




Sunday, May 9, 2021

seeds for thought

Legacy, what is a legacy?

It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.  

– Lin-Manuel Miranda, “The World Was Wide Enough, Hamilton: An American Musical

Today is my first Motherʼs Day as a mother. Iʼve thought a lot about my own birth story and my birth motherʼs pregnancy with me over the past twenty-four and half weeks. That is, Iʼve imagined what it might have been like. 


The beginning of my pregnancy was hard. I felt nauseated daily, I had little appetite, I lost weight over the first three months, and I was always exhausted. But I was still excited about our baby and felt proud to know that these were signs of my body doing an important job. 


The symptoms also made me wonder about my birth mother’s pregnancy with me. Did she feel as sick as I did? As tired as I did?


Iʼm acutely aware of the stark differences in our circumstances. I have a few sentences on ghost-thin paper about my mother’s pregnancy and my birth. I don’t know what symptoms she experienced, but I do know she was working in the city to send money to her family in a more rural area. I know she fell in love with my biological father, a “coffee shop DJ,” but “it was a one-sided love.” I know that she bound her stomach so that she could continue working. I know that she made the (literally) life-changing decisions to give me life and a chance at a life beyond what she would ever be able to provide.


I am overwhelmed with gratitude at the sacrifices she made. Her choices made way for the life I have now. As sick as I felt in those early days, I was working from home. I had sick days I could use. I had a husband who loved and took excellent care of me. 


As I continue to grow our baby, now starting to feel their kicks and somersaults, I am amazed at just how much I already love them. I like to think that my mother felt the same way. She saw the potential, the value of my life. Without her knowing anything about who I was or would become—about my personality, gifts, or skills—I was enough. Enough for her to endure the months of unpleasant symptoms. Enough for her to let her body be stretched and altered. Enough for her to go through additional discomfort to hide those changes so that she could continue to do what was expected of her.


My birth mother planted a seed that my adopted mom (and dad) were able to water. She gave me life and a family and opportunity. I hope, somehow, she knows that it was worth it. 


My life is her legacy.  And that legacy continues on through the life of my baby.