(Spring-Summer, 2003) -- I did it. I completed the plan I had for my life. Met a wonderful man, proposed to him and got married. Traveled the world together and had loads of fun. Grieved and recovered from the setback of infertility. Became the mom to the most perfect daughter and son. Several weeks after all my dreams came true, I should be happy. Deliriously happy.
But I’m not. And I can’t even blame hormones for my moodiness. I become depressed, edgy and easily upset with Roger, Tessa and Reed. I am supremely pissed at myself. I feel guilty for not being 100% grateful for all I have. I fall into the dark abyss of self-loathing. It seems bottomless because I keep plunging. Falling, falling. Spiraling down.
I see my counselor. I am stuck, I tell her. Stuck with a life that is no longer my own. Stuck with a colicky newborn who keeps me up much of the night. Stuck with a toddler who sucks my energy by day. Stuck in a hell I don’t have the resources to deal with or get out of.
I am not bonding with Reed. I bonded instantly with Tessa, and I am panicked about this un-liveable situation. Is it because he is a boy? Because he is the second child? Because I didn’t attend his birth, and I missed his first few weeks of life? Because I am a waste of a human being?
Years ago, to heal from infertility I had to recognize that I DID indeed have choices. My counselor helps me see that I have a choice: I do not have to parent Reed. Finalization is still months away.
She encourages me to sit with this awhile. To KNOW that I have the option to back out.