Anxiety

This first entry is for birthmothers everywhere. May you find peace with your decision and live a happy and full life.

My chest is heavy. My heart goes a million miles an hour. I don't know why just being around someone new does this to me. Yet that's the situation I find myself in... total anxiety. I reach out my hand and introduce myself to the reflection in the mirror. A lot can change in ten years. People gain weight, lose weight, gain hair, lose hair. But as I look at myself in the mirror, I barely recognize myself.

I’m bigger, sure. But there’s a softness about the bigness of it. There’s no sucking this belly in. It’s there. No matter how much I pretend that others can’t see it, its there and they do see it. I just don’t want to admit that to myself. When they do see it, I try to pretend to be happy. Oh yes, I’m excited about the baby coming. Oh no, we haven’t thought of a name yet. When I was 17, I thought that this would be a happy feeling, to be full with child, anticipation and new life. No. This belly is mocking me. It mocks my choices in life and tells me that I’m not where I need to be to deserve this gift. This is someone else’s gift, someone else’s life, someone else’s happy moment.

I’m inside my own head a lot these days. I wonder if I’m guiding my own life or if I’m letting circumstances guide me. I’m pretty sure I’m just a scared little girl standing by as life happens around me. I try to convince myself that I’m not maternal, that someone else would and could do a better job than me. I tell myself that what I’m doing is avoiding the lifetime effects of unpreparedness to have a child. I constantly lie to myself because it makes me feel better. Yes, I’m happy with this decision. No, I have no connection to this child. When I lie on my back and play with her feet through my belly, it tells another story.

Looking in the mirror I realize that the moment this child leaves my body that I am giving a piece of myself away. I hope that I did enough due diligence in finding her parents that she won’t feel like a square peg shoved into a round hole, that whatever personality is instilled by nature won’t conflict with the environment she will grow up in. Of course, I know that the only things I will know about her will be an edited version of her life, to only share the good things. I wonder how much I will edit my life, not wanting her to ever know about the deep pain that I feel yet feeling that she should know that none of her leaving me was easy.

I extend my hand and accept that this person in the mirror is the new me. The old me died when she left me. Now, I will be known to myself as mother, but not deserving of the title. I’m confident, yet not confident enough in her ability to instill that confidence into a child. I will hear stories about childbirth, but never impart mine for fear of pity, judgment or worse, undeserved praise. Yes, this is someone completely new and I’ll have to live with her for the rest of my life.