My Motherhood Looks Different
My village is your Nana and your Papa. My mother and my sisters’. Your aunts’ and your uncles’ who all banned together to provide, raise, support and protect you in times when your father and I could not.
by Brianne Patrice.
I remember the day that I found out about you. A wave of mixed emotions overcame me as I thought back to the two abortions I had prior to your conception. You came at a time of uncertainty and unrest for your father and I. After years of being in such a damning place with him, I had finally mustered up the strength to leave the toxicity that had become us. And yet at the same time, I was warmly excited to welcome you into our world. To love you as only a mother could.
I decided to stay for you. We both wanted to give you what either of us had not. A home full of warmth and love with both parents happily and healthily loving each other as they should. But we failed you, at least I did. I tried and I couldn’t. I could no longer be tied to this man who had made me feel love but at the same time made me feel everything else but.
Postpartum set in after your arrival. You took me through hell during the 9 months of your creation. Morning sickness was an everyday thing even after the first trimester. Stretch marks etched themselves across the front of my belly within weeks of your departure. Everything from heartburn to an imbalanced PH level that caused sex to be painful between your father and I to a yeast infection the last 30 days of you taking up with space within my womb.
I was both ready and scared to welcome you.
A proud moment for your father and I, a reminder of the love we had-- for we were never without love. Love was abundant between he and I. But it was not healthy. Not the kind of love you see in Disney fairytales, read about in trash novels or fantasize about while watching rom-coms. However, I’m certain those type loves don’t exist either. We were work. The kind of work that takes years off your life and makes you wonder what either of you are doing in the first place. The kind of work that makes you crazy and causes you to doubt everything you thought you knew about love and what it took to foster it.
There was years of hurt that caused our relationship to be dark and grim while still allowing small glimpses of light to shine through our shallow crevices. The lying and the betrayal. The deception and the disarray. Neither one of us knew of the importance of dealing with our own, individual baggage before choosing to enter into relationship with another. We both naively thought that together we could “heal” and make each other “whole” but, all we did was hurt and further tear each other apart.
But yet, again, I tried for you. We tried for you. Everything is always for you--my wild haired maven. You are the light of my be-ing. The very reason that my heart knows both life and death. The very reason that I am the woman I am today.
The only reason I know motherhood at all. And forever the reason to re-shape my relationship to vulnerability and sacrifice. You made me want more.
You proved that I deserved better. That I could have better. You [are] my better.
And you came into this world so perfect. So quiet and still. Always knowing you would go on to change my worldview of what life should look and feel like. Forcing me to grow up, knowing love a bit more intimately and a little less selfishly.
You are my heart walking around in human form.
But as you grew, as life shifted and responsibilities changed-- none of us were prepared for this new sense of reality that had become our family. From hospital stays, vast treatments, surgeries to transplants. None of us knew what we were up against. We all knew that we just didn’t want to lose you.
None of us were prepared to lose you.
In fact, we all refused to lose you.
So in our own individual way we fought to protect you. To shield you from the dangers that would come, bringing out the best and worst in all of us. But in turn you gave us so much more. Redefining everyone’s purpose, shifting roles and changing familial dynamics.
You were the glue.
You [are] the glue. You my sweet girl, are the ties that bind.
You’re 8 years old now. An age many of us didn’t think you would make it to see. But you were vigilant, determined to live through this disease instead of allowing it to take you. My motherhood is not an “everyday” motherhood. I am not there to tuck you in at night or cook you breakfast in the morning, that is all Nana. When you cry or skin your knee, when you have a bad dream or just really need a hug, it is Nana’s arms that are near to reassure you.
But it is my love. Our love that forever carries you. That will forever care for and sustain you.
My motherhood was faced with hard-decisions, self-realizations and sacrifices I could never regret because it means I get to see your face and hear that sweet voice of yours on the daily.
My motherhood is an untraditional one. Different from the one I envisioned. Where reading and doing homework, asking about your day and watching random ass cartoons happens via Facetime rather than in side-by-side reality. Apart but forever connected.
My village is your Nana and your Papa. My mother and my sisters’. Your aunts’ and your uncles’ who all banned together to provide, raise, support and protect you in times when your father and I could not.
So this is to them.
To the Nanas, the Papas and the Mimis of the world who carry on more than they expected to when new life is brought into the world.
It is because of them. And it is because of you that I still get to call you my daughter. That I still get to laugh and play with you instead of sitting in mourning and remembrance of your once fetal existence. It is because of them that I am who I am. And you are who you are. And that we get to live in this world collectively. Healing and loving as only family should.
Because as Jay-Z said, “no one wins when the family feuds”.
So to Nana and to Papa. To Mimi and Titi(s):
My heart walks around because of you. She breathes because of you. She is happy because of you. And she is healthy because of us.
With light and Love,
The Untraditional Mother.
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Brianne Patrice is our Editor-In-Chief for Sad Moms Club. She is a full-time creative entrepreneur residing in the beloved borough of Brooklyn. She is a writer, content creator and all around lover of spirituality, mental health and self-love.
website: briannepatrice.com
insta: @briannepatrice