Mother’s Day

As I am typing this out, I do not actually know if I will post it. I feel guilty taking away from the celebration of the amazing mothers of the world going on today. But this has become a bit of a challenging day for me. It was not always a difficult day. I was never one of those girls who dreamed of being a mother, and the fact that I was not yet a mother didn’t ever bother me much until recently. Which is another reason I feel weirdly conflicted on this day and unsure of how to exactly share my thoughts and experience. However, if there is someone out there like me who might resonate with my experience as it relates to motherhood, it is worth letting you know that you are not alone.

Before I get into my personal experience, I do want to wish anyone reading this a very Happy Mother’s Day! I do know that mothering comes in many different forms, so this is a wish for all women. I have a mom who I am eternally grateful for, and I know how blessed I am to be able to say that. She is a rock in my life and an example of goodness and selflessness. She isn’t one too keen for heaps of public praise, but she knows how I feel about her. I can leave it at that. Anyone who knows her gets it.

As I mentioned earlier, I was never the type of woman who dreamed of being a mom until quite recently. I did not like babysitting. I found children sticky, loud, annoying blob monsters and was not interested in having one in my home. Even after I got married, I wasn’t so sure about the whole thing. Most of my friends have heard the “false pregnancy scare” story. Long story short, I had a positive pregnancy test that left me sobbing hysterically on the floor of my bedroom. Brandt was at church and unreachable by phone, so I called my mom dry heaving and unable to speak. She thought Brandt was dead. That’s how hard I was crying. That’s how much I did not want to be pregnant. It turned out to be a false positive (there is something like a .1% chance of that happening…), and I was incredibly relieved.

Fast forward 4 years, and my attitude towards becoming a mother has changed quite a bit. I can honestly say that I want to be a mother, but it is difficult for me to distill into one emotion. I feel sadness some days and relief on other days. I have enough friends with kids to know that it is not always a walk in the park. I still have my moments where I very much like the fact that Brandt and I do not have children. Our home is quiet and clean. Our schedule is our own. Our time and space is our own. I am sure that sounds like heaven to some parents out there. But I also know that if you asked a parent to turn in their children to achieve the state of our home, they would not do it. I have heard parents describe that they derive most of the meaning in their life from their children. Those kinds of statements leave my heart aching. I know that they do not mean it as a personal attack on those without children, either by choice or not, but it is difficult to process nonetheless. Are you saying I don’t have meaning? Or shouldn’t feel meaning in my life because I don’t have children?

Brandt and I are very religious, and our religious community places a large emphasis on getting married and having children. That a way to become closer to God and to understand His love for us is through having children. I do not doubt this. I do not doubt that feeling paternal and maternal love helps you understand the kind of love our Heavenly Parents have for us. But being a part of a community that places such importance on something that I may never experience can be difficult at times. Like I am missing something very crucial to my life’s journey. Most of the women my age have multiple children. Many women younger than me also have children. It can make it difficult to make friends my own age, as we are in such difficult places in life. I cannot relate to chasing after four kids, and they don’t quite know what to do with my sick self when their lives are so full and busy. I cherish the friendships I made before this was much of an issue. Children have come to these friends over the years, and it is fun to be the auntie and watch them grow up.

For people outside of my religious community, it would not be shocking that I have been married for 5 years and am 29 with no children. However, for people inside of my community, I am not the norm. We had some sister missionaries from our congregation over for dinner a year or so ago. One of the women asked if we had children. Which kind of made me laugh considering we live in a 1-bedroom apartment, and there were no children to be seen. I wanted to respond with “yes, I keep them in the closet Harry Potter style. I am hoping one of them will end up at Hogwarts.” But instead I just told her that we do not have kids. She then said that we would have kids. Not asked if we wanted kids or if we could have them. That we would. I tried to explain that my health makes children a painful question mark, but she was not having it. I then said that if we had kids, we would need a lot of outside help to make that happen. She rejected that too. “No,” she said, “you will have kids, and you won’t need help.” I honestly did not know how to respond. I don’t know if she thought faith was enough to make this happen. That if I prayed super duper hard, I would suddenly be healthy enough to carry and care for a child. I just laughed it all off and changed the subject. Faith is another difficult subject for me that will need its own post. Being religious has been incredibly strengthening but also can make things confusing when it comes to the trial of my health.

I sometimes feel that if I do not attempt every painful avenue possible to become a mother, I am not trying hard enough to fulfill my potential as a woman. The long and short of it is that Brandt and I have never tried to get pregnant. I feel like this puts me into a weird category. I have not decided that I do not want kids. I have not suffered a miscarriage. I have not tried and failed to become pregnant. I simply do not know if my body can withstand the rigors of pregnancy and/or parenthood. I label myself a question mark. I want to be a mother but do not know if I can become one. I can barely take care of myself. There are days I do not eat, not because I am not hungry, but because I cannot get up and prepare myself food. I cannot take this approach with a child. And I do not want all of this to fall on Brandt. He works long, hard hours at a demanding job. Suddenly becoming a full-time caretaker to a child and wife is not going to fly. So I feel stuck. I have a desire to be a mother. I want to be a parent with Brandt. He would make the most incredible father. And I struggle immensely with closing this door. I know that I still have some time to make a final decision. At this point, one of the only things that could make having children a possibility for us is better treatments. I could not care for a child in the physical state that I am in now.  

I know that pregnancy is not the only way to become a mother. But I also struggle with the kind of mom I would be if we pursued another option. How many milestones would I miss because I am in bed? How many soccer games? Birthday parties? Park visits? Music concerts? The list goes on and on. I have heard the testimonies of women with ME/CFS who have children. They say that it is hard to miss these things but that their children are empathetic and made stronger for having a parent who is chronically ill. Again, I do not question their experience or malign the meaning that they and their children have found. But do I want to be the reason that my children must be strong? That is a question I ask myself often. Again, I sincerely hope that this question isn’t taken in the wrong way. I honor and celebrate women with ME/CFS who have made motherhood seem possible, but I also need to consider my own desires and hopes. Especially because I have the chance to decide on children with my illness factored in. Not all women were able to do this, falling ill after they became mothers.

There is also the question of if I will become worse as a result of being pregnant and/or caring for a child. I saw a meme on Facebook recently that said “there is tired and then there is pregnant tired”. I wanted to add “then there is ME/CFS tired!”, but I know that a healthy person can feel miserable while pregnant. I do not know what being pregnant would do to me. And it doesn’t seem to exactly end once the baby is born. I have heard the horror stories of parents being unable to sleep for basically a year straight. Brandt’s mother is raising two young children right now. I get tired just listening to her wrangle those firecrackers. I know that hired help is available and would be necessary for us, but there is a question of how much can actually be hired out and would I be able to do much of anything for my child.

I do not know how many reading this might relate to my experience. Again, I feel like a group of women not often addressed when we speak to those on Mother’s Day: the question mark. I know that my emotions are complicated, as I am sure they are for many women. But if you are ill and questioning whether you could/should become a mom, I see you. I feel your conflict and pain. I see you on the days you are grateful you do not have kids (eh hem…migraine days), and I also see you on the days you sit staring at the wall wishing it wasn’t such a complicated question. That you could just get pregnant and have children and not worry that your own health will deteriorate even further.  I have spent year after year deferring my decision. Staying up late with Brandt going over hypotheticals and wondering if it would all be worth it. And feeling like a miserable selfish monster for sometimes thinking maybe the risk isn’t worth it. That life with my dear husband is enough and that I will be best auntie this world has ever seen.

So today I celebrate women. Goodness knows there have been enough women to touch my life. I see you and hope you feel loved and uplifted today, whatever your circumstances might be. Womanhood is powerful and amazing.