My new life...

Well, I sure haven't written in what seems like forever... real time? I guess it has been almost nine months. I got disheartened by the process and forgot why I was writing. Also, my son was born in June and it has been a very busy endeavor being his mama while keeping up with my graduate program.

So I think I should admit that I believed mothering my son would fix the pain I feel around the adoption. That was not a productive belief and what a let down that expectation was. I am certainly not fixed. I am still the imperfect person trying to manage my life as best as I know how to. My patterns have not changed much and this "new life" feels pretty similar to the old life. Wait, there is a HUGE exception. My son is such a delight. There is this little man who coaxes smiles out of me the way no other person can. I really cannot stop myself from smiling at him. We delight each other.

That is the bright side. Yes, there is a shadow side. The stress of being his nearly sole caregiver weathers on me. And I cannot deny that I feel the loss of my daughter regularly because I am triggered daily. I am really embarrassed to admit that. Shouldn't I feel fulfilled being a mother? The selfless act of being a mother is supposed to be enough to heal me, right?

I guess Betty Friedan might have been one of the first women to publicly admit that mothering is not the sole desire of every woman and that the act itself is not enough to satiate the personal desires of womankind. Yet, I had the expectation for myself that it would be enough. I consider myself a staunch feminist, but I thought that the pain associated with my adoption experience outweighed any ideology that I am inclined towards. So I unconsciously believed that my son would heal that particular pain. The unexplained depression, lethargy, sensitivity, attachment problems, and codependency would disappear. Okay, I see how this was an unrealistic expectation.

My son is such a joy and I love attending to his needs, but the stress of being a new parent is much harder than I expected. I imagined that I would be talented at handling the stress. I am not, especially as the same problems that existed for me before his birth are still there.