If you would have told me ten years ago where I would be today, a well-adjusted mother of a lovely daughter with a bun in the oven, engaged to a handsome, hardworking and successful man, I would have laughed in your face.
In fact, in the current deep state of teenage angst I was submerged in at the time, I more likely would have told you to f*ck off, promptly spinning on the thick black heels of my knee high leather boots. With a tear cresting over my eyelid, I would have stomped in the direction of the art room.
We are, after all, most sensitive, (and defensive) about matters closest to the heart.
I was in fifth grade when my parents separated.
The divorced just short of a year after Daddy finished building his dream log home. My dreams of a happy family life officially shattered.
Not that I’d had much hope for my parents anyway – I was half relieved not to be woken in the middle of the night to slamming doors. I was sick of listening to my mom cry.
That said, I always hoped my parents relationship would heal. When it didn’t, I lost a lot of hope.
Couple my parents’ divorce with four hard, unpopular and lonely middle school years, (none of my friend’s parents had split up during this time) and I was doomed.
In an effort to empower myself
beyond the conventional roles that seemed outside my reach, I rebelled by becoming a punk.
The pink-haired, gauged earlobe, leather boot wearing type who hung out in art class all day.
I decided domestication wasn’t for me and let everyone I cared about know how much that path nauseated me. No white picket fence, no dog, no husband and no kids.
That was the 16 year old me.
Seven years later I was giving birth at home to my first child with fiance Eric’s support.
I went on to exclusively breastfeed, (the extended, child-lead weaning kind) cloth diaper, bed-share, and created a website, blog and Facebook page providing information about birthing at home.
A very far cry from what I ever would have imagined.
The story about exactly how I got here is a long one, full of denial and opposition. Then ultimately, submission into myself.
I realized the life I had been fighting against was really what I had always wanted. I wanted it as a child and as an adult woman.
After the home birth of our daughter, I began to understand my rebellion was steeped heavily in the fear. The fear that things wouldn’t work out – that I wasn’t capable or worthy of the future the little girl inside desired.
Then I found love and was loved in return.
I grew my chopped hair long and started caring about myself more than ever before.
When I got pregnant, things really changed.
I fell in love with myself! I learned I could decided my own fate, and began making different choices than my mom or grandmother had made (*see above attachment parenting habits).
Slowly but surely, my heart is healing. Oh geeze, now I’m starting to cry!
I’m committed to making this work – my relationship with my partner and being a strong, positive influence and teacher to my daughter as a stay at home mom.
I am so blessed to be able to stay home with her. Thank you Eric.
The most important challenge I will ever face is remembering this life is my choice. I am creating my ideal, constantly improving and healing, making life better not only for myself, but for my daughter and our new baby on the way.