Twelve years ago I was in a very precarious position. I moved away from home for the first time to live with a man in Ohio that I met online. Said man got me pregnant with my first child, and I recall being pregnant on my 21st birthday, staring longingly at the Patron from across the restaurant. It was a tumultuous pregnancy; I spent the first half of it suffering from severe morning sickness, only to visit my family in Florida and eat well for the first time in months thanks to their home cooking. I had two baby showers, a big one filled with strangers and an intimate one with a few of my partner’s relatives. As an introvert, the latter party was more my cup of tea, much to the chagrin of my mother-in-law.
Then came time for the baby to come, and my water had not yet broken. My mother and eldest sister flew up to be with me while my labor was induced. My partner did the best he could to assist, though in my pain all he managed to do was get on my nerves, the poor guy. Eventually, I squeezed out the baby, a little girl who tore me six ways past Sunday on her way out. The doctor spent the next two hours stitching me up and, since they attempted to give me morphine and my blood pressure plummeted, I had to lay there and feel every stitch of the needle. It was brutal torment, and in that moment as I bled out onto the doctor, I was certain I would die.
It wasn’t until after the doctor had finished sewing me up, and I was given my baby that it all felt worth it. “I would do it all over again in a heartbeat,” I told myself as I gazed into my daughter’s eyes.
What I never expected—and what my Lamaze classes never warned me about—was the severe depression I would experience post-partum. My mother and sister left a week after the baby was born. My in-laws did everything they could to support us around their work schedules. Just a few weeks after giving birth I found a seasonal job earning minimum wage at a department store in the mall. My partner and I worked opposite schedules most of the time, with me working evenings/nights and him working first shift at Kroger. Somehow we were able to keep the lights on in our two-bedroom apartment while also keeping ourselves and our child fed, with many thanks to the WIC program.
As my time at my seasonal gig was coming to a close, I came to the halting realization that the love I felt for my daughter not only dwarfed what I felt for her father, it eclipsed it. It was around Christmas time when I admitted to him that I did not see a future for us, and that I wanted to return to my home state of Florida. He admitted that he had been thinking of buying me a ring and proposing to me. We were on opposite sides of the spectrum, tied together forever by a new life.
I won’t go into all the details of everything that took place after that point. I was in the wrong at times, and so was he. We were essentially broken up and dating other people while still living together. My biggest regret was letting him keep the baby while I returned to Florida. I had no idea that the day after Christmas, he had already filed for custody, citing that I had “abandoned” my daughter while I was still living there. A few months and a messy custody battle later, with me not being in the best place of my life, I decided what was best for my firstborn was for me to let her go, instead of tearing her away from her loving father and bringing her into an uncertain situation. I lost friends and relatives over that decision, and I lost myself in drugs as a result.
So, what message would I want to give to my 20-year-old self? I would tell them that life is hard, but not to give up. I would tell them “this too shall pass” to the worst moments in my memories. I would encourage myself to leave that horrible situation when the time is right, and I would remind myself to be grateful for the family and friends that stuck by me.
I would tell myself to start writing as soon as possible, because through my passion, I learned to love myself all over again.
… And maybe to avoid dating a specific list of losers after the second baby.
Thanks for reading!
Sisters of the Shadows 
Leave a comment