Grieving a closed door

There was a path I always thought would be mine. It is a path taken by many, and naturally assumed to be “the one.”

This path was hard work, for sure, but had some gorgeous views, I am told.

Views of feeling a baby kick from the inside. Views of providing nourishment from my body to their little one. Views of seeing my family reflected in their face.

That is not the path for me.

I have always known there was a different path. (Many many different paths, really.) As a child, I thought that if I couldn’t get pregnant (with my husband, of course) I would adopt.

Some of these tugs at my heart have always been there. Part of that also came from a feeling of inferiority (hello depression.) “What’s so special about my DNA that I need more of me?”

When I was in high school, and feeling awkward about my well endowed self, my mom asked me if I wanted a reduction. I said no for many reasons, one of which being I knew it made breast feeding more difficult or impossible.

During my period of worst depression, I questioned How can I be a mother? What can I give? How much will I mess them up? A lot. Will I be too depressed and it will just suck all the time?….. x100. I wasn’t really walking on any path. Just getting by.

I think, subconsciously, I began to separate out my feelings about those different paths.

I have chosen this path. The path that pulls my heart to walk it. The path that sees the beauty in people finding each other and creating love. The view of creating a warm, welcoming home for our children.

I know there are amazing views on this path. Views like this story and this one make me tear up and day dream. And I can’t wait to see those views.

But, I am grieving never having the views I pictured.

I dismissed stories and information about formula feeding, because I didn’t think they would ever apply to me. But, now they do.

I grieve the loss of this view.

I think about never feeling that kick from the inside, and not waking up to feed my child from my body, and not seeing my gram’s eyes in her face, and I feel a loss.

I think about watching my child be stubborn and taking comfort in knowing that stubbornness has served generations of Horas rather well. I know how those traits tend to play out for our family. I don’t know how stubbornness (or any other quality) has served their biological family.

Yes, I chose this path. But, I am grieving some of the things I will never see on another one.


About EratMama

30 something midwestern gal, married to another 30 something midwestern gal, conquering depression, rockin' foster parent.
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One Response to Grieving a closed door

  1. This is such a beautiful and raw post – thank you for sharing. Your words could’ve come out of my own mouth, and I feel as though our backgrounds are perhaps more similar than I originally thought. I’m so glad you started blogging; I’ve enjoyed your posts and really feel connected to your journey. Take care ~ Lex.

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