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My twin daughters are in a kickboxing class at the local community college and this video was assigned to them as homework. It struck me as so simple that it is well worth the couple of minutes to review information we likely are already aware of but need continual reminders about. Moms, this is what we do -- we are the reminders, the repeaters, the consistent, kind, and friendly reviewers and encouragers!
From the YouTube Description: Wellness means overall well-being. It includes the emotional, environmental, financial, intellectual, occupational, physical, social, and spiritual aspects of a person’s life. Incorporating aspects of the Eight Dimensions of Wellness, such as choosing healthy foods, forming strong relationships, and exercising often, into everyday habits can help people live longer and improve quality of life. The Eight Dimensions of Wellness may also help people better manage their condition and experience recovery. This short animated video explores the Eight Dimensions of Wellness and helps people understand the practical strategies and ways they can begin developing healthy habits that can have a positive impact on their physical and mental health. To learn more about SAMHSA’s Wellness Initiative, click here.
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Too often we are scared. Scared of what we might not be able to do. Scared of what people might think if we tried. We let our FEARS stand in the way of our HOPES. We say "no" when we want to say "yes." We sit quietly when we want to scream. And we shout with the others, when we should keep our mouths shut. WHY? after all, we do only go around once. SO STOP. Try something you've never tried. RISK IT. Enter a triathlon. Write a letter to the editor. Demand a raise. Call winners at the toughest court. Throw away your television. Bicycle across the United States. Try bobsledding. Try anything. Speak out against the designated hitter. Travel to a country where you don't speak the language. Patent something. Call him. You have nothing to lose. And everything EVERYTHING EVERYTHING to gain. JUST DO IT.  Photo Credit: Kenny Krosky on Unsplash.com Being empathic -- able to feel the emotions of others -- can be a gift, showing compassion and wanting to ease sadness. It might also be stressful, since the other person is the one in charge of whether their complex emotions get resolved in healthy ways or not. Being able to "LET GO" is a skill that empaths must learn and practice! But what does it mean? In high school, I took a class called Peer Facilitation, and it taught us how to keep ourselves emotionally level while reaching out to those who were off kilter. Here is one of the handouts from that class, which I've kept almost 30 years! It describes both what "LET GO" is AND what it is NOT. May it help you in your journey as a mother, definitely a position of empathy! Also, a position with the temptation to try to control another person. Gaining this perspective, this ability to LET GO will make motherhood a much more enjoyable journey -- full of love instead of fear.  Photo Credit: Brett Jordan on Unsplash.com To "let go" does not mean to stop caring, it means I can't do it for someone else. To "let go" is not to cut myself off, it's the realization that I can't control another. To "let go" is not to enable, but to allow learning from natural consequences. To "let go" is to admit powerlessness, which means the outcome is not in my hands. To "let go" is not to try to change or blame another, it's to make the most of myself. To "let go" is not to care for, but to care about. To "let go" is not to fix, but to be supportive. To "let go" is not to judge, but to allow another to be a human being. To "let go" is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcome, but to allow others to effect their own destinies. To "let go" is not to be protective, it's to permit another to face reality. To "let go" is not to deny, but to accept. To "let go" is not to nag, scold, or argue, but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them. To "let go" is not to adjust everything to my desires, but to take each day as it comes, and cherish myself in it. To "let go" is not to regret the past, but to grow and live for the future. To "let go" is to fear less and love more. Author unknown  Photo Credit: Alex Bodini on Unsplash.com
Blessings on the hand of women! Angels guard its strength and grace. In the palace, cottage, hovel, Oh, no matter where the place; Would that never storms assailed it, Rainbows ever gently curled, For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world. Infancy's the tender fountain, Power may with beauty flow, Mothers first to guide the streamlets, From them souls unresting grow -- Grow on for the good or evil, Sunshine streamed or evil hurled, For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world. Woman, how divine your mission, Here upon our natal sod; Keep – oh, keep the young heart open Always to the breath of God! All true trophies of the ages Are from mother-love impearled, For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world. Blessings on the hand of women! Fathers, sons, and daughters cry, And the sacred song is mingled With the worship in the sky -- Mingles where no tempest darkens, Rainbows evermore are hurled; For the hand that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rules the world.  Photo Credit: Aaron Burden on Unsplash.com Many years ago, this little essay was included in the newsletter at the School for the Deaf in Washington State. The author was listed as Carol Turkington. I'm not sure how it came to be included in my pile of papers, but whenever I would thin them out, this one would get saved. May her message help you as you adjust to whatever Holland-type situation your baby has brought you too.
When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like you're planning a vacation to Italy. You're all excited. You get a whole bunch of guidebooks, you learn a few phrases so you can get around, and then it comes time to pack your bags and head for the airport. Only when you land, the stewardess says, ‘Welcome to Holland.” You look at one another in disbelief and shock, saying “Holland? What are you talking about? I signed up for Italy!” But they explain there’s been a change of plans and that you've landed in Holland and there you must stay. “But I don’t know anything about Holland!” you say. "I don’t want to stay!” But stay you do. You go out and buy some new guidebooks, you learn some new phrases and you meet people you never knew existed. The important thing is that you are not in a slum full of pestilence and famine. You're simply in a different place that you had planned. It’s slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy, but after you've been there a little while and you have a chance to catch your breath, you begin to discover that Holland has windmills. Holland has tulips. Holland has Rembrandts. But everyone else you know is busy coming and going from Italy. They're all bragging about what a great time they had there and for the rest of your life, you’ll say, “Yes, that’s what I had planned.” The pain of that will never, ever go away. You have to accept that pain, because the loss of that dream, the loss of that plan, is a very, very significant loss. But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to go to Italy, you will never be free to enjoy the very special, very lovely things about Holland.  Photo Credit: Parham Moieni on Unsplash.com The Weaver
My life is but a weaving Between my God and me. I cannot choose the colors He weaveth steadily. Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow; And I in foolish pride Forget He sees the upper And I the underside. Not ’til the loom is silent And the shuttles cease to fly Will God unroll the canvas And reveal the reason why. The dark threads are as needful In the weaver’s skillful hand As the threads of gold and silver In the pattern He has planned. He knows, He loves, He cares; Nothing this truth can dim. He gives the very best to those Who leave the choice to Him. By Grant Colfax Tullar By Kandis Lake, RN, BSN, guest blog post contributer  Parenting can be challenging for everyone, but parenting with a chronic or life altering illness brings a unique set of difficulties. It is important for you to accept outside support and take it easy on yourself. Realize there are many simple ways you can be an amazing parent, even if you're not feeling up to doing many activities. Use Outside Support Don't hesitate to seek and accept outside help. Get help with childcare, housework, meals, or whatever you feel in need of. It has been found that new mothers with outside support are more optimistic about parenting. That finding could apply to any stage or situation in parenting, and it makes sense that if you're more optimistic about something you will feel happier doing it. If you’re happier parenting, you will show up in more positive ways for your child. Because of this, accepting help will benefit not only you, but your child as well. It could be beneficial to talk to a trusted person about your feelings surrounding your difficult circumstance. If you're struggling to cope, you may benefit from seeing a counselor who can help you work through your emotions. Take it Easy on Yourself Taking care of a child is a lot of hard work. It is more consuming physically, emotionally, and mentally than any other job. Add illness on top of it, and there is no doubt a need for as much rest as possible. Let yourself rest whenever you can without feeling guilty about it. Focus On The Ways You Can Parent Well You may feel disappointed or feel a loss if you are unable to do active physical activities with your child. It's okay to feel that way, but it is important to remember that your value as a parent isn't dependent on how much or what things you do. You can love your kid and bond with them in many simple yet profound ways. Find ways to make deep and meaningful connections with your child through spending time together. Some ways bonding can occur without expending a lot of physical energy can include snuggling on the couch, talking, reading, or drawing together. You could take turns telling stories. Try pulling up a list of questions for your child to answer, and as a bonus, audio record them giving their answers on your phone as a form of journaling. Listen to audiobooks together (you can check them out online from the library) or a podcast with children's stories. Color, draw, or watch movies together. Having a secure relationship with your child will bring many benefits for both of you. Your child will have an increased feeling of stability and confidence, have resilience in difficult times, and a better ability to navigate difficult emotions. Connecting with your child will bring you joy and fulfillment amidst the difficulties of your illness. Hugging and cuddling your child even has benefits for both of you. Hugging and cuddling causes the brain to release a hormone called oxytocin. Oxytocin contributes to bonding with others and has many other health benefits as well. Oxytocin has been known to decrease stress, bring blood pressure down, increase pain tolerance, and help with anxiety. Conclusion As a parent with a chronic or life altering illness, you deserve to go easy on yourself. Don't hesitate to seek and accept the outside support you need, as this will benefit you and your child. Focus on all the ways you can parent well, and do those things to create meaningful connections with your child. Sources Crnic, K. A., Greenburg, M. T., Ragozin, A. S., Robinson, N. M., & Basham, R. B. (1983, Feb.). Effects of Stress and Social Support on Mothers and Premature and Full-Term Infants. Child Development, 54(1), 209-217. 10.2307/1129878 Uvnas-Moberg, K., & Petersson, M. (2005). Oxytocin, ein Vermittler von Antistress, Wohlbefinden, sozialer Interaktion, Wachstum und Heilung [Oxytocin, a mediator of anti-stress, well-being, social interaction, growth and healing]. Z Psychosom Med Psychother, 51(1), 57-80. 10.13109/zptm.2005.51.1.57 Kandis Lake, the author, is a professional health writer and can be found at www.healthwriterkandis.com
By Kandis Lake, RN, BSN, guest blog post contributer.  Photo Credit: National Cancer Institute on Unsplash.com Learning your child has cancer or another life-changing illness is probably every parent’s worst nightmare. While the medical advances to treat these life-changing diagnoses have never been better, it is still a very taxing experience for any family. Ways to navigate such a trying and difficult situation can include learning all you can about your child’s sickness, leaning on outside support, and knowing ways you can help your child and family cope.
Learning About Your Child’s Sickness Any good healthcare provider will provide you with ample education surrounding your child’s sickness, and what the sickness will mean for your child and your family. Don’t hesitate to ask questions, ask doctors to clarify meanings, and repeat what you hear to ensure you understand the information being given you. If you are not in a good headspace to understand what you’re being told, it’s a good idea to ask if you can be given the information at a better time. It is also a good idea to have another family member or support person receive the education with you, so you can both learn together and help each other remember and understand in times ahead. If you get home and think about something you need clarified, you can always reach out to your child’s healthcare provider to ask questions or get more information. Study any materials your child’s healthcare providers have given you or resources they have suggested. Seek out reputable sources for further information. The American Cancer Society has a lot of information online about all types of cancers. Advocate for yourself and your family to ensure you understand what you need to, and can feel empowered moving forward. Take Care of Yourself and Get Outside Help Be sure to take care of yourself so that you can handle your difficult situation in the best way possible. Take care of yourself so you can take care of your child. If your child is staying in the hospital, take advantage of working with a social worker and case manager to ensure you and your child are provided with everything you will need when you go home. Many hospitals have a chaplain whose job is to help patients and families care for their spiritual needs. If your child is being cared for at home, take regular breaks by setting up respite care (when a healthcare professional, such as a nurse, temporarily cares for a patient at the patient’s home). Accept your feelings about the situation you are in without judgement. Talk to a friend, family member, or counselor about the difficulties you are facing, or write your thoughts and feelings in a journal. Talking and writing can help you process your experiences and help you better cope. There are online support groups for a wide variety of situations and illnesses. An online group could connect you to other parents or caregivers who are going through something similar. If you have other children, seek a balance of personally caring for them and asking for help to care for them as well. This could be a very difficult time for them and they will need help and support through it. You will likely need help caring for them while your child is sick. Utilize any church or community support available. Don’t be afraid to ask for help during such a difficult time for your family. It can be hard to ask for and accept help, but doing so is in your child’s best interest, as well as your own. The less stress you feel in regard to all aspects of your life, the more energy and focus you can put into supporting and bonding with your child when he needs you. Cheryl Harris’s son was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia when he was two and a half years old. Cheryl said, “Almost more than the sleepless nights and endless tears during that time, I remember the amazing, wonderful good people who showed up for us.” She describes friends, family, and hospital staff giving immense support. Her own parents drove across the country to help, and her mother stayed with them for six whole months. They had friends that brought gifts for her child, and others offered to watch her one-year-old since Cheryl was so frequently at the hospital and at appointments. Friends and family who didn’t live near them sent the family frequent words of comfort and love. Many people also find strength and support in spirituality or religion. Faith or spirituality can be very helpful in coping for some. Cheryl remarked about her faith, “I am so grateful for the gospel and the knowledge of God's plan during that time. I knew no matter what may happen, everything would be okay.” Helping and supporting your child The most important thing you can be doing at this time is helping your child. You will best accomplish this by taking breaks and accepting help yourself, as discussed above. Take time to address your child’s concerns and answer his questions. Speak to him about what is happening in a way that is appropriate for his age and level of understanding. The American Cancer Society has some great advice for communicating in age-appropriate ways here. When asked how she helped her young son, Cheryl said, “I prayed for and tried to have an abundance of patience and stamina. That was absolutely necessary. I cleared my schedule and dedicated my life to comforting him in any way I could.” Your child will likely feel a range of emotions as he lives with his illness, as well as because many aspects of normal life are altered because of it. Be a safe space for your child to express thoughts and feelings, free from any judgement or shame. Resist the urge to try to change those feelings. Every time your child has difficult feelings, it gives you the opportunity to strengthen your relationship through supporting him. Having a strong and secure relationship with your child will in turn help him build resilience and confidence, and also give him the tools to navigate difficult feelings in the future. Cheryl kept a blog during her son’s battle with cancer. One story illustrates the need children have for their parents: “He woke up once while they were taking his vitals and was in pain. His little body tensed up and I could tell it hurt when I moved him. He asked to ‘give Mommy hugs,’ which means to hold him chest to chest, bear-hug style, but when I picked him up he was so rigid and stiff and couldn't relax. I called for more pain meds. I asked him where it hurt and all he said was, ‘Mommy kiss it better.’ He's said that a lot the past few days. That has been the hardest part for me.” Helping your child cope with stress, navigate difficult emotions, and express himself could prove to be extremely difficult, especially if you haven’t had a lot of experience with healthy coping and emotional expression yourself. A child life specialist (often employed at pediatric hospitals) or a counselor can help you and your child with this. Recognize things that comfort your child. It may be a pacifier, blanket, special toy, or favorite book or movie. Whatever comfort object there might be, allow your child to have it readily available. Be sure hospital staff and any other caregivers know ways your child likes to be comforted. Like Cheryl with her son, be there to comfort him yourself as much as possible. It can also be important to try to incorporate some routine and normalcy into your child’s life. This can include doing schoolwork, socializing with family and friends, playing and being silly, and having some routine to his care. Let your child take opportunities to enjoy being a kid. Find ways for your child to maintain sibling and family relationships. Conclusion The ways you can help your child with illness as his mother is monumental. You and your family will be empowered through learning and understanding as much about the illness as you can. As you take care of yourself and to seek and accept help from others, you will better be able to care for your child and be there for them. You can play an important, unmatched role of providing support and comfort to your child during this very difficult time. Cheryl’s advice to other moms who experience something similar is “Let people help you. Take care of yourself. Let things go that don't matter. Count your blessings along the way and recognize and appreciate the beauty of all those who are trying to help. It will lift you.” Cheryl’s son received cancer treatments for five years. He is now a healthy, thriving eleven-year-old. For more information see: cancer.org/latest-news/caring-for-children-with-cancer.html https://www.cancer.gov/about-cancer/coping/caregiver-support/parents Kandis Lake, the author, is a professional health writer and can be found at www.healthwriterkandis.com Co-written by Alana Hutchins, Momivate's Director of Energy, and Candace Briles, age 38 and mother to a 3 year old little girl  Alana and her daughters Alana speaking: Since I have seven children myself, many people want to know if I grew up in a large family, and the answer is, no. I grew up in what is now a “typical” single-parent American household. Well, technically I still had two parents though, so two single-parent households? My sister and I were the product of my mom’s second marriage and my parents divorced when I was four years old, after they had been married for just seven years. My sister Amber, my very favorite and only sister in all the world, was born when my mom was thirty-nine years old and I came along eighteen months later when our mother was forty. That was as big as our immediate family was destined to be. I spent much of my childhood under the care of my maternal grandfather James Story, since my mother worked nights at the hospital as a medical technologist. When I was younger I missed her while she was at work. I usually saw her in the mornings before I went to school, but that was it. I wrote little diary entries in my seven-year-old print that expressed my tender feelings of missing mommy until one day I stopped. I stopped writing it and at some point, I stopped missing her as much. Kids are pliable and they have a way of adapting to the situation they are placed in. I remember thinking that divorce not only took one parent out of the home, but two. It is not fair nor, sadly, is it unusual, but there are many things in life that fall into those two categories. By the time I was eleven my grandfather had remarried and moved out of our home so Amber and I became latch-key kids, essentially running our own lives from afterschool until bedtime every day. I spent many hours in front of the television that, in retrospect, I wish I had not. Making wise time-use decisions was not a priority when I was in middle school. I also ate a lot of leftovers as a kid. Our mother would make a big pot of spaghetti or tacos on Monday and Amber and I would be expected to eat it for the next five days or so. To this day I cringe slightly if I need to eat leftovers more than once. I always maintained a good relationship with my father. That reaches into the present tense as well. When we were together, my father tried to make it quality time the best way he knew how. Hiking, going out to eat, spitting cherry seeds, taking trips to the beach, etc. My relationship with my mother is good, but there will always be a “what-if” in my mind as to whether it could have been great had we spent more time together. Hey, it is not too late. But that is for another blog post. Growing up in this sort of situation taught me a great deal of independence. I also saw firsthand the importance of women needing an education so that they can support a family if need be. My mother exemplified hard work both at home and her job and I my psyche absorbed much of that mentality over the years. At turns I have seen her rage and weep at the unfairness of her heavy burden, but with the grace of God and support of her father, she successfully raised two daughters and found a place for forgiveness in her heart for my own father. There have been times when I wish my situation could have been something other than what it was, but I’m not complaining, it could have been much worse. I had the love of two wonderful parents, even if those parents didn’t love each other. Just down the street from us I had a childhood playmate named Candace Briles who was raised in a very similar situation living with her single mom. Maybe you can relate as well, either growing up in a single-parent home or currently raising your own children without a spouse. Through life’s unexpected twists and turns, Candace is now raising her daughter as a single mother and I’d like to share a small excerpt of her personal journey: Candace speaking: I am a single mother of an incredibly smart and sweet little girl. Single motherhood was not something that I had on my ‘to-do’ list, and for most of my adult life, I did not think that I would even be a mother. I certainly remember as a little girl wanting to have a baby and playing ‘mommy’ and having lots of fun. Being a mother has been one of the absolute best gifts the Lord has entrusted to me. She is a living, breathing, and heart-beating little person to be responsible for! Almost every moment together has been imprinted in my mind as something special and remarkable. I was married to my daughter’s biological father, yet not anymore. My healing from divorce with a beautiful infant is only attributed to the Lord’s overwhelming love and the unconditional support that I have received from my family. Along with being a single mother, and a full time pre-school teacher, I help care for my aging parents. They are both still independent, yet they have experienced some health issues this past year that have required both of them to make major life adjustments. My daughter and I live in the home I myself grew up in. My mother still lives there as well. I left this home at eighteen years old and came back eighteen years later with an eighteen-month old. While I was still pregnant, I lived with my father at the beach where I stayed for the first eighteen months of my daughter’s life. I was given the gift of being able to be at home with her and nurse her and love her for that time. I think the most fun part of being a single mother is that I have such a close relationship with my daughter. I pray that will continue as she grows. When my daughter was eighteen months old, I began full-time work again. I am a teacher at the early childhood center where she attends. My day consists of caring for fourteen vibrant and active three and four-year-olds. Their exuberance can exhaust me at times, but at other times their energy enlivens me. It is wonderful to be teaching in my classroom and simultaneously watching my daughter out my window on the playground. I am tired most of the time, yet I give thanks to the Lord for the energy that I do have to do all that I do. I feel lonely sometimes because I do not have an intimate partner to share in all the joys of what I am experiencing. I have friends that are loyal and kind who I can ask for help, and they help when I ask, but it isn’t quite the same thing as having a spouse. The most challenging part for me, and I try not to think about it too much, is that all the responsibilities fall on me. If I do start thinking about that fact, I can get overwhelmed. My best advice is to just take it one day at a time. Another aspect of being a single mother that is difficult is the stigma attached to it. Maybe this stigma is internal and maybe it is external, and maybe it is a combination of both. Regardless, it is something that I am aware of. I know my story because I have lived it, and there are people in my close circle who know my story as well. Of all the other single mothers I know, everyone has an individual story of how their life’s events unfolded too. The Lord works all things together for our good. I would encourage mothers to be compassionate with each other and willing to listen and befriend each other no matter their situation. As Mothers, we are all women and our lives are woven into one another. We are caregivers of children and those children grow up to be leaders in our world and mothers themselves. In my life, it has been about caring for others. Before I had a child, my professional life was dedicated to caring for others as a counselor. Now my personal life is about caring for others, which has a deeper meaning, as it is my family I am caring for. For eighteen years I was gone from the place where I grew up. I was traveling the world, living in different parts of the country, gaining an education and a lot of life experience. Now I am home with my daughter where I grew up, and with the Lord’s help, raising a healthy child surrounded with the love and hope of Jesus.
Written By Camille Parker in May 2019 as part of a project for Alana Hutchins, Momivate Director of Energy and author of Last of Her Kind: How a mother of eight can help you move from striving to thriving. (Book expected to be available in 2021) Published here with permission from both Camille and Alana. Thank you!  The author and her daughter I never considered that infertility could be in my future. As a young bride of 19 years old (just a baby myself, really), I married a wonderful man and was blissfully naive to the possibility of being infertile. After our first anniversary I planned to get pregnant and have a child every two years until I turned 30. Five children; that’s what I wanted, and believed doable, with the full support of my man. Fast forward 10 years, and six weeks after my 29th birthday we adopted our first, and only, child. Funny how life is. And by funny, I mean fickle, inconsistent, painful, chaotic, unruly, and so very heartbreaking. We enjoyed lovely days together, my husband and I, during the 9 solid years of invasive infertility tests and procedures, coupled later with aggressive adoption interrogations and paperwork. We worked, traveled some, and spent time with friends and family, but mostly I remember experiencing extreme sadness, anger, frustration, jealousy, and a constant pleading with God for one successful conception and pregnancy; but it never came. The grief that accompanies infertility, and in my case, barrenness, is ongoing in some ways. I still flinch a little when a friend or relative announces her pregnancy. I still struggle when said friend or relative asks me to hold her newborn baby, because it feels too painful to engage with a precious life-form. I still try to avoid the maternity section in clothing stores. And I still get a glimmer of hope when my period is a day or two late, because maybe, just maybe...even though I know my period will come. It always does. Its consistency is oddly reassuring. For me, a diagnosis of infertility was soul-crushing. In varying degrees, its doom infected every aspect of my life: my job, my hobbies, my social life, my future plans, my relationships with family, friends, and with God, and, of course, with my spouse. There were several years when sex was difficult. Not the mechanics, mind you, but the desire. Just have fun! Have as much sex as you want! It’s the best part of trying to get pregnant! people would tell us. But after a while, sex wasn’t fun; sex was stressful. Our intimacy was suffocated by the pressure of trying to conceive, and sometimes, yes, even the mechanics were nearly impossible. You try being aroused when all your hopes and dreams of becoming parents depends on the perfect timing, position, physical environment, and kismet of a single passionate shot to the uterus. Add in dozens of infertility tests, treatments, painful procedures, surgeries, oral and injectable drugs, vaginal suppositories, vaginal ultrasounds...vaginal EVERYTHING, weight gain, mood swings, hot flashes, and countless tears, to an already tense situation, and then tell me how sexy you feel. While all of this is occurring, try not to be angry at your spouse if he has the reproductive malfunction preventing your vision of motherhood; or harder still, try to not drown in guilt and sorrow over your own broken body that can’t seem to create or sustain life, even with extensive medical assistance. Not to mention the thousands of dollars - sometimes tens of thousands - you’ve shelled out to take this ill-fated ride. This is infertility. It’s a trip. A long, expensive, and brutal trip. Especially if every procedure has failed. For those who are blessed to reach their goal of conception and bring forth biological offspring, I can only imagine the elation they must feel. In many ways, they have the hardest go of this whole parenting thing. First, all the difficulties of infertility followed by all the difficulties of birth and parenting. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, I suppose. But after so long a road, being thrown into the parenting-fire must feel very welcomed – maybe even magical – and not nearly as painful as the infertility frying pan was. For those who never bear children, the pain of losing the infertility game is eased only by the optimism that by some alternate miracle, children are still possible through adoption.  Brace yourself, Reader, for what I will say next might sound downright cruel, but I promise you it isn’t, it is simply the truth: Adoption is rarely anyone’s first choice. There. I said it. When we shifted our focus to adoption it was as a last and final attempt at parenthood, as it is for many couples. While it was not our first choice, it was absolutely the right choice. When people flippantly say ‘maybe we’ll adopt’ after little to no difficulty conceiving and having children – or choosing not to have biological children – an anger bubbles up inside of me that wants to burst: ADOPTION ISN’T EASY! IT’S ONE OF THE HARDEST THINGS YOU AND YOUR CHILD’S BIRTH PARENTS WILL EVER DO! To treat it otherwise is ignorant and disrespectful to all involved. What makes adoption so challenging, compared to infertility, is that you are now at the mercy of someone else’s choice. You have zero control. With infertility, you are in charge: you research, weigh options, make decisions, work with doctors, plan procedures, timing, choose to take medications, and even inject them yourself; you own this journey. Even if you never have a successful pregnancy, every detail and procedure was your choice, but adoption is hoping and praying that another mother will choose you. To hope for a successful adoption is to fully surrender the micromanagement of your experience that, up to this point, has helped you maintain precious sanity through immense disappointment and heartache. It is hoping that another mother will have the courage to break her own heart to heal yours. This is a deeply humbling realization. And the process is rigorous. If infertility means having five doctors and nurses simultaneously poke and prod your body, stare up your vagina, and inflict physical and emotional pain while trying to “fix” you (true story, friends), then the adoption application process is the personal, bureaucratic equivalent. (But at least you get to keep your clothes on.) Interview after interview, together and separately, background checks, home inspections, health inspections, financial inspections, parenting classes, endorsements, caseworkers; every aspect of your life is investigated, questioned, and then questioned again. I’m not saying this process shouldn’t happen – children have the right to be placed in safe, loving homes – but it is extremely draining, and takes the better part of a year to complete. Once your home study (official title for said scrutiny) is finally approved, the waiting begins. Not passive waiting, however, an intensive profile-building, blogging, marketing, matching, spreading the word, anxiety, sleepless nights, fervent prayers, birth-parent contact, “yeses” then “no’s”, “maybe’s” then “no’s”, forced smiles, and hidden tears kind of waiting. During those agonizing months and years, our intimacy was driven by a deep need to find temporary refuge from the inward grief we both felt but couldn’t outwardly show, because, who wants to give their precious baby to a clearly miserable couple? No one, that’s who. Heaven-forbid we express any feelings about our new endeavor other than positivity and excitement. And so, love-making became our secret, fervent attempt to experience something other than the constant emotional pain and broken hearts of childlessness. If you are matched with birth parents and begin a relationship, born of varying levels of desperation in both parties, there is still no guarantee that you will bring home a baby. And even if you do, until the adoption is finalized (i.e. legally binding, varying by state, but generally 6-12 months after placement), there is no guarantee you will get to keep that baby. Complications with birth parents, legal concerns, dishonesty, bonding issues, negotiation, manipulation, and fear regularly prevent successful adoptions. Failed placements (the phrase used when you’ve been selected to adopt, and the birth parents change their minds) are both common and devastating for adoptive couples. Even more devastating is the experience of the birth mom who goes through with her decision to give her child to someone else. It’s a cruel reality that an adoptive couple’s most joyful moment comes at the expense of a birth parent’s most agonizing one. I will never fully comprehend how our daughter’s birth mother (and father) did it, but I am eternally grateful that they did.  The birth mother on the left, the author on the right, and their daughter in the center I don’t know how it feels to give birth, but I do know how it feels to have a mother hand me her child so that I can assume that sacred title. It felt like my broken heart burst into a million pieces and then reassembled itself into a new organ, capable of love and sacrifice in a way it hadn’t been before. It felt like going from white-knuckling a steering wheel through a never-ending blizzard to have the landscape instantly replaced by sunny skies and dry roads; my whole body exhaled. I felt relieved, renewed, and energized, and at the same time so overwhelmed with joy and gratitude that I was weak to the point of near-collapse. It felt like I was a Phoenix, suddenly consumed by the flames of a decade of exhaustive trying, only to rise victoriously from the ashes of the childless woman I used to be. It felt like a miracle. Too many metaphors? Perhaps. Sound dramatic? It was. Stunningly, tenderly dramatic. This is adoption. Our daughter is now 6 years old and is breathtakingly beautiful and out-of-this-world amazing. While I don’t have the physical battle scars of motherhood (my boobs still resemble perky, full water balloons, thank you very much), the fight to become a mother dealt brutal blows to my soul, unseen by others, which I now bear with deep appreciation. She was hard won. She was wanted and loved before she existed. She was prayed for, begged for, sacrificed for, searched for, and then one day, she was found; or rather, she found us, through selfless and brave birth parents. And she was absolutely worth the wait.  The author with her husband and daughter Becoming parents to our precious child brought love, laughter, light, and peace back into our lives. The depth of despair we once felt has been overcome by the joy we now experience as parents. Also, our sex is amazing. As two survivors of a reproductive war – waged by biology and saved by our champion, Adoption – we are well on the road to healing, and our love-making carries with it a new passion intertwined with shared wounds and triumphs. While parenting is undoubtedly challenging, for me it has not been as arduous as the journey to become a parent. Some say I’ll be singing a different tune when she is a teenager, and perhaps they’re right, but for now the slow burn of this parenting-fire feels pretty darn wonderful compared with the childless hell I’ve already endured. The Barren Woman By Camille Parker You do not know what it is to be barren. To have an empty womb that cries; That longs to grow a precious child And to carry, to hear, and to feel The thump-thump rhythm of life inside. You do not know what it is to be barren. To be unexpanded physically; spiritually; By a connection that will never be. No flesh of my flesh, no bone of my bone; No piece of me giving life to someone new. You do not know what it is to be barren.
The grief of never growing, never knowing, never bearing A soul that is separate but part of me, Created by love, by hope, by prayers unfulfilled. You do not know what it is to be barren. Not you, with the glow and the beautiful protrusion. Not you, who’s hand absently strokes your child as she rests within you. Not you, who’s pain will bring forth joy and new life. No, you do not know what it is to be barren, but I do. My womb is empty. No eruption of cells; only space. No tiny beat-beat; only silence. No flutter of new life; only stillness. No miracle; only sadness. |
