Firstly, I talk a tiny bit about sexual abuse in this post so please don’t read on if you think it might be too much for you. Not much as I am banned from thinking about it by my psychologist! but it very much relates to what I want to write about today.
And sorry it has been a little while since my last post. Somehow water got into my laptop and it wouldn’t work for a while. As with the miracles of technology here it is up and running again!
I have had time to think about what to write about next. As ever, so many words and so many ideas and limited space to write about it. I’ve also been extremely tired these last few days and had an unwelcome return to hg, along with a dip in my thyorid so it’s been a bit of a trying time.
What has been on my mind though throughout this is my baby. You may well think ‘well durrrrr, it’s inside you, how can you not think about it’ but really, it’s surprisingly easy to distance yourself in your head from what is happening to your body. I mean, people do it all the time if they are over/underweight etc. So even though your belly looks like Mt Versuvius, the baby’s kicking you in the bladder in the middle of the night and you get out of breath after walking 5 paces, still it doesn’t feel real.
Something that has been real, however, has been finding out that it’s a girl. As some of you know, I was abused by our (female) housekeeper as a child from the age of 3-6. Basically as soon as she could get me on her own once my mum left my dad. So, no detail here on what happened as it isn’t relevant (and as said, I’m not allowed to think about it). Also it had the knock on effect of making my relationship with my mother even worse.
Mum engages in what DH describes as ‘psychological warfare’ which, for me with bipolar and resulting Borderline Personality Disorder traits from the abuse, meant we did not have a happy time of it with each other growing up. Mum has an ambivalent relationship with women
doesn’t like them but is attentive to men to the point of fawning all over them. So I grew up with that.
Before you think she’s an evil bitch, no she isn’t. She is damaged in her own way, but the problem is she can’t see what she is like because no one has ever told her. As soon as this twigged with me it was easier to deal with. I got an education and I got out. After spending most of my 20s trying to please her, it wasn’t until I met DH and started to really understand me as a person and my illness that I could stop the guilt of never being good enough and begin to get angry about what happened, and start to heal myself.
So, this is not about the woes between me and my mum or my abuse. It’s about the impact this had on me finding out we were having a girl. I was at first elated, and then terrified. The fear was awful. And memories of my abuse resurfaced.
Before finding out the sex of our baby at 20 weeks, I was convinced it was a boy. I don’t know why. I just didn’t want to think of it being a girl. Part of me also wanted a mini-me of DH but a large part of me didn’t want to think of what it would be like, or what I’d have to face up to, if it was a girl. Which was very funny as I knew DH wanted a girl and before falling pregnant we thought it would be a girl we’d want first. We even had the name ready.
When confronted with the ‘it’s a girl’ news I then went into hibernation in my brain. I was listening to hypnotherapy cds telling you to bond with your baby and all I got was a white, blank wall. I got flashbacks of what happened to me when I was little. I thought of the misery I had growing up and as a teenager. And I was just plain scared.
I hadn’t seen my psychologist for a while so DH made me call her to make an appointment. It was such a relief to talk to someone about it and she immediately asked how I felt having a girl. Being able to share my fears about my daughter going through exactly what I went through was a relief.
Firstly, I now know rationally that I won’t be an abuser myself. The idea makes me want to puke. But there’s that tiny seed in your mind that has read online that those who are abused turned into abusers. Even writing this freaks me out a bit. Fortunately my psychiatrist said that was not the case and just the fact that I found it abhorrent meant that I would be ok. There’s also that fear that other people will think you’re abusing your child. I still have that a bit but DH has told me that I’m being ridiculous. All this irrational stuff that I think I know is now irrational and will be ok.
The other thing is other people abusing your child. I know that the majority of kids never experience this. I know though that abuse is hidden and happens far more than we realise. DH and I have talked about it and he says, very sensibly, that all we can do is educate her to look after herself and that she trusts us to come to us with anything. He points out that I never had that trust or stability at home so by providing a loving environment we can minimise the risk to her.
As for what happened between me and my mother, well I was terrified too of projecting onto her my own experiences. I think we try so hard not to be our parents anyway, but here I really was trying to go the opposite! I started to post on a few threads on Mumsnet that really helped. It was good to see that other women found having daughters very therapeutic in helping them get over their issues with daughters. It’s silly, I have close female friends and I know I don’t dislike women the way my mother does. What my psychologist and ladies online said was that having self awareness was half the battle in ensuring history doesn’t get repeated.
And I was told to not worry so much I felt soooooo guilty that I wasn’t some beaming earth mother. I felt like I had something growing in me that was so far removed from my sense of reality.
Interestingly, the memories of abuse returning coincided with my lithium levels dropping around the start of the year. Finding out I was having a girl was a trigger for memories I had ruthlessly repressed my whole life and boy were they buried deep. I was retreating back into my little world of doom scenarios, paranoia and clawing blackness. This was punctuated by memories that left me feeling like I’d been punched in the gut. I was so paralysed sometimes I couldn’t move. AND the hormones of pregnancy meant I felt emotionally all over the place and wasn’t able to cope with the most unwelcome, intrusive thoughts returning.
Fortunately my psychiatrist bullied me into taking more lithium. As my levels started to rise again, so my control returned over my memories. I developed techniques with my psychologist to distract myself when the thoughts of abuse came back. Every time I would associate an action I’d do with my baby with abuse, I would think of all the positives and doing things with DH rather than the fact that act had led to my situation. Or, I just think to myself ‘I’ll deal with it when it happens’. It’s very dangerous to have psychotherapy when pregnant – it’s not allowed. So during this time I have to distract myself until I can deal with these new memories at an appropriate time.
I’m much more in control now. I’m doing pregnancy yoga more and find myself finally getting more excited about having a baby. I couldn’t relate to it for ages and ages. But now she’s kicking and moving around it’s easier (and scarier haha) to think ‘wow I’m having a girl’. I can’t wait to cuddle her and tell her how much I love her. I can’t wait to tell her how wanted she is. I send those thoughts to her all the time and DH talks to my belly telling her how excited he is to play with his baby girl in three months. I can’t wait to read to her some of my favourite books that were mine as a child, take her to absorb all the museums and galleries and just mooch around in summer looking at all the beautiful architecture and canals and clogs and stuff
Still scared. Still worried I’ll turn into my mum. But I don’t think that will happen. I will make mistakes. But what I will let my daughter know is that she is loved, wanted and will always have stability, safety and security with her parents. I never had that and if that’s what I can provide to her then to me that means more than all the playstations, clothes and toys in the world. Material counts for nothing – love and being loved is everything.