It’s the hardest thing I’ve done.
I had just moved to a new state, into a new house, and been turned away by a new psychiatrist I’d been waiting to meet for 2 months, without being referred elsewhere. I had no one monitoring my declining mental health. I was hopeless.
I felt my body and my stability changing, destabilizing. I felt my physical and emotional world crumbling before me.
It was different in the beginning though. In the first week that I knew about my pregnancy, I felt invited to serve a new role in my life. A role with infinitely more purpose and unconditional love. I was offered the gift of becoming a mother for the first time. It felt so joyful. I felt connected to my baby, and my new sense of purpose flowed delicately through every fiber of my being. It was my moment to rise to the occasion of becoming a mom. I envisioned my child daily. In the evenings, I had “belly time” with my partner, Luke (when we’d place our hands on my belly and share love with our growing baby). We discussed parenting values, and we learned more about what was happening inside my body then and for the next nine months.
I knew my child would be a girl, even though we didn’t know the sex yet. When I saw her, I always envisioned her as a toddler, around three years old. She would have beautiful, fine blond hair that always seemed to be swept away with the wind. She would have the brilliant, unmistakable blue eyes of her father which came from his Hungarian roots. And her smile, oh her smile. It was a combination of mine and Luke’s…bright, cheerful, beaming… and when she smiled, you’d feel it in your bones. With each one, you’d feel an outpouring of joy teeming from her. She seemed in love with life, with play, and curious beyond my imagination. I got to know her well in the six weeks I knew she was coming, growing inside my body. The joy and absolute lust for life that emanated from her was contagious. She was fiercely independent as a toddler, but affectionate to her core. Every time I saw a sunflower, I thought of her. The way sunflowers always look bright and glowing, that’s how my little one looked every time I envisioned her.
But soon, in the weeks to come, I had to make a decision I didn’t imagine possible. I had to say goodbye to my pregnancy, to my little one.
My world started feeling frazzled, scattered, blurry, and contorted. My mind would race, and then nothing…it would simply turn to puddles. I felt unhinged. I felt scattered, battered, and worn. I felt terrified…not of my pregnancy and my baby, but of the state of my mental health. I was unraveling.
As a person with Bipolar Disorder, facing post-partum depression and/or psychosis was a very real possibility. The astounding high risk was terrifying. I had to go off my mental health medication as quickly as possible to ensure my baby would not be born with birth defects or harmed by the drugs that keep my brain chemistry relatively balanced. But dark and intrusive, and oh so real, questions constantly coursed through my mind. The realistic questions, “Would I survive the rush of hormones that caused even more imbalance and mental instability during my pregnancy, unsafe for a person with Bipolar?”, “would I kill myself while pregnant?” and “would I kill myself after my baby was born due to postpartum?” and the even more tragic question, “would I regret and despise my baby during postpartum depression?” all invaded my mind daily. The only things that had been confirmed by doctor’s were that my concerns were incredibly valid and highly anticipated.
On September 26, 2022, I recognized that my mental health and my physical body would not be able to carry my pregnancy, my sweet sunflower, to term. I recognized that eight weeks into my pregnancy, I would never be able to bring her into this world… her mom and dad’s world. On September 26, 2022 I had to choose to prioritize my mental health and accept that I would say goodbye to my baby. I can’t think of decision more heart wrenching and devastating.
I couldn’t bare the idea of growing my baby in the incredibly stressed, hostile environment that was my physical body, and I couldn’t bare the idea of growing my baby under such stressful and unregulated mental health conditions.
So on September 26, 2022, with several anxiety attacks already under my belt for that day, I had to make the devastating decision to end my pregnancy, because my survival and my baby’s health and safety were at high risk. This felt impossible. There I was though, sobbing uncontrollably in my bed, tragically yet lovingly embraced by my partner as he walked me through my unrelenting panic attacks, having to make the hardest decision of my life to date.
I was pregnant. And now I’m not. Those words hit me in the heart just a few days after I wasn’t pregnant any longer. It was like the first time I was really, truly, actually acknowledging this idea. I was pregnant no less than a week ago…and today, as I sit here typing…I’m not. I’m no longer pregnant. Even writing these words now, the gravity of my decision hits me right in the heart.
I feel grief.
—
On November 22, 2022, as I pick this blog up again, I still feel grief. I feel sadness. I do my best not to feel guilt or shame. I do my best to cry when I need to, and breathe when I need to. I do my best to do better, better than I was before.
The experience of having to say goodbye to my baby showed me I have a second chance at life. I have a second chance to get my mental health more under control holistically and to get my physical health problems addressed and hopefully resolved.
I cut my emotional and binge eating behaviors healthily and listened to my body’s needs.
I became dairy- and gluten-free.
I started exercising regularly again.
I got back on track with my morning routine, journaling, reading and yoga daily, amongst other things.
I scheduled gastrointestinal and pulmonary doctor’s consultations.
I’m working with a psychiatrist to change my medications to a mix that is safe to take while pregnant.
I’m seeing a mental health therapist once a week, and
my partner and I are seeing a partner counselor to become as well-rounded and grounded a couple as possible.
I enrolled in a Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction program, initially for my business, but now for myself after this experience as well.
I’m doing a lot, because of a second chance to be the best person I possibly can be.
—
On January 19, 2023, months after my heart wrenching decision, I still feel grief daily. I cry often, I’m embraced by my partner when he sees me grieving. There’s so much darkness in the choice I had to make months ago, and yet, there’s light ahead. The light of now being certain that I want to be a mother.
—
Today, on May 1, 2023, just four days short of what was meant to be my due date, I sit, I write, and I mourn the loss of my sunflower. Though….I sit here once again, and I have hope. My sunflower gave me hope. Hope that one day I will be a mother…hope that it’s possible. A true understanding that I can suffer from mental health challenges, and also be a mother.
The maternal feeling that flows through me wasn’t there prior to being pregnant with her, and it’s as loud and as strong as it’s ever been now. Somehow, someway, my loss showed me what I will gain in the future…my badge of motherhood.
It’s strange, but I feel it to be true…so, so deeply true.
I can’t wait to meet my future child, whenever they may come, and I will always mourn for the one I lost.
What my baby did teach me is this: I know now so deeply within my heart, that with the proper support and medical care, I can have a beautiful, loving, healthy girl or boy in the future. And I thank my baby so dearly for that gift.
I love you, little girl. I’m so sad I couldn’t welcome you to this world. I’d be 9 months along now, nearly about to meet you for the first time. I wish I could hold you, see you, love you for a lifetime in this world. But, with any solace, you’ll live forever in my heart and forever have my love. I miss you, and I love you.
