Mother trauma

Minor vent ahead:

I think that if there's anything in my life more exhausting than being a mom it's thinking about and researching mothering and postpartum care in our culture. Once you look under the bows and parties you'll find a whole world of hurt, angry, and confused women. There's the senseless, sin cursed tragedies of stillbirths, nursing troubles, medical disorders, and postpartum mental illness. That's horrible and painful enough, but then you find out about the willful trauma perpetuated by care providers for no reason at all. There are survivors of abuse, who already find the prospect of intimate care frightening, who find themselves triggered by callous and power hungry birth attendants. I've read countless stories of women who were cut against their will and without their consent for no medically necessary reason whatsoever. Women have been bullied and lied to and pushed around to suit someone else's convenience. Even worse, some moms have been explicitly punished for not immediately surrendering to their doctor's dictates and then have it put on their medical records that they themselves were abusive or requested certain actions. I've heard of so many repeat caesarian moms who, after being pushed into a CBAC, were told later that they declined a trial of labor.

There is enough pain and trouble with childbearing and mothering without people adding to it. I don't care if you're a doctor, nurse, midwife, or doula. I've heard stories about them all, and they are almost all equally pointless and stupid - like a doctor refusing a mother anesthetic while repairing a tear because she refused an epidural during labor. That's the sort of senseless misconduct that weighs on me when I'm reading and hearing about birth and mothering today.

I want to help people and encourage moms, but it just drains me to see how tragedy gets compounded by medical assault and malpractice. Again - I'm not talking about the grey areas. I'm not talking about trigger happy lawyers and fine lines. I'm talking about the people who act like a woman in labor doesn't even have to right to common decency.

It's hard to be a woman and to gear up and fight for life and children and family in a world that doesn't value these things. It's exhausting. Sometimes it's almost as exhausting as my clusterfeeding clingy baby who is at this moment hollering at his father because I moved more than three feet away from him. But hopefully tomorrow will be better, and maybe eventually we can stop fighting the stupid, petty battles about mothering and birth and put more of that energy into actually being good mothers.

The trouble with telling stories

In the past year I've had several people point out that they way I think about things is both my blessing and my curse. On one hand I spend a lot of time mulling things over. I want to know how things work and how they fit into my life and how I should respond to them. Mine is not the unexamined life. I might not be living every day as I wish, but I'm certainly thinking about it. Practically this means I rarely stop wrestling with an idea once I get a hold of it. This is great when I'm thinking about last Sunday's sermon and not so great when I'm frustrated over some interaction I had on the internet. I struggle with "moving on."

One of my most persistent mental frameworks involves narrative.Whether we're talking about a character in a novel or a political idea I tend to spend a fair bit of time thinking about where it came from and how it got there and where does it think it's going. That's also describes much of how I think about my life. I want to know what story is being told and whether or not I'm running in the right directions with the plot lines I've been given. Sometimes I get frustrated or even angry that so little of my own story is under my own control. For instance, I've become convinced that stress contributes a great deal to our physical health. While not even 30 I was diagnosed with an (mild, easily treatable) autoimmune disorder. There's also a few other potentially annoying/non-lethal health issues in the offing. It's so easy to be mad that I was born into a pretty stressful family and seem to have had the cards stacked against me. But then I think, "Who am I to have the cards stacked in my favor?" And I get upset at myself for being mad and not moving on with my life and keeping these extra stressful emotions around. I'm honest enough with myself to realize that there's no real reason why I deserve to have better circumstances and to realize that for all the frustrating bits I do have quite a bit for which to be grateful. I'm not writing this to whine about my life. That wouldn't be square or accurate.

My problem is that I keep trying to understand my story in ways that aren't particularly helpful. For instance, there are those prophets in the Old Testament whom God called to burn their lives out in ministry for him. Sounds pretty awesome and noble. Except that for some of them they maybe got one convert. Whole life in ministry, and it bombed. For one in particular, (Jeremiah?) God told him upfront it was going to bomb. Of course nowadays people aren't allowed to have stories like that. They tell him to pray circles or chant Jabez or cast vision or whatever. It's can't be that God called him to be an absolute failure in front of his congregation. Not a story I like either, but it's there in the Bible and can't be ignored when you're studying for plot cues no matter what the Christian "self help" section tries to tell you. Come to think of it, there aren't many people in the Bible who had very nice or successful lives. Most of them had a mountain of trouble at some point or another. Anyway, the point is that I keep trying to read ahead. Only it's my life, and in that case reading ahead is called worrying. It's just super easy to think "well if I was writing this story this right here is where I'd put the life changing tragedy" or "just to reinforce the parallels between her life and her mother's life lets drop this event in now." You know those people who say, "If this was a musical people would be singing and dancing down the street right now?" I'm sort of like that except with me it's more like "and this would be perfect spot to put something bad/scary/challenging and therefore turn this into a bittersweet, nostalgic moment." Then I'll turn around and decide that narrative logic demands something awesome happen right now. It's just too cheesy not to work. And most of the time it doesn't.

So now I'm bumping up against an issue that could possibly be something and most likely is nothing, but I won't know until I check. Despite knowing this my brain is scrambling for reassurances. I'm peering at my story looking for clues that everything works out great and we end up with four children, a dog, and summer vacations on the coast of Georgia. I end up sitting here tensely trying to anticipate and deal with every single possible outcome when I know that God really just wants me to trust Him. That's the burden my incessant thinking puts on me. I know too much and have experienced too little of it. I know that God loves me, and I know that God loved the martyrs of Rome. So why am I worried about a little unpleasantness when I'm not facing the lions tomorrow. And yet God who loved them sent them to the lions. It's utterly terrifying. It might make more sense to adults who grew up in a more consistently loving home, but for me it means that God just throws the dice. I once had someone tell me, no matter who, that I deserved a short, miserable life. This person had also claimed at various times to love me. That's what I mean by throwing the dice. The Bible says that from the same mouth you can't get blessing and cursing. I've no intention of calling God a liar, but I do wish He could explain what I heard.

In the past I've been encouraged to try and formulate what I want - to give voice to my desires so that I can identify and deal with them. In this case, I think I just want to know that the good stuff in my life really was on purpose to bless and encourage and help me. I want to know that God, like the good father, delights in giving me good things and that He does it on purpose. I'm pretty resilient. At the end of the day I can more or less handle things in a somewhat faithful manner. I've taken enough kicks in my life that one more probably isn't going to finish me. What rattles me are the moments when I'm convinced that God loves me and desires my well being even if things are hard. Those moments are rather less often than I wish. I crave that sort of experiential certainty that God is good to me and will walk with me through everything and doesn't just send experiences my way willy-nilly like a vacationer throwing darts at an atlas. I don't think it would make me stop thinking, but it would give me more peace in contemplation.

Six things you should never say to hurting people

Caveat: I grew up in a tightly knit dysfunctional home that did NOT include neglect or physical abuse. I'm writing from that perspective and no other.  

What not to say to survivors of abuse (aka- what the title said):

1. Just put it behind you and move on with your life.

Sorry, we'd love nothing better, but we can't just do that on your schedule. For years (decades?) we've heard that voice telling us we're stupid, incompetent, ugly, unwanted, lazy, etc. That means every time we're thinking about making our bed we hear "Mom said I was lazy. I'm going to show her and make up the bed. But then why am I showing her anything when she kept lying to me? Maybe I don't want to make up the bed. That would actually show her. But then again if I "show her" that means I'm still invested in what she said and possibly bitter. But I still don't want to be lazy. I just don't want to make the bed out of guilt. Gah!" This all flashes through your brain in an instant, along with comments like the above, when all you want to do is make the bed like a normal person and not worry about whether you're doing it because you're meeting or rebelling against your mom's expectations. If you have no idea making your bed could become a mental power struggle like this then congratulations! You may have had a normal childhood!

2. Are you sure you're not bitter? Bitterness can really mess you up. I have a sermon/book/website/video you should read/listen to/watch.

Are you kidding me? I'm not sure what I'm feeling after I crawled out of that cave. Can I please have just a moment to mourn and be angry without someone adding another emotional requirement to the pile? I'm already struggling with whether or not my parents loved me, what I might have done to cause the abuse, how to let go of this anger, etc without worrying about whether or not I'm going to get cancer because I may or may not harbor bitterness against my dad. If you're a close friend you may ask this question if your friend seems unable to work through their anger over a period of time, is bent on creating vengeful fantasies, or variously indicates they are being consumed by their previous trauma. Otherwise, unless specifically solicited for advice, keep your mouth shut.

3. You should just forgive them.

It's a close race between this one and the previous. Forgiveness is a Christian necessity, but in my case, since I had never seen forgiveness modeled in a Christian home, I really had no conception of what forgiveness meant. To be honest, I'm still not entirely sure what forgiveness means in this context. "Forgive" can easily sound like stuff, excuse, forget, or gloss over. In many cases that's exactly what the abused person has been going for years at a time, and it's not always clear that forgiveness is really any different. At this point a good friend will model forgiveness and encourage that person to learn forgiveness in a way that doesn't involve sticking your emotions in a closet and pretending you never had them.

4. Are you sure you've forgiven them?

Argh! No, I'm not sure. My parents didn't model this for me, and most of the time the people around me are forgiving each other for forgetting to pick the groceries or yelling at their kids or "offending" each other. You're functional! You love your kids, and they know it. Blowing your cool after a long day and then apologizing for it hasn't grown into an immeasurable gulf. How do I forgive someone for being malicious when they should have protected me? How does forgiveness bridge that deep betrayal? Jesus did it, but that doesn't mean I've figured it out. I could use a pastor or wise friend to guide me, but I don't need that semi-judgemental tone questioning whether I'm a good Christian because I shared with a friend how I still struggle with trusting others due to broken relationships in my past. I've been trying to get off the guilt train for twenty years, and here you are punching my ticket for another station.

5. Just pray about it! (Relate story about praying and God miraculously fixing it all.)

That's what I've been doing. I don't intend to stop, but I do intend to pray over how badly I want to give you the stink eye right now. Again, this is one of those areas where unless you're a close friend or pastor you should really mind your own business. I prayed and read my Bible through the worst of my depression when I lived at home without seeing my mom become more sane or becoming relieved of my guilt and confusion. Looking back I'm sure God was leading me and giving me grace (sometimes I can even recognize it), but don't you even begin to imply that if I'd prayed better or been more surrendered then God would have rescued my family. I was as surrendered as an angry, desperate kid can get. On top of all this I'm wrestling with issues of faith and guilt as I wonder whether God was just another authority who betrayed me and left me to fend for myself. Saying "just pray about it!" marks you as yet one more person to whom I can't confide my struggle and look to for guidance.

Six really only applies to people who came from dysfunctional families. I can't imagine anyone saying this to a battered wife (ok, I can imagine Debi Pearl saying it, but I pray to God she's not a representative sample).

6. It's a shame you aren't reconciled with (in my case) your family.

Yes it is a shame. I love my sisters and brothers (and yes my parents). I have all sort of good memories of traveling and Christmases and  birthdays and visiting our cousins. But a question like that does two things: 1. It pressures the abused to do whatever it takes to maintain at least the semblance of a relationship, and 2. It reinforces that the abused left and broke the presumed fellowship or unity that existed previously. A lot of time the abused already felt like the bad one, the black sheep, the unloved and unwanted. A statement like the above just reiterates that she's the one who lost out by not being able to take it or fit in or be good enough. It's already a heavy enough burden, so don't add to it. In fact, if you want to bless that person's heart trying reversing your statement and saying "It's a shame your parents/family/significant other are missing out on such a lovely, kindhearted woman." In a sense you leave your entire identity behind when you leave an abusive situation, so affirming that person's best qualities helps rebuild her identity as a woman who deserves loving parents and is worth kindness and appreciation.


Let me finish with one giant, robust caveat. There certainly is a time and a place in which all six of these things might need to be said with various degrees of emphasis and tact. Some people need encouragement in praying faithfully (I do) and some might need guidance on how to forgive as Jesus forgave on the cross (that would be me again). People can become bitter when they dwell on the past and need someone to confront their sin and lead them to repentance and wholeness. The point of this list, though, is that these things should be done by faithful friends and pastors who know the story because they've lived beside the other person and loved them. This isn't a job for acquaintances or internet buddies or people who once felt sort of depressed for a couple weeks or someone who totally knows what you're going through because their mom completely nagged them so much about their room as a kid. In such situations a hug is much better consolation. 



And a small caveat by way of a postscript. Please don't read this post and extrapolate that my parents ate baby kittens for breakfast or locked me out in the cold or made me wear itchy polyester jumpers my whole life or didn't teach me anything or never let me get a job. In many ways we were a pretty normal close knit Christian family. Part of the time. The other times contained codependency, depression, and victimization. Even as I write about some of what I experienced I want to be clear that I did and do respect my parent's good decisions. I just wish more of those good decisions had extended to how they treated me. 

Five years and counting

Just now that Allen and I are starting to feel settled my cousin popped up on facebook with some "exciting news" which is honestly a little bit challenging. In the past five years we've been through a fair number of ups and downs, but one constant remains - no kids. Just hasn't been happening for us. We've been through some rough patches with that, but really the thing I find most disconcerting at the moment is how well Allen and I fit into the "friendly people with no kids" stereotype. I go places with my friend's three kids. Their youngest daughter runs up to me church saying "Miss Natalie!"; their son tells me about his video games, and their oldest daughter goes shopping with me sometimes. Allen dangles all the little boys by their ankles after church, and we're generally "good with kids." Don't get me wrong - there are moments when I get a little queasy hearing about yet another birth/baby shower/new pregnancy. I might walk a little faster past the baby aisle at Target, but I'm generally ok with things. It's just funny how well we quickly settle down into certain roles. People with kids act one way. People who are glad not to have kids act another way. People making the best of not having kids tend to do a little more traveling and "take an interest" in the families around them. I guess I'm turning into my mom after all =) (I mean this in a good way - she didn't have me for eight years and previous to that ran the church youth group with my dad. All I need is a dog and keys to the church van, and I'm set.)

This isn't a pity party post. I don't particularly want sympathy. It's just more a reflection on coming to a point where, although I still desire a family, I no longer feel so completely left out of God's story and the life of His Church. There are a lot of broken people in the Bible - people who were incomplete and yet loved of God and who did their work anyway. I've been reading a study of Ecclesiastes which just confirms that we live in a funny old world and that the ability to laugh at it a gift from God (possibly the gift granted the Proverbs 31 woman?). Sometimes things don't work out the way we planned, and according the Ecclesiastes that seems to mean that we should pick up a bottle of red and curl up the couch with a Marx Brother's movie. The good things in life are still good, and the bad things will be evened up in Heaven. It's a sort of sanctified cynicism, a sort of holy hedonism that appeals to me. There's room here for me both be broken and to put that brokenness aside and enjoy playing Super Mario with Allen.

All that said I've by no means given up on us having kids. Even with everything still in boxes or (worse) half out of boxes I'm starting to feel settled. I don't feel constantly plagued by depression. I have a house and the expectation of being in one place at the least the next few years. It's a good place to be, and it's a good time to start asking questions.