Blame

I was six when my brother came into my life. My mother worked overnights and my dad worked first shift, so my older sister and I took care of him a lot. I learned how to change diapers, warm up bottles, and calm a baby in the middle of the night with next -to-no sleep. Honestly, it wasn't that hard, I couldn't wait until I was old enough to have kids. I always knew I wanted to be a mom, that drive was so deeply imbedded in me that it was one of my life goals growing up.

Fast forward several years. I have kids. I also have a divorce and a string of messed up, abusive relationships under my belt. My kids, one boy and two girls, only have me in common. I'm completely broken from enduring abuse I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy, and I'm struggling to accept a daughter that resembles her father, a man I hate, so much hate. It's hard when you look at your kids and you can only see someone who caused you so much pain, filled you with so much hatred, and destroyed every last bit of you. So I struggled to look past the part of her that was him. It wasn't easy, maybe I made a lot of mistakes, but I never abused or neglected her because I couldn't blame her for what happened.

But maybe I didn't love her as much as her older brother and younger sister. Maybe that's the part of me that is like my mother. She always treated me different than my siblings. My dad even called her out on it and she admitted it. I still don't know why she did, and honestly, still does. I didn't want to do that to my kids. I wanted them all to feel as though they were loved equally. I feel as though I failed though. Maybe none of my kids realize how much I love them. Do I show not them enough every day? I don't want to smother and spoil my kids, just want them to know I love them.

One of the worst days for me as a mother was the day I had to admit that my daughter had problems that I couldn't help her with. I had been through several meetings with her school regarding her behavior, but was essentially caught off-guard when they brought up self-harm. Apparently, she had started cutting while I was sleeping. She had also messaged some friends about wanting to end her life. The friends reported it to the school who then contacted me. How do you not feel responsible? I understand depression. I know that it often runs in families. I also know that I have it, so my kids are very likely to have it. I don't understand self-harming behavior. I don't understand how you make it stop, I don't even understand why you do it in the first place. So I took the school's recommendation to bring her to the crisis center.

I cried so much when they told me I should send her to the hospital. My beautiful girl, I couldn't fix this, I couldn't take the pain she was feeling away, I couldn't make her better. Isn't that what you do as a mother? Kisses and hugs always make things better. Not this time. Nothing I could do would make it better.

I brought her to the hospital. The next day she was sent to an institution. And there she wanted to stay. She was doing so good that whenever they mentioned coming home, she would cause an emergency so she could stay. I had to drag her out of there. I hated her being there. The social workers all treated me like I was to blame. They all made me feel like I pushed her to do this. Maybe I did? Maybe I didn't love her enough? Maybe it was just a chemical reaction in her brain that had absolutely nothing to do with love?

The best and worst day was the day she finally came home, three months after going in. She didn't want to come home. She even hit me, threatening to kill herself. My baby, for the first time ever, didn't want to be with me. It took two hours to get her to leave.

I took the picture at the beginning of the story on our way home from the hospital. She wasn't happy, not in the least, and for the first 25 minutes of the ride it was lightly raining and she rolled down the window. She felt the rain on her face and smiled as the sun peeked out and created a double rainbow as if to welcome her back. Her mental diagnosis is similar to mine, anxiety, depression, and severe insomnia. I know there are going to be bad days but for the most part it's been good. It's been about two years since this incident and she is thriving more than ever. Her grades are up, she has new friends and even has interest in joining after school activities.

It's hard to not blame yourself for stuff like this. There is so much pressure on mothers, especially from other moms. I try to remind myself that there are some things you can't control, and that you can't protect your children from. You can't blame yourself.