“I gave birth without knowing I was pregnant. Nothing foreshadowed my condition: little weight gain (3 kg), no round belly and a regular menstrual cycle. I gave birth alone at home, not knowing what was happening to me, sincerely thinking that I was going to die. It is a trauma in the medical and psychological sense of the term: I remember almost nothing of the birth of my daughter, as if an opaque veil had been cast over this memory. I remember having pain in the stomach, then in the kidneys and the next moment, she let out her first cry. A club fell on my head. I literally felt it like that. A weight of guilt, fear, anguish, incomprehension, hatred towards myself. I ran on instinct, I only thought of saving my daughter’s life. I called for help.
My partner was away. We had been together for four and a half years, we used condoms, hormonal contraception is not suitable for me. If my partner managed to project himself more easily, I had and still have all the trouble in the world seeing myself as a mother. However, I love my daughter with infinite love, I am described as a “perfect mother”, I made the decision to stop working to take care of her and raise her myself, I give myself body and soul for her. But psychologically, I still blame the shock, the trauma of his arrival. Especially since I was not supported by the medical staff. I had to deal with inhumane people, in a hurry, not hesitating to criticize me in my presence: “As if she did not know! “Or” If you don’t want it, you have two months to change your mind “and even” You did not do the exams during your pregnancy, your baby may die … “I had to put up with their remarks hurtful during the 6 days of hospitalization, begging my partner to stay with me every night so as not to be alone with the nurses. Only the midwifery students were lovely and patient. I had a visit from a social worker who told me that I HAD to apply for RSA, that I HAD to apply for help from CAF. Without taking into account that I was not alone, that my partner has a good situation. When she left, I felt like a social case (no insult here, just the normal name). I came out of motherhood heartbroken, demoralized and depressed.
We didn’t know how to take care of a baby, how to raise it. We learned to be single parents, we did information on the Internet, read scientific studies, etc. The forums put me down mentally, too much criticism and hate, so I stopped looking at them. Our relatives helped us with the basic necessities of a baby (bed, changing mat, diapers, etc.). Every time I asked for help, that I had to tell my daughter’s story, I was told that I would be, anyway, a bad mother since I had not felt her, that I did not know that I was. ‘she was there. It took nine months, the time of a pregnancy, for things to settle down slowly. So that we realize that we are parents. Before that, I knew that I had a responsibility, that I loved my daughter, that she was indeed there, but I couldn’t project myself, I stumbled over the words “I am a mother” or “ My daughter”.
Today, it’s been sixteen months since she joined us. I tried the psychotherapies, but they ended in failure, not helping me to get better. I face contradictory moods: I am proud of what I have accomplished, proud of my daughter, proud to see what we have gone through together, I love my role as a mother and give myself to it thoroughly. Then, on the other hand, there is this regret, this bitterness of telling myself that I would never know recklessness again, this youthful “I-don’t care” which refutes any organization, any planning.
There is also a deep hatred, a dull ache that is only beginning to subside. I still wonder “Why me?”, “What could I have done to deserve this?” This feeling fades as soon as I see my daughter, but it devours me. This guilt of not having known creates hatred towards other mothers: those who are a little less considerate, those who smoke over the pram … I constantly wonder why me, who became a mother in an hour, why am am I more alert than they are? Why am I more protective of my daughter than they are of their child? Why do they dare to tell me that I am a bad mother because I did not know it? So many unanswered questions.
Looking back and talking about it, I realized that it was a professional burnout that started the process of denial. I felt so bad about myself from the job that having a child would have been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Today, I am still wiping the consequences of my denial: I suffer significant memory loss due to the trauma, a hypersensitivity to the subject, an insidious depression that torpedoes my good mood as soon as I am alone. I have an emotional debt towards my daughter, which I try to fight: I am incapable of confiding her to anyone other than her father, and not more than an hour; I can’t stand being touched without my permission; I have to take care of everything related to her, otherwise I think it’s badly done. But I am slowly learning to live with the fact that I am a mother. Fortunately, my partner is there and we help each other. So much for my testimony. I hope that by talking about it, by disseminating information, people will understand the pain it causes. »Manon
Manon Bouiche told her story in “Unexpected parents: it doesn’t only exist on TV” (sold on Amazon.fr)