Disability, motherhood & me

“I’ll never be a mum” I wailed as the tears rolled down my cheeks. This was the first thing I said to my neuropsychologist and would be the theme for the next hour.

There I was, a girl who had worked so hard on her confidence and certainty of her place in this world over the past year, a girl whose dreams had been shattered in an hour’s hospital visit, a grief-stricken shell of a young girl, who, in that very moment, was questioning her mere existence. How was I going to care for a child? For a baby? Would anyone even want me as a mother now? Now that I had a disability. The thought of not being able to carry my own child, to run around with them at the park, to scoop them up when they fall over was enough to shatter my dreams entirely. Would they see me as the boring mum or even worse, an embarrassment?

Not only did I think I would never be a mother, but that no one would want to start a family with me. Now I feel lucky to be loved by my partner, someone so kind, so caring and so considerate. But I reckon, and he reminds me often, that he’s pretty lucky too. My disability has made me the person my boyfriend fell in love with, the person that our daughter hopefully will fall in love with too.

Don’t think my heart doesn’t break a little bit every time I see a “normal” mother do the things that I’ve always longed to do. That a lump in my throat still doesn’t form every time my little cousins ask me to pick them up and just can’t understand why I can’t. That I’m not fighting the urge to cry just looking at someone hold a baby whilst standing up. 

But I’m learning to accept the way things are and to focus on what I will be able to do. For example, I am planning on using her pram as a mobility aid. Cuddles and bonding will take place on the sofa or a chair. The love I feel for my unborn child fills me with the confidence that this little girl will feel absolutely adored every second of every day.

I’ve learnt to ignore the useless comments that I’ve had over the past few years, “but how will you manage?” “you’ll need a lot of extra help; you know that right?”.

All I’ve ever dreamed of was becoming a mother, raising my family, running around with my own little mini me. Partly my own dream, partly society’s.

EXPECTATIONS

Society puts a lot of pressure on women. I don’t just mean the ones we always hear about, but pressure on becoming a mother. That’s our role, right? I won’t lie, I’ve made the mistake of feeding into this ideology of asking someone if they want children. I look back and am embarrassed about how insensitive that question is. Maybe they can’t, maybe they’ve lost a child or maybe they just don’t want to. And that was none of my business.

Ever since I can remember I have always been told I’d be a great mother, so I’ve always just gone along with it. Never questioned or doubted it. I love children so of course I will be. I was born to be. Since being diagnosed around 8 years ago I carried on this narrative never stopping to ask myself ‘but is this what I really want’. That was until earlier this year.

Did I want to be a mum with a disability? Was it fair to me or the baby? Would society judge me?

Strong, capable, physically able; I was brainwashed into focusing on the things I can’t do instead of the abundance of things I can. I’d much rather have my child remember their mother as being affectionate, nurturing, and supportive than whether or not I could run around a field with them.

A FULLY GROWN ADULT

A lot of disabled people are infantilised. We are often patronised and spoken to in a condescending way. We are often regarded as less capable because of our disability, applauded every time we achieve something our able-bodied peers can do. Disabled adults may be made to feel like we don’t belong in the grown-up world.

Sometimes the news that I, a disabled person, am with child comes as a shock. How can that possibly be? Watching peoples’ facial expressions when I tell them has become a new hobby of mine.

However, I think being pregnant has made people see me in another light, when I relay with conviction how I am planning to care for my child I feel empowered. I enjoy telling anyone who will listen because I feel like it gives me more credibility as an adult. This is something I hope carries on into motherhood, maybe I’m hoping that motherhood will legitimise me in a way.

I just hope they don’t give a sticker and tell me I’m inspirational for giving birth.

6 MONTHS ON

So many people have told me what I can teach my child and, as cliché as it sounds, the most important things are lessons she’s taught me.

I was so caught up in pleasing everyone often at the detriment of my own health. Ignoring my body and everything it was telling me as I so desperately wanted to fit in.

Yasmin has taught me how to slow down, taking care of myself and prioritising my disease so that I can always be there for her. Yasmin has taught me to not listen to the opinions of others who don’t understand the exhausting nature of having to juggle both being a mother and having a disability. My daughter has taught me how to dig deep and find a kind of resilience that I never knew I had.

Nowadays it doesn’t bother me as much if people stare when I walk by, as long as my daughter is safe and happy that’s all that matters.

Fast forward to today I am a lot more confident and sure of myself because of Yasmin. I am using my pram as a mobility aid- it's almost like being a "normal" mother! The sleepless nights I wasted worrying about things that haven’t happened or that weren’t as bad as I’d imagined. I’ll look back at the end of this year and probably say the same thing about what’s to come.

I've come to realise that lot's of my anxieties and challenges aren't all to do with having a disability but are just part of the package. These common worries and stresses that all mothers have. 

Being a disabled mother is a whole new ball game, on the one hand it's a wonderful and welcoming new group that I am now a part of, but it can also be very daunting and isolating- another group where you don't quite fit in.