Albany Chronicles

The Albany chapter has been the single ugliest, most untalked-about chapter of my adult life. I thought the biggest part of motherhood was learning to take care of my kids and meet their needs, but it turns out there was another part that I never gave a passing thought to. I thought I had it mapped out, even if I wasn't perfect...

Backtrack, because there's a lot that happened leading to that ugly chapter that I deliberately blocked out. I need to catch you up, first, before we go hurtling into that iceberg.

After my grandma passed, my days were pretty dark. I was just like a robot--going through the motions of parenting, wife'ing, you name it, I was just doing it by reflex. I've always had some anxiety but it ramped up about twenty times when I realized I'd be going through the rest of my life without my number one supporter/teacher/guide.

Don't get me wrong, I have a good life, and I enjoy it fully. My husband is greater than the sum of wonderful. My kids are super awesome. Yet as a borderline latch key kid, even adult me has always clung to Grandma. She was my security, my safe place. She chose to mother me and give me the building blocks for life, whereas my biological parents essentially (and actually, literally) chose their own lives over creating anything beyond a framework for mine. Where they left blank spaces and question marks, Grandma filled in great memories and lessons, as well as fostered the traits that I'm sure paved the way for every success I've enjoyed over these 34 years.

...coming closer to the present day, though...

As we will all do, she passed away. Nothing has hit me harder. I still kinda lose my breath when I realize she isn't can't back. I wasn't able to sleep well in the house, despite loving it months before. I became pretty absent-minded. I became withdrawn. Nothing felt authentic, nothing felt wotely satisfying. I alternated between hiding crying jags and panic attacks from my family and being the classic over achieving super woman.

Exhausting.

There's not enough sleep to make up for how tiring that kind of life is, y'all. I can still sleep 36 hours straight, given the chance. I needed a healing, and it wasn't gonna come as long as I was still in the same spot my world caved in, leaving a big empty crater of WTF.

My husband's family is pretty deep in the hotel/convenience store business. He also has his regular career. While the two jobs paths are generally separate--we manage the store closest to us, but we don't heavily involve ourselves in much else on that side. Hubby is too busy and I just don't, because it's too demanding. We agreed that since he makes a far larger chunk of money, I would be home with the kids as much as possible. In the absence of financial strain, that means I get to be full-time WAHM. It's a privilege I don't take lightly, but it's been long fought and hard won.

Digression.

Let me drop a gem here...

"You can't outrun grief. When you arrive at your sestination, your grief will be there to greet you."

When we arrived in Albany, we had a cute house (a bit smaller than our typical digs--I like sprawling spaces) and all the plants i could tend in one lifetime. Hubby would have a commute of 30 minutes versus 3 hours. We would have our regular dinners and outings as a whole family, not just "Tayè plus kids and ever-present camera to capture moments for Dad." I was optimistic for the first time in a while, because I had a fresh canvas. I even had a shop now--one of my passions is natural hair care, and we had a building less than 3 miles from our house that I could use to open my dream salon.

Fun times. (Really.) I didn't particularly care for Albany even then,  but if there was something I could do to fill those hours previously occupied by panic attacks and crying fits, I was on board!

Didn't work out that way.

Third pregnancy was by far the most physically difficult. In Albany, my OB/GYN was essentially a belly doctor, with no concern for anything above or below the bump. Because I knew I couldn't realistically travel 3-plus hours to see my regular doctor, I tried to tough it out. After all, Healthcare providers are just that, people we hire to provide healthcare. No more, no less.

I kept that mantra until right behind hyperemesis came symphysis pubis dysfunction--which was compounded by degenerative disc disorder. At 34 years young, I was on bedrest with those wedge pillows you see in nursing homes! Because my doctor kept "forgetting" to send me to an orthopedic specialist, and my hip kept deteriorating (partly from supporting the weight of pregnancy, partly from lack of proper therapy), I was a sad case. I couldn't eat, drive, or even shower by myself because my legs were unstable. Plus hyperemesis has its own delightful effects--for me, it's hair loss and an inability to eat even the most bland, basic foods without hurling til my throat bleeds. So I couldn't manage breakfast, let alone prepare for the new addition (bless her sweet little heart, I'm so profoundly glad she escaped harm despite living in my broken, malfunctioning body) or properly parent my two bears.

Shit.

I went to Albany to escape trauma, not to meet its big brother and get bashed around on those jagged rocks too!

So...

Losing mobility which meant also losing independence, was the end of the road as far as that place was concerned. At no point had I ever been reduced to crawling around the house to care for my kids, y'all. And I legit feel robbed of a happy pregnancy experience with Tiger Lily (another post for another day) because I was so consumed with just trying to NOT fall apart, mentally, physically, or spiritually, while existing in a place where I had no friends, no outlet whatsoever.

Speaking of friends... I used to have a whole Mom tribe. I had friends, y'all.  Imagine! Except they were real people who I had no real common ground with once I hit that rocky spot. Theu were living, but I was just kinda existing. I didn't feel like my authentic self either, and I was trying to sort out what I even felt comfortable sharing. It was hard going from "the one who has it mostly together" to "the one who cries at the drop of a pin and doesn't have it in the same room, let alone having it mostly together." withdrew and withdrew til I was basically an island. It was ok at first, even if a bit lonely. If I stayed to myself, I would not have to try to curry understanding on those difficult days, or field a million questions about said bad days on the few good days. Everyone was used to me being the uplifter, the teller of like it is. The one with the plan!

Bruh. After about six weeks in Albany, the only plan I had was my afterlife and insurance policies. I was convinced my mindset plus my physical state would equal an untimely demise, probably sooner than later. (Morbid as heck, but to go from being a healthy, happy, and independent me to an unfortunately ill, depressed, and unable to even take a shower by myself me--yeah, I felt like I'd either gather some superhuman strength and magically survive OR fade away in a bitter wisp of irony.)

And no, it wasn't an image I wanted to protect. I don't have an image! I did not want to go from friend to charity case. I didn't want to dominate every chat with my issues. I didn't want those pitying smiles. So I pulled out and clammed up. Shut down my personal social media, stopped everything really.

I tried to make that place work. I hate failure, y'all. I really do. And while I'm sure the physical problems may have cropped up regardless, I still couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't need to endure them in a place I already hated. I should have taken more time to just be, versus moving 3 hours from everything remotely familiar and safe.

Again, you cannot outrun grief. Write that down. Don't forget it.

That part of motherhood I forgot to prepare for, to do?

I forgot to take care of me. I didn't address my grief the right way. I tried to push it back, hide it away till it didn't show. If nobody saw it, eventually I'd forget it too.

So I thought. Or hoped?

The tiny flame of grief can either ignite an inferno of healing OR it can incinerate everything you touch. Yet despite being a tiny flame, it never burns out. It's always there. If you feed it with the proper fuel, you can light something good. I tried to smother it, which was the absolute wrongest fuel, and it damn near torched my whole spirit.

I thought I had the tools. I'm spiritual as heck and I meditate heavily. I take care of my mental and spiritual health, as best I can.

But I needed to rely on something stronger than simple positive thinking. I needed to go home. And deal with it.

So I did.

Slow process but it's worked. I'm not broken down now. I'm legitimately happy about things and legitimately not happy about things, but neither consumes me.

I know how to take care of my kids and my home...

...and I know how to take care you entire self too. Not just the sunshine, but the rain and gloom.