“Perhaps if people talked about it more often, less people would become mothers,” she acknowledges.
“Probably,” I agree.
“But not you,” she observes.
“But not me.”
“And how does that make you feel? How does being a momnowfeel?”
“Still terrifying,” I admit.Because are you even a parent if you aren’t scared, worried about every decision that falls on their little shoulders?“I still have no idea what I'm doing half the time. But I do love it and I love Akio more than anything. I’m very happy and lucky to be his mom.”
“Going back to what you said before about grief and sacrifices… Can I ask about some of the things you were grieving? What are some of the things you had to give up?”
She’s good. We’re in the thick of it now. I’m in the trenches baring my fucking soul. I’ve been cut open, my entrails laid across the table for everyone to see. I just hope it’s enough.
“I was grieving the life I had before I was a parent. I missed Kai so fucking fiercely and I was grieving our relationship too. And I knew that my dreams would look different. I just hadn’t expected it to annihilate me. I really thought I had ruined my life. That I was an imposter of a mother. I questioned if I loved Akio enough, if I was enough for him. I thought that every choice I made was wrong. I felt wrong. I went to a very dark place.”
“Can I ask how you got out of that dark place? Did you have a support system to help you with Akio?”
I force a smile. “I had my moms. They helped me with Akio and encouraged me to get support for my mental health. I started seeing a therapist who specialized in postpartum depression. It was slow and painstaking and difficult but six months later, I started feeling a little better, like I had a better handle on being a mom,” I explain. Magdalena shifts her body to Kai now, I assume trying to gauge his emotional reaction. I haven’t really looked at him since I started word vomiting about this traumatic part of my life. I’m not sure I want to.
“Kai, how does this part of Kendall’s story make you feel?” she asks him. Unwillingly, I turn to him and see tears brimminghis eyes; his features are soft but there’s a distinct look of distress on his face. Out of all the things I have said in these sessions so far, this confession cut the deepest. I realize that now. This isn’t the nick of a small unremarkable blade. This is a knife twisting in your gut, a dagger to the chest to carve out an already bleeding heart.
Fatal. Damning. Irrevocable.
This will be the secret or one of the secrets that break the camel’s back. I’m sure of it. And really, how many can one person take?
“I wish I could have been there. I wish I could have helped,” he says choking up. “To know you were in so much pain feels awful. Like my heart fucking hurts hearing this.”
I start tearing up again too because what else can I do? What else are we supposed to do with our heartache except release it, share it with those closest to us, and try to forge something better out of it?
“I’m so sorry, Kai. I don’t want to put you through any more pain. I know you would have done everything you could if you were there. None of this is on you, okay? None of it,” I reply, my voice unwavering, trying to reassure him.
“The hell it’s not,” but there’s no edge to his voice. It’s all quiet desperation, pleading, achingly tender. “I can’t live without you, Ken. I don’t want to. Okay? I can’t. There is no me without you,” he says with a shaky breath, a tear sliding down his face.
“I know, Kai. I know. Me either. But I’m not in that place anymore.” I squeeze his hand in an attempt to ground him and slow his breathing. I can tell he’s panicking, spiraling, his brain putting pieces together he’s never seen until now. My eyes meet his dark smoldering ones. They are burning with vulnerability and concern, and I see the moment he steps back from the ledge.
“Okay,” he replies. For a moment, I think that might be the end of our time—it feels like we’ve been here for hours. Then Magdalena turns back to me.
“Kendall, do you blame yourself for your pain and your grief? For Kai’s?” she asks. I want to laugh wildly, hysterically because of how absurd the question is.
Who else is there to blame but myself?
“Yes,” I choke out. “Of course I do.”
“Can you forgive yourself?”
“I don’t know,” I say, squirming on the couch.
“Okay, we can work on that together. What about a conversation with your younger self? Could you do that?” she presses. God, I hate exercises like this. They always feel so fucking awkward and forced. But I also know sometimes they’re necessary so I reluctantly oblige her request.
“I guess?” I respond.
“If you could talk to her now, your younger self, what would you tell her, what would you say to her?”
“I would tell her that even though you feel like you can’t do it, that you don’t know how to be a mom, you can and you will figure it out. That eventually you find a groove and a rhythm and Akio's smile brightens every day and his laughter becomes your favorite sound.” I’m sobbing and hiccupping now but I fight through it. “I would forgive her for not feeling like she was enough, for not feeling ready, for not bonding with him immediately. I would tell her she is so much stronger than she thinks she is. That there is so much beauty and wonderful things waiting for her on the other side of the pain. That you and Kai find your way back to each other and everything will be okay.”
“I also want you to tell her thank you. To thank her for being who you needed to survive at that time, okay? I want you to send her kindness and gratitude. I don’t ever want you to forget the lessons that she taught you. But I do want you to know if you’reready, if she no longer serves you, you can choose to let her go. That version of you.”