There was a time when I was not capable of being happy for others, particularly when they were expecting a baby. I tried my best and pretended I could be happy for them, but I was so darn broken inside it wasn’t possible to feel anything other than pity for myself.  I couldn’t see beyond my own pain.

In hindsight, I can now see I went through a period of serious depression.  It lasted about two years following our miscarriage.  I felt very little emotion, least of all happiness or joy for others.

I’m so relieved to discover that this has changed.  I can congratulate others for their accomplishments in an authentic way. I can be genuinely happy when I learn of a girlfriend’s pregnancy, or when I meet a new work acquaintance who says she’s just back from maternity leave.

This past weekend, I nearly shocked myself when I found myself hugging and kissing our friends’ kids.  It was completely spontaneous and joyful, but sadly, I’d never done that before.  I wasn’t capable.

The whole notion of happiness is an interesting one.  As children we are taught to strive for whatever we want and it is implied that we shouldn’t be happy until we achieve it.  We see what others around us have and assume they are happier.  We believe that filling a certain void will solve all problems and automatically make us happy.

It’s not necessarily true.   I’ve discovered some scary truths about being a first-time mom and trying to maintain a solid marriage.  I don’t know if other mothers talk about this, but I want to say, for the record, our first year with baby, while one of the most joyous events of my life, also brought immense misery at times.

I’m referring mostly to my marriage.  We’d managed to hold things together throughout the bumpy ride – and therapy certainly helped us see the important work we had to do to continue to honour each other and not let resentment get the best of us.

But the therapy stopped not long before our daughter surprised us with her presence.  We haven’t been back.  I remember the therapist saying, “You will be parents one day and I hope you’ll continue to come see me then, because there will still be issues you’ll need to work through, including parenting an adopted child.”

Boy, was she right.  It’s been a tough road. I don’t think either of us know what the root of our problem truly is.  We ignore it until it explodes, then we acknowledge it and try to change. Then it creeps back up.  Repeat.

I want to fix it but I don’t know how.  How do we get back to happy?  How can I be so deliriously happy to be a mother and so fed up with my husband at the same time? It’s really frustrating.

In other news, we’re meeting with birthmother today!

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