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Where Does a Mother Go to Scream? Survivor Stories

Where Does a Mother Go to Scream? Survivor Stories

Last updated on: January 19, 2025 at 9:36 am by Christine Moriarty Field

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Where Does a Mother Go to Scream? Survivor Stories 2025-01-19T09:36:03-06:00 Christine Moriarty Field

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Your need to scream over the circumstances of your marriage and motherhood may be sudden or enduring. At some point, you realize the pain is bigger than you.

Screaming mother Image courtesy of openclipart

Angela’s plunge into the pain of motherhood began with a 1:00 A.M. phone call from the police. Her son had been arrested for Possession of Controlled Substances. After rehab, she had high hopes that he would slay the monster that had controlled his life for twelve years.

Susan experienced a sudden and shocking descent into the pain of motherhood began with the death of her 17-year-old in a car accident. In a single moment of inattention, her daughter ran a red light, causing a massive crash in the intersection. Without warning or time to prepare, Susan’s life was changed forever.

I wasn’t raised to be a mom. Born in the 1950s and raised in the tumultuous 1970s, I learned in university that a woman’s true fulfillment could only be found in the world. Mother’s work was somehow lesser-than, and certainly not a lofty enough aspiration for a modern, intelligent woman.

After a less-than-perfect childhood and an early, ill-advised marriage of my own, I was soured on family life. The collision of biology and destiny changed my mind and heart.

After finding my then husband and becoming enveloped into his extended loving family life, my eyes were opened. My passion was ignited for a full life shared with children.

The ticking of my biological clock became louder. At age 30, my soul exploded with full-blown mommy fever!

And so we tried. And tried and tried. It wasn’t happening. It all started with unspeakable pain and indescribable joy – the refrain of a marriage and motherhood survivor:

I don’t know why they had to put me in a Labor/Delivery/Recovery room to have a miscarriage, but they did. The cheery decor and delicate floral print of the wallpaper was bad enough, but directly in front of me to the left were a bassinet and all the equipment to tend to a newborn. .

We had tried for three years to become pregnant. That summer it finally happened. Although I was officially pregnant for about twelve weeks before the miscarriage, the knowledge that I had indeed conceived was only known to me for a week.

I obsessed about the accuracy of the results was because we were also candidates for a private adoption. We decided that if an adoption came through that we would go ahead with it.

For four days, my head was in the clouds. I was finally pregnant!

On the fifth day I began spotting. When I called the doctor, they said to stay off my feet. I got so busy tying up loose ends at my law office so I could stay off my feet for a few days that I never actually got off my feet.

On the sixth day, the spotting turned into bleeding. On the seventh day, the doctor told me to check into the hospital.

The nurse who took care of me felt uncomfortable muttering her words of sympathy. She handed me a pamphlet on miscarriage. When we left for home, I was no longer pregnant.

I went right back to work on Monday. Physically I felt fine. Psychologically it was rougher. I got back into the swing of things. I blamed myself for what happened. If only I had stayed off my feet for a few days. If only …

My in-laws announced they were coming to visit.

In addition to adoption agency applications, we told everyone we knew that we wanted to adopt. Our close friends and all the doctors and lawyers we knew were aware that we were looking to adopt.

The in-laws arrived a week after the miscarriage. The very next day we got a phone call from a private lawyer who said a baby might soon be available for adoption. “Were we interested?” he asked.

With a resounding “Yes,” our dream of becoming a family was on the verge of coming true. The next day, the birth mother delivered a beautiful baby girl.

The adoption wasn’t for certain until 72 hours after birth. In our state, the law provides that consents to adoption cannot be executed until 72 hours after delivery. We counted the minutes. We tried to get the house ready for a baby.

On the third day we went back to the hospital. The lawyer arrived with the adoption consents. Everything had gone smoothly.

My new daughter was dressed and wrapped in blankets. The nurse carried her out, with our little entourage following her. In the parking lot, she handed the baby over to our lawyer. The lawyer handed her to me and for the first time I held my beautiful baby girl.

When our daughter was ten months old, I discovered that I was three months pregnant, without the benefit of daily temperature taking or chart making. We soon became the parents of two beautiful girls who were 17 months apart.

We eventually adopted two more kids internationally for a completed, complicated family of four. Our children are responsible for teaching me the meaning of love and a belief in miracles.

I had no idea of the challenges ahead.

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