the story of ours: my motherhood story

**The post below was originally written in May 2021. I feel like there is this whole world and an ocean between this time and today. In the years following this blog post, I can say I've become a paid public speaker thanks to Momma's Voices and have gone onstage to share our story. I've written a memoir and poems. I've been on camera and our story lives on somewhere in the files of Texas Health and Human Services department. I got to share my story in the halls of Congress. When I wrote what I wrote in 2021.....I couldn't even fathom this current chapter. I wouldn't have dared to guess or hoped of all the things in between, the people I've met. I am both grateful for that time and am humbled by the outpouring of support, of love and strength. 
Today begins both Asian American Pacific Islander Heritage Month, Preeclampsia Awareness Month and Mental Health Awareness Month. I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge the ways all 3 identities and experiences have shaped me.

I come from an island made of jungles,
built by fire, 
conquered and colonized but our
tongues hold our ancestral cries. 
I am a survivor.

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The story of ours began like most; I heard your heartbeat and joy propelled me from dreamlike stupor to scheduling baby shower and maternity photography sessions, deciding on nursery decor and what names would match you.
When I received my preeclampsia diagnosis, my heart sank and everything on my carefully crafted to-do list dissipated, along with the idea that this story of ours would be easy.

​Motherhood welcomed us at 31 weeks. 

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​It also welcomed strength, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. There would be no crying at our reality or our missed bonding time as you were wheeled away into a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) over an hour away. Instead, I had to summon whatever will and adrenaline coursing through my body and demanded it heal so I can be closer to my heart. Tears would come later. And as I sadly learned, tears would come in waves that crippled and made me wonder where that strength went all those days and weeks I spent by your isolate in the NICU.

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The story of ours paralyzed me.

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I don’t know for sure how I lived to see you celebrate your first birthday, when every image I’d see, you were surrounded by tubes and wires and your heart monitor constantly beeping.
Somehow I did learn to move freely. I learned to save my tears in the shower. I learned to whisper prayers of gratitude every night as I watched you sleep.
As I started to accept the idea that there would only be the three of us - you, me and your dad - I learned I was again expecting.
This did not bring me joy. I met this news with anger and I tried for a long time to be happy. You were a beautiful four year old. I survived our first year and I was becoming less afraid of your future.
When I heard the heartbeat, I didn’t want to know the sex. I couldn’t give this heart a name.
I didn’t want to write to-do lists and there was no dream like stupor, either. I was a mom on a mission and my mission was to live so I could go home to you and our life.

A history of preeclampsia could mean I was a ticking time bomb again.
A history of premature birth meant I would be revisiting my nightmare in an enclosed NICU space.
A history of traumatic birth meant the possibility of not surviving.

And history usually repeated itself.
I packed my bags at 30 weeks and waited anxiously for 31 weeks.
It came and went. I wept and almost believed we were going to make it to ‘full term,’ at 38 weeks.
When I woke up with a headache and felt nauseous at 34 weeks, I knew it was time. My vision blurred and my blood pressure was elevated. My heart had already shattered when I was told I’d be welcoming another bundle in a few hours.

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​I thought I welcomed him in my arms. I thought I kissed his head as he was wheeled to the NICU. I thought I was doing okay until I wasn’t.
Until I didn’t hear him crying even when he was next to me.
Until suddenly, the idea of leaving you and him seemed like a rational action.
Motherhood has defined me in ways I never knew I'd be defined by.
While I knew motherhood gives you a different identity and purpose. Mine came with a two time Preeclampsia survivor, a parent to premature babies, and NICU graduates. I also had to include on postpartum depression survivor - an identity that I didn’t know I’d endure and survive.
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And while the story of ours is still writing itself, I am hopeful that you and your brother can overcome any obstacles in life. After all, the strength I had to push through my storms were reflected in your eyes. You gave me courage. I choose to live bravely because of you. My purpose isn’t to understand why the story of ours began the way it did but how our story could give a voice and comfort to another.

speaking at the Preeclampsia Promise Walk in Dallas, 2018

at a family fun run benefitting Texas Children's hospital (2019)

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finding my tribe and purpose at the Champions for Change Summit, 2019

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My purpose in advocating for maternal mental health came because of the way our story began.

Resources
https://preeclampsia.org/
https://www.thebluedotproject.org/

For more of my preeclampsia and postpartum depression story, please see here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B073MVG4R4/

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