Rebranding Father's Day
And the next chapter of Maura + Me
Morning beautiful human,
It is Father’s Day — and today I want to show up and hold space for the many feelings that such a day brings. As of late, my body is speaking its age into existence and I feel a pang of longing in my chest at the mention of parenthood. So days like today, although soon to be filled with joyous family time and a bike ride with my wonderful dad, hold far more complexity and pain than most would presume. Now, I do want to be clear, that sentiment is not for lack of love and awe of parents everywhere, mothers and fathers alike. It is instead in tandem with it – in full acknowledgment of its monumental feat, magic, and magnitude. It is also shared with complete awareness that I long to be a parent and my health increasingly precludes me from doing it.
Because of these recent longings, I have taken to asking Dave quite frequently,
Are we going to regret not having kids?
Are we going to wish we had fought through it all — IVF, surrogacy, the political landscape of reproductive rights, and the monumental cost — to have a child?
Of course, I only ask those questions in the rare moments of quiet — in the slivers of sanctuary between fugue states and night terrors, breakdowns, and evenings in bed. And the rest of the time, I am that infant my body yearns for. I am the baby in soiled diapers. I am the toddler hiding in the cupboard to keep the monsters of my mind at bay. And I am the child who still cannot regulate her mood, mind, or anywhere in between, even at a brief social gathering while wearing a fancy dress.
Thankfully, not having children is far more common now. But we still haven’t normalized it the way society likes to give itself credit for doing. And we certainly haven’t normalized being so disabled or unwell that it’s impossible to do so. No, we certainly haven’t found comfort in that reality quite yet. But I am hopeful we will get there someday and for a long while now, to push that hope forward, I have tried to broker conversations of that kind – to engage in discourse from a place where agency and not procreation is held in the highest esteem.
Naturally, that is easier said than done. For whenever I say it out loud — and bring up the fact that Dave and I are likely not having kids, an unease descends upon whatever conversation I am in. The discomfort is similar to how people respond when I speak of psychosis or suicidality or the fact I had an accident this very morning because of my intrepid PTSD. It’s a quagmire I’m accustomed to — it’s practically where I live, whether by choice or not — but it still surprises me how much the darkness takes over and descends like a storm cloud. More than that though, what surprises me most is how people feel the need to fix my reality as soon as I share it — to tell me that of course I can have kids — to not give up hope yet – and that I was made to be a mother and need look no further than my two beautiful dogs.
I know everyone who utters such things is well-meaning. They are trying to be kind. They are trying to uphold the fallacy for both themselves and me that everyone – of course, everyone – can do it all. But it is there, in the toxic positivity, where the discomfort comes to life for me. And not because of what you’d expect – not because these statements don't hold space for my lived pain or reality. No, the discomfort rises in my chest because it is society’s conditioning on full display – the idea that the nuclear family with a white picket fence is everyone’s life goal. And that – that is simply not true.
The greatest privilege we can live is agency – pure choice, not familial fantasy.
Now again, I hold space for how magical families are. I hold space and celebrate how gosh darn incredible it is to be a parent and have a kid. It is nothing short of pure magic.
AND
Today, I want us to remember that the magic of parenthood and the dreams of its beauty coexist with other magic and dreams too.
So today, before many of us head off to brunch or bike in celebration of our fathers, let’s hold space for this idea above all. Let us hold space for the truth that today – just like any other day – what matters most is our freedom to choose what dreams we chase and magic we conjure. And let’s hold onto that even if the circumstances we live in and the pain we hold do not allow for the many dreams we once wished for in the first place.
Yes, let's hold space for the truth that any choice we get to make is a blessing. And let’s also remember that – Vincent Van Gogh, Gloria Steinem, Louis Armstrong, Rosa Parks, and Dolly Parton - bravely pursued different dreams and conjured different magic and they made this world quite beautiful too.
Wishing you a day where you tread lightly on your being.
Kindly,
Kate
If you would like to share your story — or a glimmer, big little victory or recent hardship — we would love to hear it. You can do so anonymously by sharing it here.
A few notes before the next chapter
If you missed last week’s chapter, you can read it here.
If you are a new community member (welcome!) and would like to start reading Maura and Me from the very beginning, you can read it for free here.
The next chapter is only available in full to paid subscribers. This is done because I need to convince agents and publishers that my work is worthy of a paid book deal and that serious mental illness really is a subject people will pay to read about. So, if you are able, please help me get a book deal by becoming a paid subscriber today.
That said — and I truly mean this — if a subscription is currently untenable, fill out this form and I will add you no questions asked. I mean it. No questions asked. Being read is an honor and a true gift. And I am absolutely not here to create any more barriers in this already broken system.
And now, without further ado, the next chapter of Maura + Me…
The Meeting
The meeting with the head of psychiatry passed in a blur of panic and tears. I had planned to be composed. I had planned to explain my potential. And above all, I had planned to be brave and to not open my Pandora’s box — the endless chamber of fear, terror, and pain that I lived within and created with my very existence.
But those plans went out the window the moment I walked in. I had a full-blown panic attack. I soiled my pants in fear. And I did both of these things before I even said hello.