If you’ve read my other blog posts, it’s no secret that I never wanted kids. Or that I love the hell out of mine now, regardless. I’ve talked about why…mainly because of my own childhood and not having solid parents. And also, not wanting to procreate because I had a horrible self-image.
However, another reason I haven’t really shared too much detail about is a deep internal worry about my family’s mental history. The fact that I might pass it along to my kids and they will turn out certifiably crazy.
Using the word “crazy” might be seem harsh and not very PC, but I’m not saying it to offend anyone that might have a mental disorder. Mental illness is serious, I’m not joking about that. But I do joke about going crazy…because I use humor a lot in situations I am uncomfortable in. Using the word crazy, for me, lightens the load so to speak about what struggles truly come with mental illness. Using the word helps me talk about what struggles I have gone through inside my own mind, just waiting to see if I, or my children, would have to deal with some form of mental illness.
Waiting for Me to go Crazy
Growing up, I was playing a waiting game within my own mind. Waiting to see if a switch would flip. Waiting to see if I would end up like my mother, my grandmother, or even my brother. All 3 have/had mental disorders. My mom and grandmother had bipolar disorder, and my brother is schizophrenic.
Back when I was in middle school (basically the dawn of the dinosaurs according to my children), I found out that bipolar was hereditary and it planted a seed in my mind that I might end up with it someday. If one of your parents has it, your chances of also having it are up to 30%. Usually people aren’t diagnosed until later in their teen years/adulthood – around the age of 25. So, for years, I was playing a waiting game in my mind. Analyzing every thought and action…wondering if I was normal…or teetering over the edge into the bipolar world.
My fear of crazy saved me from a lot of things, though. For example, I never tried a lot of recreational drugs like ecstasy or mushrooms, even though in high school, everyone was doing it. I was afraid it would alter my chemical makeup too much and make me go crazy. My fear was a good thing then. I think I could have gone down a very different path if I started any of that.
When I became pregnant with Gianna at the age of 24….right around the standard diagnostic age for bipolar, my fear grew. Would the pregnancy tip me over the edge? Would all the hormones raging in me cause my mind to finally go where it was patiently waiting to go?
I worried. I worried about any imbalance to what I then still thought of as my fragile mind. I even talked to my doctor about it and preemptively took anti-depressants right after giving birth, just in case something happened due to all the hormonal imbalances.
Waiting for Them to Go Crazy
I think I’m OK now. I have a normal crazy-woman mind and not anything more advanced than that. But I still have this fear for my kids. I watch their behaviors. I watch and analyze anything that seems too extreme. And I see it. I see some extremes and it worries me. The fact that Scarlett cannot function some days because she can’t find an outfit. Everything bothers her and she says she hates her life. Then days later is in love with everything. This could all be personality traits or normal hormonal mood swings and not signs of anything bigger.
But I see it, and it worries me. I can’t stop watching for it and waiting.
Now, baby girl 3 is in me and I wonder the same thing. If it missed Gianna and Scarlett, is she the one? Is she the baby I give it to? Or am I worrying for nothing and my branch of the family tree managed to grow without getting the traits I was so fearful of?ย
I Know this Worry is Pointless
I know in my rationale part of my mind that all this worry is useless and a waste of good energy. That me watching and being concerned will not stop anything if it is going to happen. I know that I cannot prevent it, and I know that if, by the genetic lottery, one of my girls ends up having bipolar, that it doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world. I will be strong enough for them and they will do the best they can do. We will move forward with strength and positivity.
I know all this. But the fear still sits there, so patiently. The worry that one of my children will have this battle to deal with in life and I don’t want that for them. I don’t want them to need medicine or to battle with the ups and downs of the disorder. I want them to have happy, fulfilled lives with only enough hurdles to give them solid characters.ย
I want them to have hurdles, not battles.
They’ve gotten so very little of my physical genes, bothย blue-eyed and blonde hair, athletically strong. I worry that since they don’t look like me on the outside…does their brain share my family’s traits? Mental disorders missed me. I was lucky. My older brother wasn’t. I pray and am sending all the positive uplifting thoughts out to my children in the hopes that they are as fortunate as me.
But, with all that, I still have to sit here and watch…and wait.
[…] inability to be a good mom was the foundation for me not ever wanting kids. And, then there was the thought of having the same mental illness as my mother. It’s genetic. My mom’s mom had it. My mom had it. I could have grown up and it reared […]
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