Motherhood

I was 21 when I had H, a colicky baby who screamed almost 24/7. I remember sitting with him and crying for hours. Carter was at work or sleeping after his night shifts, but he worked hard to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. He even woke up early after long nights to give me a break because he knew I was struggling. I definitely had postpartum depression. He was overwhelmed in his new world, and I was overwhelmed with him. I had no time to myself, the days were long, I couldn’t sleep, and even losing weight became another burden on my mind. To make things harder, my mom caught me smoking again. I was struggling with depression, hating being a new mom, being a fiancée, cooking, and cleaning. I had quit during my pregnancy, but it didn’t last long after H was born. Mom gave me a lecture and a letter shaming me, even bringing up the death of my brother to make me feel guilty. Once again, I was disappointed in her eyes. My dad stayed silent in the background, as he often did, always taking her side or avoiding conflict. H, was a handful, but he was also a joy to watch grow. He was busy, curious, and talked very early. He wasn’t shy at all — sometimes a little too outgoing.

I Can’t Do This

Just shy of two years later, little M was born. I remember throwing the pregnancy stick at Carter’s head, upset that I was pregnant again while he was planning a hunting trip with his buddies. I hadn’t gone back on the pill in time, and M was on her way. Thankfully, she was a quiet, happy baby who nursed and slept well. H, loved his sister, though he had a hard time staying out of her space. I was slowly getting the hang of motherhood, but I still struggled with time management, self‑care, and communicating with Carter without nagging or overreacting. I couldn’t stop obsessive behaviors like cleaning, wanting what others had, and feeling sorry for myself.

Dance & Music

On a positive note, after H was born I started teaching dance classes at the local studio. It was the best thing that could have happened to me. I became creative again in a world I could relate to. I loved teaching dance and eventually wrote my exams, becoming fully certified as a jazz and musical theatre instructor at 25. It was an amazing accomplishment, but my self‑esteem was so low that I didn’t know how to embrace it or be proud of myself. I continued teaching at the local school until we had to move due to economic times with the local pulp mill. After leaving my home town, I joined a local dance studio in Sechelt BC under the direction of, Julie Izzad, at The Coast Academy of Dance. I had the honor of creating and grew my own Song and Dance program, as well as teaching “ISTD” Modern Theatre primary through to grade 4 syllabus. I stayed with the studio for nearly 10 years.

LEAVING MY HOME TOWN

Carter took a post at Howe Sound Pulp and Paper on the Sunshine Coast. Around that time, my parents sold the house I grew up in and moved to Port Hardy. My dad resisted at first but eventually agreed, and in the long run he enjoyed the move. Carter and I moved to Gibsons, BC, and later to Sechelt, where we raised H and M, until we separated.

ADHD & PASSING ON TRUMA

I still struggled with being overwhelmed by the smallest issues. I often screamed instead of talking when overstimulated, cramming too much into one day without prioritizing tasks. I didn’t realize I was following in my mother’s footsteps, passing trauma onto my children. I judged H and M’s every move, every mistake, making them feel bad instead of proud. Whether it was a school play, hockey, or dance, I criticized instead of celebrating. I thought I was protecting them from pain, but in reality I was hurting their self‑worth and creating trauma of their own. Carter worked a lot, and our communication was shallow. I talked endlessly, and he ignored me or nodded. We didn’t fight much, but he manipulated situations to get what he wanted. I was his puppet, and he pulled the strings when he needed me to obey. 

CLOSING REFLECTION

Motherhood brought me both joy and pain. I loved my children deeply, but I struggled to break free from patterns of trauma and self‑doubt. Dance gave me a sense of accomplishment and creativity, yet I still carried the weight of old wounds. Looking back, I see how much I wanted to protect my children from the pain I had lived — but in trying too hard, I sometimes repeated the very cycles I feared. Healing in real time means facing these truths, learning from them, and continue to grow.