Core Memories For Better Or Worse

Last weekend, my older daughter performed with her theater group at a local children’s museum. I wasn’t sure if we would attend since we’d be seeing the same performance later that day, but my younger daughter wanted to see her sister perform (and let’s be honest, she wanted to play in the museum!).

We pulled into the parking lot, and immediately, my older daughter said, “All the core memories!” I chuckled, realizing we hadn’t visited this museum in several years. I was pleased she had such great memories of our time there when she was little.

We parked, walked in, and went on the line, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. Core memories, she was right, but mine were very different. I had postpartum anxiety with both of my children.

I didn’t recognize it at the time, but in the years since and plenty of therapy, I now have a name for the silent pain I experienced. Please don’t misunderstand; I had plenty of amazing times with my children, but certain times, places, and situations were hard for me, and walking into that museum made me realize how much I had blocked out.

As we walked through the museum, which had changed quite a bit in the last few years, I had what could only be explained as flashes of memories. It had always been too hot, but I was inexplicably concerned that hanging my coat on the rack would be a bad idea because someone would take it. I would have no coat (when I remembered that, I laughed, thinking I would walk through that museum sweating rather than let my jacket out of sight).

It was always too noisy and bright. I was always worried my child would run away from me and I would lose her. I was so incredibly tired that I looked at each rock formation or bench and remembered when I would sit there, just waiting for the time to pass so we could leave.

I wish I could tell you why we didn’t just stay home if each museum visit was so difficult for me. When trying to be a good mom, you push to do all of these activities to ensure your kids have these “core memories,” so I’m at least glad she remembers them with fondness, even if I can’t.

Just writing these words makes it seem like this visit would be painful, full of all the difficult memories I put out of my memory, but actually, it wasn’t. It was the exact opposite. As we walked from exhibit to exhibit, watching my younger daughter enjoy herself, I realized I was also having fun!

I rolled my eyes at my former self when I hung our coats on the communal coat rack without a care that they would be gone upon my return. I was all too eager to explore dinosaur fossils with her, remembering the last time I sat glassy-eyed on the bench, checking the time to see when we could leave. And even with all of these children running around us, I never felt overwhelmed. I truly enjoyed exploring with my girl and recognizing how light and happy I felt watching her joy.

And then, to cap off the morning, watching my older daughter perform for all the little kids in the media room—the same room she used to run around in while I sat on the bench—I felt like we’d come full circle; I’d come full circle.

I’m enjoying every minute of this day with my family. I’m present, healthy, and happy as they are. Though I sometimes pause to think about the darker days and things I missed, seeing that she felt this museum was a happy “core memory” for her healed me in a way I didn’t know I had to heal.