No one ever tells you how hard it’s going to be when you become a parent – especially a mother. Sure, you can read all of the parenting books that you want on how to keep your kid alive, but in reality none of that prepares you for the emotional, physical, and mental toll that takes on you. There’s no manual telling you how you are going to change and become a shell of the person you were before – a person that you don’t even recognize and frankly wouldn’t be friends with if you bumped into. Where you would even bump into your past self now, I have no idea. I don’t even think past me and I even venture into the same watering holes much less any of the same day to day establishments. If we did I think we would have bigger problems – unless past self just really loved having a 40 year old librarian dressed as a dinosaur reading her a fairytale or just happened to like attending mommy and me gymnastics class. Listening to a bunch of 2 year olds scream for 45 minutes is really just a highlight of my day – 10 out of 10 would not recommend. Unless you just like to torture yourself or challenge you mental fortitude then have it.
Either way, I can say that past me and I did agree on one thing. We didn’t want kids. In no way, shape, or form was this going to be any part of our reality – our future. But that’s the funny thing about life – you can’t predict it or mold it fully to your will. Shit happens and your ability to control every aspect of your life morphs and your only option is to re-group and figure that shit out. Sure there are always options when you find yourself impregnated with an uninvited guest, an alien, a virus if you will, but seeing that I am writing this personal account of my journey through unbridled motherhood, we can assume that was not an option for me. So moving away from that taboo topic – my point is that this was not in my plan. It never was. I wasn’t ever that kid that dreamed about marrying my Prince Charming in a lavish ceremony adorned with a copious amount of exotic florals or whatever the fuck. And then afterwards, like a fairytale, enter into an ever after in picturesque suburbia – white picket fence and all. Only to be followed by, wouldn’t you know it – children! A boy AND a girl, because god forbid you only have one and a family isn’t complete without both sexes. Oh, and a dog. You have to have a dog. That one I can agree on. But, no cats. Fuck cats. Number one, I’m allergic. Number two, you never know what you are going to get. You could get real lucky and basically get a cat-dog, or you can get what I got one time and get the devil re-incarnate. A scratching, couch-pissing, hissing, nightmare that exists solely to bring fear and horror into your life. If I actually write this blog long enough to get around to that, then you will find out about this demon cat. But with my undiagnosed ADHD who knows how long this will actually go for…
But, I digress. (You will come to find that this will happen alot)
My point of this whole rant is that no one is honest with you about the guilt, sadness, extreme highs and lows, self-doubt, and honestly depressive states that you will go through and continue to go through. And not only you, but your spouse. It may manifest differently than you, but they also are impacted chemically in their own way. The thing is, you don’t know what is going to happen until you give birth to that baby. Who you are at your core changes drastically the moment you push that baby out. You are no longer your past self. You have one job. To keep that baby safe. And you do that no matter how you may feel – or how your partner feels. This is where it gets tricky. Will you survive? Will your marriage or partnership survive? Will any love for anybody outside of that baby survive? I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you. It’s been 5 years since I had my child and everyday there is a struggle. There is a doubt. There is a moment where I miss being able to just be me. I miss who I was. I miss the freedom. I love my kid – wouldn’t change the fact that I chose to have her. In some ways, she has made me more resilient, made me a better “me,” and has helped me put things into perspective. But, in other ways, she has forced me to come face to face with my past, to deal with how I was brought up and all the emotional baggage that come with that. Some days, I’m ok. Others, not so much. Sometimes I just miss the peace that comes with being able to focus on one thing at a time. One job. One errand. One task, instead of being bombarded by multiple wants/needs/duties that come with being a working mother. I miss feeling like I am not failing.
And logically, I know I’m not. I’m doing my best. But that realization doesn’t trump all of the overwhelming feelings of defeat or indecision. There is a brain/heart disconnect. One is trying to pep-talk the other and get back on an even-keel, but either the other just doesn’t give a flying fuck or doesn’t have the tools in which to do it. And no matter how many books I read about parenting styles or self-help, I still don’t feel like I have found a balance. And I don’t know if I ever will. I mean I’m hopeful and will keep trying and this is a small part of why I am doing this.
I always could get my thoughts out clearer when I wrote as a kid/young adult, so I’m thinking if nothing else this will atleast help me get some of my angst out or sort out my thoughts. And if I’m honest, I’m never going to be a person who films her everyday for TikTok or puts out a pithy podcast – I would love to do that and I’m a fam of those who do, but it’s just not who I am. Atleast that is one thing I have kept from my past self. Did I keep anything else? Undetermined. I guess we are about to find out…
Welcome to motherhood.
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