Lili is our first guest writer. She's a dear friend who agreed to let us into her journey and insights into motherhood. We asked her to write this because we believe her words and her experience, albeit unique to her, echo what other mothers feel. Motherhood is profound and deserves to be embraced fully in all of its grief and joy. Thank you, Lili, for your candor and for the mother that you are.
I absolutely love being a mother. There is something so rewarding about keeping a human baby alive; bonding with him and teaching him. Challenging yourself in this capacity is edifying, sanctifying and rewarding, to say the least.
Have you ever planted a garden and saw your little vegetable or fruit plants sprout and then bear fruit? If you have, you will know the feeling of accomplishment, pride, wisdom, strength and empowerment. Raising a child has similarities to growing a garden. Being a mother comes with its own set of challenges that a garden never would, but with it come joys that a garden never could give you either.
“I suppose in the end, the whole life becomes an act of letting go, but what always hurts the most is not taking the moment to say goodbye.” -Yann Martel
I first heard this quote in my third year of college as I was going through a season of change. I started my second year of college with my best friend not being able to come back for another year, followed by my sister moving with her husband to another province, then my brother moving back to my home country, followed by my roommate moving out. I thought I was able to move past most of this with no problem. But then the third year came along with even more changes. More friends from the previous years moved along, my mentor took a sabbatical, and my new roommate moved out only two months into the school year. I was left feeling so alone. When I mentioned all these things to the Interim Dean of Women, she told me this quote “life is but an act of letting go”. I began to see my whole life from a different perspective. Life is not out to get me, but it is an act of constantly letting go and introducing something new. Though you grieve every loss, you most often are presented with a blessing with it; if you are willing to see that blessing.
I recently realized that motherhood is but a FAST moving act of letting go.
From the moment you begin trying to conceive you start to grieve. It begins as a whirlwind of uncertainties; a world shifting constantly. Friendships, family and your relationship with your spouse/partner begin to shift; you start to grieve everything you’ll be letting go of - your freedoms, budget, sleep, beliefs, values, priorities, the list could go on. Your body changes and your brain literally rewires. People no longer see you as you, but as a baby and you (in that order too). Your body is no longer your own, but something your baby needs (not just if you are able to breastfeed). And that's aside from grieving how time moves once your baby arrives. Little moments as a newborn quickly change as your baby develops and certain simplicities from that stage are no longer. Before long, you realize that they are not as sleepy as they once were and there is grief and pride in watching them grow.
Since we welcomed our little one in October 2020 I have learned that I am a very anxious mom. I’m talking about seriously worrying about everything. Am I doing “it” right? Am I ever going to sleep again? Is he getting enough food? Is he getting too much food? Am I the best mom for him? Am I providing engaging enough activities to encourage growth in all aspects of life? If I'm not the one feeding him, rocking him, bathing him, playing with him, will he be okay? If I stop breastfeeding, will I be able to bond with him and provide him with all the nutrients he needs?
Turns out - YES.
And these are only baby-specific things you worry about. Never you mind how your friendships change, your intimacy with your spouse, and your relationship with your own self and your time shifts and morphs into something new.
But WAIT.
Having a baby isn’t all grief. The strange yet beautiful thing about motherhood is that with each thing you grieve, it's countered with a joy.
Joy > Grief
You grieve the freedom of staying out late but you get to snuggle a little babe late at night.
You grieve when they won’t snuggle as much anymore but you get to play and see them learn new things.
You grieve the freedom of having your body to yourself but you get to see them soothe and be happy in your arms.
You grieve the time that is no longer your own but you get to celebrate life and new milestones every day.
It is hard to put into words the overwhelming joy and love you experience in the midst of grief. Things are constantly changing from clothing sizes to skills, to personality. Each change adding more joy than the grief for the things lost. Through it all, I must admit that the joy and love you have is much bigger and it is exactly the thing that gets us through those hard days, through the reminders that they are growing up so fast.
Each change adding more joy than grief of the things lost.
If I'm honest, I miss my old life sometimes. I miss not worrying about anybody else but myself. But when I see the smile on my son's face, I would not trade the worries for what now seems to be a simpler life. I say this not because my life was simple or that any other person without kids has it easy; but to everyone, when life-altering events take place, all life begins to look simpler to what you have now.
I thrive under pressure and trust me, the good Lord has placed just the right amount of pressure in my life. I have begun to do so much work in myself, dealing with my own trauma, challenging my belief system and re-prioritizing my values. It's been hard work, and it will always be a lot of work. I am working hard to give the kids in my life the best version of myself. The person, aunt, mother that every kid, my kids deserve.
My baby is 8 months now, and his personality is showing more every day. He is becoming the silliest baby. Granted, I’m pretty sure almost every baby does what my baby does at this age, but let me believe that my kid is the only one. There are days we cry together, and a day doesn’t go by that we don’t laugh together as well. Joy>grief.
I can honestly say that I have never grieved so many big and small things and at the same time experienced so much joy. The conundrum of motherhood is baffling, beautiful and worth it.
My life is perfect!
My life is not flawless, my life comes with many hurdles, challenges, mental breakdowns, anxieties and insecurities. But I have to say that it is perfect. Motherhood has been the most challenging thing I have encountered. I never knew it would affect me this much; constant worry of doing things right; fostering a healthy environment that encourages growth yet filled with kindness, patience and love.
In the middle of all the worrying, I have been reminded that I can’t do this alone - we are not meant to do this alone. And I am so grateful for the people God has placed in my life that remind me to accept help and are willing to help.
I have dropped plenty of tears and I don’t want to forget any of them or the pain of feeling incompetent, exhausted, anxious, constantly changing but loving this little creation all at the same time. I don’t want to forget the ups and downs because the downs put things into perspective and make the ups so much more worth it.
My life abounds in love, abounds in laughter.
A Poem
This tiredness
That brews in our towns
Born from the knowledge
That we are their home.
Their giver, their wanted
The always so needed
The safe place, the sanctuary
The calm in each season.
This tiredness
That flows in our veins
Numbed only by love
For these children we raise.
Our fuel, our fire
Our souls walking free
Our joy, our hearts
Our reason, our need.
This tiredness
That aches no other
Part of the whole
Of the woman called mother.
The aching, the drowning
The arms thrown in want
The pushing, the drive
The coffee by pots.
This tiredness
Part of us all
And yet we push
We do not fall.
For this tiredness
Deep in our bones
Is the proof that we
Are somebody’s home.
By Jess Driscoll