What Motherhood Stole From Me
by Vanessa Kass
There are fewer transformations more instantaneous and weighty than motherhood. One second you are, well, you, and the next second, you are mother.
With that new title comes these expectations of knowledge, love, fulfillment, joy, instinctive ease and huge, massive, sometimes seemingly insurmountable challenges. Mothering is consuming. And in that quagmire of emotion and expectation and learning, motherhood stole something precious from me.
It stole who I was. I wasn’t prepared.
The moment the baby arrives, the attention shifts to them, naturally and without question. You hold your breath until that first cry. You wait for the moment you can hold them. You watch your partner fall in love with them. All while you are still doing the work of labor – placental delivery, potential stitches, and more. When people visit, the kiss on your cheek is perfunctory. They are not there to see you. They are there to see the baby. It all seems normal.
There were clues even before the baby arrived.
I remember talking to a co-worker about her coming by for a visit. I was excited to have a visitor, and told her that there were many things she could do to help. She could load my dishwasher, do laundry, bring me a meal. But as for baby care? I didn’t want help with that. I had no clue what I was doing and I needed to practice. Needless to say, she told me she wasn’t coming. It was clear; she wasn’t planning to visit me. To offer her friend help where she truly needed it. No. She only wanted to come for the baby. Full stop.
Already, my worth was tied to my unborn son. My value was in what I was providing and not who I was.
So there I was. At home. Alone. Without the it-takes-a-village component of child-rearing that used to be available to women of past generations.
While I welcomed visitors, all conversations swirled around the baby. How my son was feeling and feeding and growing. If I was lucky, someone may inquire about my own health and feelings. But even then, their questions were about motherhood and how I was enjoying it. The things I had accomplished were now ignored for the monumental task at hand. The raising of a human. As a nursing, stay-at-home mom, that largely fell on me. For months that stretched into years. I wrote about that here.
I think a woman loses herself after a baby. I did.
“you don’t even realize when it’s happening but, afterwards, you wonder why the woman you were before had to die.”
Alone time is gone, along with leisurely spa days, working late, spontaneity, weekly coffee dates with friends, or spin classes. There is another human to worry about. To care for and plan for. But we don’t talk about the woman who was. The woman who is no longer. You don’t even realize when it’s happening but, afterwards, you wonder why the woman you were before had to die.
I remember the moment it hit me. I remember it so clearly. What I was wearing, the smells, the location, the feelings. My first son was crying and I was consoling him. As a mother does. And I said – “it’s ok, Momma’s here. Momma’ll fix it.” Not, “I am here.” Not, “I’ve got you.” But “Momma.” I, Vanessa, had been replaced with Momma. There was no identity separate from the role I now played. I know, logically, it is nature. To name myself in that way. To provide my child an anchor to their world. A title to represent the person, a smell, a feel, a smile that is their safe place. A label that on the surface is no different from pointing to an apple and saying “apple.”
But on deeper examination, it is so much more.
There is invisibility in mothering. You can google “invisible load,” “the weight of feminism,” “the lies of motherhood,” and see what I mean. A quick search on Amazon will bring up more titles than you might ever want to read. Maybe you want to be a zen mom like I did. This book, Momma Zen: Walking the Crooked Path of Motherhood, was ordered six months after my first child was born. I then ordered, and the sequence is important, the following books. In June 2010— Perfect Madness: Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety. January 2012— This Is Not How I Thought It Would Be: Remodeling Motherhood to Get the Lives We Want Today. March 2013— Confessions of a Scary Mommy: An Honest and Irreverent Look at Motherhood: The Good, The Bad, and the Scary. The order and subject of these books are telling. First, I needed zen. That would fix me! Then, I realized that motherhood was not what I was promised. Finally, shortly after my second child was born, I entered the welp-fuck-it phase of mothering. Maybe I never left that phase.
There is a reverence and expectation around motherhood that is damaging.
I had long joked that women had to sign an NDA before leaving the hospital. A promise that they would lie about how awful labor and delivery was in order to promote the survival of the species. It was a joke. I thought. But I was wholly unprepared for delivery and motherhood. I remember my good friend calling me and asking me to tell her everything because she knew I would. I did. And that was the first true and real conversation she had ever had about labor, delivery, and the aftermath. We were 33. To shield and gloss over the hard parts of it all for the new moms does us all a disservice. In, perhaps, the most important and stressful role of our lives, we would be best served with honesty and grace. Not - “I forgot how painful labor was and you will get the hang of it.” The “it” being caring for and rearing a tiny human.
Now, when I look back at those first years of motherhood, I don’t see myself. Not just because I was always behind the camera, but because I threw myself into the martyrdom and expectations of motherhood. I tried to be everything to everyone and didn’t think much about myself. I wasn’t journaling or going for walks. I wasn’t meeting friends for a night out or going to my beloved yoga classes. I was a mom. Full stop. And that was supposed to be entirely fulfilling. (This period was complicated by my undiagnosed postpartum depression, which is another article for another day.)
I was told to ask for time, demand it. To fill my cup, put on my oxygen mask first, to make myself priority #1. But I wasn’t really told HOW to do any of that, or what to do with the very complicated emotions that resulted. I felt guilty when I needed to be alone. Even if I could voice that need. It was difficult to ask for time to knit or go to yoga or do work at night. Trying to prioritize myself made me feel like I wasn’t properly embracing mothering or doing it well enough. Being a mother was supposed to be enough.
It seemed like the longer I got called Momma, the further away I went.
I see it all the time in other mothers.
When a social media profile pic is only of their children. I don’t know if that is the friend I want to reconnect with from high school. I only know what her kids look like. When a holiday card consists of only photos of kids. I love kids. Love them. And I save the cards from year to year to marvel at the growth and changes. But I love my friends, and I miss seeing their faces. But it is the norm. Think about the holiday cards. You know I’m right.
“for a long time, I was just Momma, and the me I used to be was reduced to a shadow. Vanessa was gone.”
For a long time, I was just Momma, and the me I used to be was reduced to a shadow. Vanessa was gone. Replaced by the entity whose sole job and purpose was to be Momma. Until I slowly realized, shit, I had been doing this all wrong. I conflated martyr and mother and that was a recipe for disaster. By tamping down who I was, I wasn’t being of service to anyone, and the resentment is a bitch. Not for my husband and son. Though, a little, to be honest. But really, for society which had given me a total bait and switch – be a mother and be fulfilled. Tough lesson to learn after you already brought the kid home. And since I couldn’t put Momma in the shadow, I had to learn to be both.
Learning to be both is another bullshit expectation around motherhood. They really do get us coming and going. Let motherhood fulfill you as it should. BUT also get back to your pre-baby body, have sex with your husband, go out with friends, return to work. Don’t be only fulfilled from motherhood, because then you’re a bad feminist. Motherhood should be your everything, but you don’t want it to be too much of your everything because children learn about their place in life by watching you. Cool. Seems completely reasonable and not absolutely enraging. Spoiler: I was enraged.
“being enraged and resentful and lost is not sustainable. I had to claw my way back to myself. ”
But being enraged and resentful and lost is not sustainable. I had to claw my way back to myself. But to start? I found a therapist who specializes in postpartum depression. I saw her after my first son was born. I saw her during and after my following pregnancies. I take medication. One that is safe for breastfeeding. But my husband and I made the decision before my delivery that if I needed them and they weren’t safe for nursing, I would still take them. *I* would take them. Vanessa would take them so she could be the best version of herself.
*I* teach online and write for the site you are now reading. These are things that I am good at, that rejuvenate me, that give me purpose. Do they allow me, as a stay at home mother, to contribute to our family financially? Abso-fucking-lutely. They also remind everyone in my house that my role is not only relegated to “mother.” I have purpose and passion that extends beyond our walls. I have a gift that can impact more than just my family. I am using my brain for more than schedules, meals, schoolwork, and entertainment.
*I* take exercise classes twice a week. My body has never been the same. Did my insides rearrange to carry life three times? It did. My reward for this life-giving feat? Diastasis recti (a belly pooch), permanent baby hairs on my temple, a raging allergy to poison ivy, and peeing myself when I laugh, sneeze, or cough. The injustice! So, I exercise. Not to get back to my pre-baby body, as that was eleven years ago. But because it is how I invest in myself. I sweat and swear and do the hard work of getting physically stronger. Sometimes I get the hour alone. Sometimes I work out with my kids lifting weights next to me. But I show up. For Vanessa.
*I* have made social time non-negotiable. Even in the age of corona. I Facetime with other women and after we catch up about our kids, we chat and laugh. About marriage, work, our families, our bodies, the injustices of the world. This time is a necessity for me. I am the predominant care-giver for three kids ten and under. The vast majority of my conversations happen with children. I have two sons. Farts and fart jokes will, apparently, never not be funny. Plus, for those who don’t know, conversations with kids are not two-sided. Your child needs your time, attention, and response. They often do not reciprocate. My friends? They want to hear about my life as much as I want to hear about theirs. It is a much appreciated give and take.
*I* am selfish. GASP! I nap, I read, I knit and write and go for walks alone. I make travel plans and tell my kids “no” and to figure it out themselves. I teach my children independence and self-sufficiency. My older kids do their own laundry, make their own lunches, and even entertain themselves. Because I need that time and those activities to recharge and be ready to do it all again. My job as a mother is to prepare them for life, not to live it for them. My purpose as a human is to live my life for me, and allow that joy to be both an example and reminder. Because I cannot be their be-all and end-all. That serves no one. If I were to be gone tomorrow, I want them to miss WHO I was and not WHAT I did for them.
There will be mistakes and regret and uncertainty. But I have found that I shine best as a mother when I honor myself first. The loving, joyful, sarcastic, irreverent, hard-working, kind person I always have been. Long before I was bestowed the title of mother. Case in point? A year ago, when we were visiting family, we considered signing up for a local, crazy obstacle course ride with a professional stunt driver. I really wanted to go. My sense of adventure begged, but my mom senses were on high alert. My oldest was very worried that I would get hurt and didn’t want me to go. There were tears. Lots. Please note – he basically buckled his father in that damn car. I was torn. Placate his fear (worthy) or flip around a course on two wheels and maybe wet myself (worthy).
Ten years ago, I would have stood at the fence watching the fun from the outside. This time, I kissed my son, told him I would be back in two minutes, walked away and buckled up. It was a ride that still makes me smile from ear to ear. My son? H doesn’t remember his fear. When we talk about it, he talks about my bravery and my smile. And maybe that is the thing I have learned most of all.
I am Momma. I am also Vanessa. For me, the only way to enjoy the madness and the mess that is motherhood, is to be both.
Vanessa Kass is a writer, teacher and mindset mentor. She lives in Connecticut with her three children, husband, and menagerie of animals. You can find more of her articles here.
