As moms, we very often work so hard living up to unrealistic images of perfection from society, our families, our mothers and our own personal DNA. We buy into the culture of being a supermom, even if it just about kills us in the process.
There are many diktats you hear every day, but the most powerful ones run ruthlessly through your head and start like this:
I must…
I have to…
I promised…
I can’t just quit…
What would she/he/everyone think…
Can you feel the pressure build? Can you feel the stress taking hold of your body and stretching it until you feel like a rubber band ready to snap?
STOP.
Just. Stop.
When I was pregnant with our first daughter, we had a birthing coach who was very helpful, especially in terms of helping us understand there were certain expectations we needed to meet if we really wanted to be "good parents".
We should have a natural birth, ie, no drugs, no anesthetics.
We should feed our baby naturally, ie, no formula.
It all sounded great to us, after all, we wanted to be the best for our very first child.
Fast forward to the unexpected difficulties I experienced going into labor four weeks early, and to the pain I had not imagined, and the wrapping of my fingers so tightly around the metal bed frame that I was sure I bending it with my bare hands…
I cried uncle.
I quit being a good mom, and begged for drugs.
Unfortunately, the doctors said I was too far along, and would have to do without the anesthetic. I did, and-whew!-was “saved” from my weakness. I would be able to hold my head high and proud, and say I did it. Yeah.
Fast forward again, to a week later, when we took our precious bundle home from the hospital. Yes, a whole week later. She was tiny and adorable, and had some minor health issues, including some difficulty with feeding.
Once out of the cocoon of the maternity ward, we realized our newborn was still not strong enough to breastfeed, so we created a Plan B. About every three hours a hungry Alexis would awaken. I would feed her the milk I had pumped, rock her, change her and get her back to sleep. Then I would pump for next time.
Whew. System created. Failure averted. Again. I even felt a little more awesome than before. Hoo-ah. Hand me that big glittery “S” so I can sew it on. One handed. ‘Cuz I am a stupendous mom.
As you can imagine, functioning on less than two hours of sleep at a time quickly began to fray my supercape and my patience. I soldiered on, though. What other choice did I have if I wanted to be the good parent?
This went on for maybe a couple of weeks, but only my husband saw the beginning of the cracks in my veneer as my tears started to seep through. I was holding my mask on as tightly as I could, but it wasn’t enough.
Keith’s mom called and invited Alexis and me over for a visit, saying that it would be good for us to get out of the house. We went, and I remember feeling so warmly welcomed as she ushered me into a rocker. She gently questioned how things were going, and before I knew it I dropped all pretense of holding it together, as I sobbed and poured out my story of being such a failure.
A failure because I didn’t want to keep pumping and feeding and not sleeping. A failure because I felt selfish. A failure because I felt I was letting my daughter down. A failure because all the other moms could do it so easily, and maybe I just wasn’t working at it hard enough.
If memory serves, I soon learned that my dear mother in law had switched to formula very early on with each of the children, and as she pointed out, they had all turned out just fine. She encouraged me to do what worked for us and for Alexis, and to ignore what anyone else thought, since they weren’t standing where we were.
That very day, I gave up the breastfeeding.
I. Quit.
Our dear daughter and my husband got their more, sort of normal me back. We all won.
I share this story with you as a reminder that you must do what works for you and your family.
For you. For your family. Not for the Smith’s down the street, or the Adams or the Taylors or anyone else. Sometimes you just have to draw your line in the sand, and refuse to go beyond it.
You just might have to quit to win. It will be ok. You will survive, and your life will be better for it.
Now, take that cape off and put it in the kids toybox where it belongs. You looked kind of silly in it anyway.
Have you quit something that is a bad fit for you and/or your family? Share with us what you did.
There are many diktats you hear every day, but the most powerful ones run ruthlessly through your head and start like this:
I must…
I have to…
I promised…
I can’t just quit…
What would she/he/everyone think…
Can you feel the pressure build? Can you feel the stress taking hold of your body and stretching it until you feel like a rubber band ready to snap?
STOP.
Just. Stop.
When I was pregnant with our first daughter, we had a birthing coach who was very helpful, especially in terms of helping us understand there were certain expectations we needed to meet if we really wanted to be "good parents".
We should have a natural birth, ie, no drugs, no anesthetics.
We should feed our baby naturally, ie, no formula.
It all sounded great to us, after all, we wanted to be the best for our very first child.
Fast forward to the unexpected difficulties I experienced going into labor four weeks early, and to the pain I had not imagined, and the wrapping of my fingers so tightly around the metal bed frame that I was sure I bending it with my bare hands…
I cried uncle.
I quit being a good mom, and begged for drugs.
Unfortunately, the doctors said I was too far along, and would have to do without the anesthetic. I did, and-whew!-was “saved” from my weakness. I would be able to hold my head high and proud, and say I did it. Yeah.
Fast forward again, to a week later, when we took our precious bundle home from the hospital. Yes, a whole week later. She was tiny and adorable, and had some minor health issues, including some difficulty with feeding.
Once out of the cocoon of the maternity ward, we realized our newborn was still not strong enough to breastfeed, so we created a Plan B. About every three hours a hungry Alexis would awaken. I would feed her the milk I had pumped, rock her, change her and get her back to sleep. Then I would pump for next time.
Whew. System created. Failure averted. Again. I even felt a little more awesome than before. Hoo-ah. Hand me that big glittery “S” so I can sew it on. One handed. ‘Cuz I am a stupendous mom.
As you can imagine, functioning on less than two hours of sleep at a time quickly began to fray my supercape and my patience. I soldiered on, though. What other choice did I have if I wanted to be the good parent?
This went on for maybe a couple of weeks, but only my husband saw the beginning of the cracks in my veneer as my tears started to seep through. I was holding my mask on as tightly as I could, but it wasn’t enough.
Keith’s mom called and invited Alexis and me over for a visit, saying that it would be good for us to get out of the house. We went, and I remember feeling so warmly welcomed as she ushered me into a rocker. She gently questioned how things were going, and before I knew it I dropped all pretense of holding it together, as I sobbed and poured out my story of being such a failure.
A failure because I didn’t want to keep pumping and feeding and not sleeping. A failure because I felt selfish. A failure because I felt I was letting my daughter down. A failure because all the other moms could do it so easily, and maybe I just wasn’t working at it hard enough.
If memory serves, I soon learned that my dear mother in law had switched to formula very early on with each of the children, and as she pointed out, they had all turned out just fine. She encouraged me to do what worked for us and for Alexis, and to ignore what anyone else thought, since they weren’t standing where we were.
That very day, I gave up the breastfeeding.
I. Quit.
Our dear daughter and my husband got their more, sort of normal me back. We all won.
I share this story with you as a reminder that you must do what works for you and your family.
For you. For your family. Not for the Smith’s down the street, or the Adams or the Taylors or anyone else. Sometimes you just have to draw your line in the sand, and refuse to go beyond it.
You just might have to quit to win. It will be ok. You will survive, and your life will be better for it.
Now, take that cape off and put it in the kids toybox where it belongs. You looked kind of silly in it anyway.
Have you quit something that is a bad fit for you and/or your family? Share with us what you did.
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