About a year or so ago I wrote a little post on working and stay-at-home mothers. I had few followers on my blog at the time; blogging was something I did for “fun” and to practise my writing skills. I sat down one evening to pen some thoughts in response to blog posts I had read that attacked both stay-at-home and working mothers. What bs! I thought. There’s two sides to every story. So I wrote a letter, from one mum to another, addressing it to dear friends of mine on both sides of the fence, but also addressing it to myself. I remember getting a tingly feeling after I posted it. Perhaps I had a premonition of what was to come. But never did I expect that it would be viewed by almost 2 million people, that our server would crash because at one stage it was getting 2,000 views an hour, and that my inbox would be flooded with emails from emotional mums and eager magazine editors.

Social media can be brutal as well as enormously supportive and rewarding, and I bore the brunt of some very negative commentary, which only seemed to validate the importance of my message. Some said I was out of touch with real working mothers, such as those without a profession, and those who did NOT want to work. Point taken. Another major criticism of what I wrote was that I was perpetuating the myth of the “good mother”, of the need to put the family needs first (for example, getting up early to exercise).  And that was a very very bad thing.

Since then, I have been thinking about this A LOT, and I have also blogged about the damaging “cult of motherhood” which exhorts self-sacrifice with the promise that it is “all worth it”. And I have to say that I am no longer that mother in those “Letters”. Here’s a post I wrote a while ago that I entitled “The One Thing I Want Mothers To Stop Saying” which explains it.

I’ve heard this too many times. I hear it from patients, from friends, and colleagues. I have said it myself. But even though there is truth in it, I really want mothers to stop repeating this phrase.  Enough is enough.

“It makes me a better mother”.

“It” is usually something the said mother thinks she shouldn’t be doing, or feels guilty about doing. “It” refers to time away from her family, often enjoyable, usually self-care, and is somehow regarded by many people as selfish, unnecessary, or indulgent in some way. “It” is often –

• time at the gym
• going to work
• going for a walk
• going out for a meal without the children
• yoga
• any activity that implies the mother has some protected time away from her children.

Yes, in most cases, mums do come home refreshed and a better mother, better able to engage with her children, happier, and less stressed. And this is a wonderful thing, a positively reinforcing cycle. Health care workers often use this phrase to somehow entice mothers away from their profound responsibilities of caring for their families. The oxygen mask analogy is trotted out – put your oxygen mask on first so you can then attend to your children and family. You can’t care for them if you’re not well. Etc etc. I’m guilty of using this to encourage my patients to take better care of themselves.

But it has to stop.

Why? Because we are human beings first and mothers second, or third, or however we choose to see it. Why is it that once a woman becomes a mother she is expected to put her needs at the very last? We know that working mothers feel so guilty about not being with their children 24/7 that they will sacrifice their own sleep and leisure time to see to their “responsibilities” when at home. Stay-at-home mothers have to justify every minute that their children might spend outside of their care, for example in childcare. But why is it that we must always reference our roles as mothers when justifying time “off”? At the risk of grossly over-generalising, how often do we hear fathers saying “Oh man that was a good night out with the boys. It really makes me a better father”. While I am not suggesting that this phenomenon affects all women, nor that fathers do not ever put their families’ needs above their own, I base this post on what I have heard over and over again in the past few years as a mother, a doctor, and a friend. Why, just in the last week, I have heard it four times from different mothers.

When we lose the ability to consider that we have needs too, that we are human beings, when we start believing that our needs for sleep, relaxation, social interaction (with adults!) and physical activity are only important in the context of our ability to perform the role of mothering, we fall into very dangerous territory. We martyr ourselves. We put conditions on ourselves – when you do this, will you come back a better mother? Will your children benefit? We send a message to ourselves that we have no intrinsic worth as human beings beyond the work we do as mothers.  

I want all mothers to look after themselves, and to proudly say that their self care makes them a better person. It makes them a healthier, happier, more relaxed person. It enhances their quality of life. It gives them energy, brings a smile to their face. I want mothers to say that they go to the gym because they freaking like to go to the gym, not because they come back a better mother. They are going to see their girlfriends because they miss them and want to have a laugh with them. I want mothers to assert their needs for self-care irrespective of the fact that they have children.

And that, my dear followers, is why I am no longer the Mother in those “Letters” any more. I am slowly putting myself back in the picture. I am systematically exterminating guilt while continuing to think about the combined needs of my family – which includes me.

Amen.  

I hate to jinx it, but very recently my children have become easier, for want of a better word. They are five and two now, and are the best of friends. They play adorable games together which allows me to have cups of tea in peace. My five-year-old can wipe her own bottom (yay!), shower herself, and get her own snacks. My two-year-old is talking well now, and can tell us what he wants; while we still have tantrums, and the sight of him in restaurants still conjures up a mix of pity and terror from fellow diners, he can sit still for longer, have conversations, and is generally happy. At times, I am even that mother sitting and reading while her children colour or play quietly. (For about five minutes).

Proof that life has become a little bit more bearable is this.

I’m cooking again. Real cooking. Not throwing things hastily into the oven, churning out boring casseroles, or relying on good old spag bol. On weekends anyway, I feel remnants of the old me returning – the one who loved to cook elaborate meals, involving many ingredients, much simmering and sautéing and chopping, and the type that is celebrated with the clink of glasses at the dinner table and “Compliments to the chef!” I am able to do this mostly because my two-year-old has now been surgically extracted from my leg, and no longer needs to be in bed by 6:30pm.

This state of affairs sounds quite delicious, I know, to other parents who are still in struggle-town. I was there not long ago. I do not remember now what exactly made it so hard – the pain is all a blur. I do remember that it was freaking hard, and that I was miserable at times, and that I cried occasionally. I remember everything being a struggle with my toddler – each simple task of living like getting dressed and eating was an enormous and often physical and loud battle. I remember the 12 months or more of 5am wake-ups – of sitting on the couch in the dark with a wide-awake baby, the whole household asleep, wondering how on earth I was going to stay awake until 8:30pm. I remember being so tired at night my eyeballs felt like they were going to fall out of my head. I remember a lot of food on the floor.

And yet I worked and studied full-time, nine days a fortnight. Truth be told, going to work was an escape in many ways. Whenever I was tired, I reminded myself that being at home would have exhausted me just as much. Still, looking back, I don’t know I did it. I do remember making a pledge to connect and engage with my children to the fullest, despite the challenges, and to live these precious and exhausting years with more joy and less guilt. I do feel that I have done that. I have kicked mother guilt in the ass. And while I have trouble remembering the exact details of the pain, I remember the exquisite joys as though they were yesterday. I can taste and smell them; I can feel the little hands in mine still. These are etched in my memory.

I am not much different to any other parent. I do not have extraordinary challenges – just the everyday, mundane challenges of parenting small children while working. I do have flexibility, a reasonable salary (as a GP anyway, not as a student…) and find meaning in my work. But mostly, I coped because I took things one day at a time. (I had no choice really). And I know that new, different challenges are to come. But I want to pen some encouragement to every parent who is still in that dark, hazy time of raising small children. (Studies show that parents are generally as happy as compared to people without kids, except for those with preschool-aged children. These people are pretty unhappy and stressed). Perhaps you have the dreaded combination of two under two. Perhaps you have a ten-week-old, and have just been through the most difficult ten weeks of your life. Whatever the case may be, I want to say this to you, with all my heart.

Take things one day at a time.  

But make a promise to do your best every day. 

Some days, your best will disappoint you. That’s ok. Be kind to yourself. You’re just doing the best you can, and you’ve never done this before. Every phase makes you an absolute novice at parenting again. But tomorrow is another day.  

Some days will be very dark. This just means you are right in the middle of the tunnel and the light cannot be seen yet. But if you keep moving forward, there is a light. It’s bright and very beautiful. It will make you cry tears of joy.  

Every day, connect at least once with your children, and once with yourself, even if only for a moment before you shut your eyes at night. Be grateful at the end of the day, breathe, and start again tomorrow.  

It’s ok to “lean out” during these years. It’s ok to say you’ve got too much on your plate right now. You have. It’s crazy. But it won’t last forever.  

If the days are too dark, talk to someone straight away.  

One day at a time, the days will roll excruciatingly slowly into weeks, and months, and then a year or two. You will look back and that cliché will escape your lips-  “They are growing up too fast!” Stupid cliché. But it’s true. 

But I know that seems far away now. I know how hard it can be. But don’t blink. Take it all in. 

One day at a time. That’s all you need to do. The best is yet to come, but in some ways the best is with you right now. That’s the exquisite conundrum of parenting.

When you come out of that tunnel, I hope you come out with more joy, less guilt, and no regrets. And eventually you too will be stirring prawn bisque in the kitchen, glass of wine in hand, like me. (If that kind of thing floats your boat). 

x