One of my closest friends, Mia, is about to welcome her first child. This is a woman who has always been fiercely independent, having journeyed to countless countries and earned a graduate degree abroad. She’s employed at one of the top ten universities in the U.S. and is among the wittiest and most intelligent people I know. My kids adore her, and I can’t blame them. There’s a unique bond between us.
Mia is set to become a mom in January, and I have so much I want to share with her. There are countless things I want her to understand that are perfectly normal. But what can I really tell her to “expect”? How could I ever know? Expect chaos. Expect the unexpected. Expect joy and sorrow. But the specifics? Those are hers to navigate, hers to shape.
Recently, during a text exchange, she opened up about the whirlwind of emotions she’s experiencing—excitement, fear, sadness, and love. As I crafted my reply, a wave of sadness and frustration washed over me. I wrote: “Even after you cradle your little one for the first time, feelings will come and go. You may yearn for your old life back. But not really. The transition is tough, and it’s often overlooked. So please, talk to me. Share the darker thoughts that swirl in your mind.”
The sadness stemmed from the fear that she might feel isolated, that others wouldn’t discuss these feelings with her. The rage? The same.
I’m fed up, honestly. It’s frustrating how we tiptoe around new moms, sitting across from them days or weeks postpartum, cooing over their adorable babies while discussing trivial matters like strollers and baby clothes. Sure, those muslin blankets are fantastic, but who cares about that when there’s a deeper truth we’re avoiding?
We engage in small talk, chatter about the baby. THE BABY IS FINE; WE CAN ALL SEE THAT. Instead, we should be paying attention to the woman—the one who has just undergone an immense transformation. Observe the individual sitting across from you, her body still cradling life, her eyes showing exhaustion. This is a new mother who may not fully grasp what that title entails yet, but she’s filled with love, fear, and pain. Ask her about it. Open that dialogue. If you haven’t walked that path, listen and support her.
Maybe she’s not wrestling with these thoughts, and that’s perfectly fine. But if she is, SHE NEEDS TO KNOW she’s not alone, that her feelings are valid, and that she’s welcome in the club of motherhood.
Mia, share with me the shadows lurking in your mind.
I’ve walked that road. I’ve felt the weight of regret. I’ve entertained thoughts of escape. I’ve had moments where I thought, “I hate motherhood.” I’ve faced self-loathing and questioned my life choices. I’ve imagined leaving everything behind.
When my firstborn was about a year old, I saw a photo of my brother, Jake, in his lab coat as he ventured into medical school. A wave of despair washed over me; it felt like the earth itself was shaking beneath me. I wept, cradling my baby, while he was on the cusp of his new journey. I was only 22, but I felt trapped. I had dreams and ambitions, yet all I seemed to do was care for an infant—nursing, driving, and preparing food. I wrote down my thoughts whenever I could find a moment, scribbling on napkins whenever I didn’t have paper at hand. Yet time for myself was non-existent. I pondered, “Who am I now?”
When I confided in my husband, he couldn’t grasp my turmoil. He looked at me with confusion and returned to work. On weekends, we drank, and I struggled to “adjust” to my new reality. But who expresses such feelings? This baby, perfect in every way, was my choice, and I loved her. How could I communicate this internal conflict?
It festered inside me, a swirling mix of guilt and rage. And yet, intertwined with that was a fierce love and longing for my child. I would watch her breathe, ensuring she was alive. I was captivated by her features, and my love for her was overwhelming. When we were apart, I felt raw and exposed. My life felt shattered.
But that darkness? It was mine to carry. I thought I was alone in these feelings—how could anyone else possibly understand? Everywhere I looked, I saw joy and bliss, while I was engulfed in shadows.
Now, with some hindsight, I know I wasn’t alone. Countless women experienced similar struggles at the same moment, but what good were those realizations if we never voiced them? Friends would come over, and we’d discuss baby gear, sleep schedules, and future plans, but we rarely touched on the darkness. That burden remained mine.
They’d leave, and I’d feel more isolated than before. I’d sink back into despair, grappling with my secret.
I refuse to accept this anymore. I’m calling on you to address the darkness. Share the moments you felt overwhelmed. Talk about the darkest thoughts that crossed your mind. Speak about the things you’ve hidden. Engage with the woman before you. Connect with Mia. Talk to me.
With a shaky voice and a broken smile, I would have shared my struggles with you. We could have borne that weight together, and perhaps I would have realized that light was just around the corner.
And Mia, it truly is.
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Summary
This piece reflects the emotional complexities of new motherhood, emphasizing the importance of open discussions about the darker aspects of this journey. It encourages moms to share their struggles and supports each other in navigating the challenges of motherhood.
Keyphrase: new mom struggles
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