Fill Your Glass
Before I had my daughter, I read a widely circulated quote that said, “Good mothers are like candles; they burn themselves up to give others light.” Spoiler alert: I now know that that mentality is one of the most damaging views of motherhood that we can have.
When I look back at my definition of a “good mom” before I became a mother myself, I can almost feel a physical sensation of sadness and regret at the truly impossible standards that came so naturally to me. I assumed if you were a good mother, your need and desire for your own time and your own interests would dissipate because being a mother in and of itself is inherently fulfilling. I would notice a toddler throwing a tantrum and assume that the good mother taking care of him didn’t feel an ounce of frustration because she was just overwhelmingly grateful to be a mother at all. I would talk to moms who would mention having hard days, but I thought, “I know what hard days are like, and at least when you have a child, hard days won’t feel so difficult because you’re able to think of all the lovely, blissful moments you’ve had with your child.”
Of course every mother reading this knows where this is going.
I now know that hard days are infinitely more difficult because regular difficulties are compounded by the knowledge that all of your actions and decisions affect this small human for whom you are responsible. Additionally, you’ve likely let your own needs slide so you are also running on a breed of empty you didn’t know was possible. I now know that when your toddler is throwing a tantrum, the sense of frustration can feel so deep that you’re astounded by a sensation of anger and overwhelm you didn’t know existed inside of you. And in most opposition of my previous pre-motherhood understandings of a good mother, I now know that creating space for my own time and my own interests are even more necessary than they were before.
Learning this has been a treacherous journey, and I feel such sympathy for my old self as a new mom. Since I had such a narrow view of what it took to be a good mom, and I – like every single one of us – wanted to be a good mom, I would lie to others about how I felt and how things were going. In many ways, I think it was less so that others would think better of me, and it was mostly a way to trick myself into fitting into my own definition of a good mother. This left me exceedingly lonely (despite my network of friends and family), and it left me with a view of myself that was more negative and critical than any other time in my life — and that was at a time that my most gentle inner-voice was needed.
There was no magic turning point, other than a looming sense that things couldn’t continue the way they were.
Out of sheer desperation, I stopped spending time with friends who didn’t speak openly or weren’t understanding of the less joyful aspects of parenting. I reminded myself repeatedly, until I believed it, that my daughter would still know she was loved, even when I made the decision to go to a yoga class, or to do something possibly as frivolous as taking a bath with the door shut and with myself being the only person in the bathroom (gasp!). Even now, with my years-long crusade of rejecting our unhealthy societal view of a good mother, I still catch my mind saying, “If I was a better mother, I would never feel anger toward my child, or I wouldn’t feel the need or desire for time alone.” Here’s what my rational, more experienced, less eloquent voice now responds with: “Screw that.”
I now know that I am absolutely a better mother when I listen intuitively to my needs, while quickly shutting down any voice that tries to tell me I should feel otherwise.
I spend time around other moms whose love and devotion for their children are undeniable, yet they feel comfortable calling and saying to me, “Yesterday was a nightmare and it took all of my energy to not sell my child to the circus.” I’ve also discovered that when I’ve made space for a chunk of time to myself, I then look forward to spending time with my daughter in a more present, mindful way, and I have noticeably more patience.
We all need different types and amounts of self-care because…wait for it…we’re all different people!
So as with many areas of motherhood – and humanhood, for that matter – let’s try to stay away from judging others negatively because their needs and their views are different from ours. Rather, let’s try to reach out to our fellow parents and remind each other that we’re in this together and we’re not alone. I would like to propose that instead of thinking of good mothers as candles who burn themselves up to give others light, we adopt this view instead: “You can’t pour from an empty glass. Take care of yourself first.”
Warmly,
Christina