I had a friend who used to say that the mothers in her life “hid behind their children.” Childless, her statement was one derived from observation, not experience. I particularly noticed that she did not feel this way about a working mother, but a stay-at-home mom. I too did not have children at the time of this declaration, so I jumped on the criticism bandwagon. With our hands-free, our shirts unstained, and our freshly shampooed hair, we did what most do; we judged something outside of the scope of our understanding.
It is one of those things I look back at and wince; both at my naivety and my judgment. It is one of those moments where I want to apologize to all of the moms I judged. “I’m sorry,” I want to whisper with shame, “I’m so sorry for what I said before I was a mother. I really had no idea what the job entailed.”
I’ve spent a lot of time the last sixteen months, the duration of my son's life, trying to determine what exactly my friend had meant by that. What does hiding behind your children actually entail? Is it a loss of identity? Does it suggest using your children as a scapegoat as to why you haven’t kept a job, chased personal aspirations, or yearned for “more” outside of the margins of motherhood?
All I know is that prior to having children, I interpreted the notion of immersing oneself in the role of mother as a negative. Getting lost behind your children meant losing yourself. Losing yourself was considered a major flaw.
Now that my son is here, I know better.
Losing myself in motherhood has been a necessary step in my personal growth. I had to slough off my former self in order to wiggle into and embrace my authentic self. My son unearthed a much calmer side of me. His presence in my life caused me to question nearly every detail of what I had done prior. I was forced to slow my pace, catch my breath, and plunge headfirst into a new role that I actually really enjoy.
Lost is where I live right now. I don’t know what’s next for me career-wise. That fact is both freeing and stifling. My life, overflowing with the needs of my son, doesn’t grant ample time and space for the reinvention I do desire because, like most new mothers, I’m chronically exhausted. I am learning that this, while a season, is part of the process. I’m trying to surrender to this moment, to be here with my son, to allow myself to drift exponentially from where I began.
For now, I’m embracing getting a little lost in open mouth kisses and wobbly walking. I’ve grown accustomed to never peeing alone, or sleeping alone, or doing much of anything alone. And typically, I love to be alone. I’m getting lost in this place called motherhood, this time, attempting not to place judgment on myself.
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