If I could go back fourteen years to the beginning of this Mama Gig, there are things I’d tell New Mama Me.
Things she should hear.
Things she should know.
Things I’d deliver straight to her heart, like that violent Pulp Fiction through-the-chest resuscitation shot, to help her breathe just a little in that time when new mamahood first destroyed her but before she really lived again.
Oh new mama, I would say, this beginning, it’s hard. It is. It’s hard.
Your feet are moving on a marathon that’s just begun, but you haven’t trained because there’s no way to train for this. No way to build your muscles or increase your endurance or improve your time other than to start running. And that is okay. It’s the way this thing is done. You won’t always feel this exhausted. This off-balance. This delirious. But I know that doesn’t matter right now and that you want to punch people who say, “It gets better” right in teeth. (But it gets better, mama. It does. And the secret is you get stronger.)
I would tell you, sweet new mama, that postpartum depression isn’t just a biological phenomenon reserved for mamas who grow their babies themselves. I would tell you that I know you adore your baby. I know you’re wildly grateful for her. And I know you’d give your life for her and that some days you’re so strung out you wish you could. All kinds of Postpartum What-the-Hell is normal – even for you, the adoptive I-was-so-desperate-to-be-a-mama mama. Welcome to the land of Both/And, lady; both crushed with love for this new little life and breathless with the loss of yourself.
Parenting is relentless no matter how you arrive there.
Oh, New Mama. You will feel beaten, sometimes every minute, but I promise you, you will not stay down. You are a woman and you are just beginning to learn how very strong you are.
Parenting is relentless. Have I mentioned that? Relentless. But eventually it gives you a better version of yourself, and then eventually-eventually you’ll consider it a worthy trade.
You gasp with pain some days. So lonely. So unsure. And that’s okay because you are dying, mama. You are dying to yourself, laying down the you you once knew. But you will rise again, and you will go far. All the way to the moon. You will. To infinity and beyond, like Buzz Lightyear, except real. Your life won’t be only diapers, late nights, early mornings, toddler fits and mommy tantrums. I pinky swear and cross my heart. You will seek and you will find inside yourself the spark of a woman who knows from hard experience, to the marrow of your bones, that you are resilient and capable and strong.
I know you wonder how it is that momming can be so isolating when billions of women do it every day. I know you didn’t see the loneliness coming. If I had a genie in a bottle I would wish for a Zoom Out button for you; in the middle of the night, when you’re sitting on the hard floor with your crying baby and your crying self and your despair because you want to just stop it but you don’t know how, you could zoom out and see. You could zoom out over your house and then out and then out again, like Google Earth for mamas, and from that high place in the sky overhead you’d see that you’re one of an ocean of mamas rocking on the floor in the night. You’d know that you’re not alone. Not really. And you’d wave at the other mamas, and they’d wave through their tears back at you.
You’ve heard about the Village — the one they say it takes to raise a child — and I know you wonder how to find it. Damn Village. The Zoom Button sure would help, wouldn’t it? But I would tell you to hang in there. Breathe breath after breath and keep trekking. Because the Village is there, mama. There’s hope! You’ll get there! The illusive Village is there, and you are so right to keep moving ’til you find your mama tribe.
And the mamas that you find? Some of them in the wilderness just like you? They will point the way to Love and hand you a beer and teach you to laugh at the mess. You don’t know it yet, but the sweaty, miserable work you’re doing in the jungle isn’t just for you, mama. There’s a purpose for all of your wandering. No, you don’t know if yet, but you’re cutting a trail that others will follow to the Love and the beer and the laughter, too. Can you even believe it?
Oh, New Mama. If I could tell you just three things, I’d tell you these:
- You’re okay. You are. Both the dark and light of you. The despair and the hope.
- The hope will win. I swear it.
- You’re not alone. Love is there. And so are you. And together, you’re enough.
……….
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Brought tears to my eyes. Wonderful and so true (minus the beer for me).
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Oh, just beautiful. I need this at the moment. Thank you for your wonderfully wise words xxx
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Thank you! You touched my heart with these words. ; )
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i couldn’t thank you enough for posting this… although my daughter is going to be turning one on the 19th I’m going through a storm right now and this has given me a little more hope that one day ill get the old me back, just a improved version. Thank you thank you thank you!!
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Thank you so much for posting this. My son is three and while I feel more hope than despair most days I’m about to add another wonderful boy to my family. I’m excited, I’m hopeful, I’m in love with this little one already – but I know my world is going to be rocked and I’m desperatly preparing for it. Thank you for this beautiful message.
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LOVE OMG LOVE. seriously just what i needed today. can’t wait to see the version of this for the BOOK.
and i think – after i finish my coffee – i’ll go have a beer. 
cheers!!
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I feel like I was meant to find you. Wait. That sounds stalker ish. I mean your blog
It’s been almost 18 months into my mama journey and it is, indeed, so hard some days.
If a quarter life crisis was a thing, I’d have it. And at the times when I question my journey the most, wonder what I did to be left feeling so alone, spiritually and otherwise, I find your posts call to that lost part of me. They give me hope. Hope that I can do this. That my kid won’t be screwed up for life by my wandering and wondering. That one day maybe one kid won’t be so many kids and I may want more. It’s scary. And lonely. And so hard. And I am so, so, so glad to have found this village you’ve started.
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And PRINT
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My oldest just turned 15. His next sibling is 7. There are many excellent reasons why there are 8 years between them. I SO wish I had this advice when I was trying to figure out what the heck I was doing back then; and it’s still almost as painful to think about that blur now as it was then. Thanks for writing this. The best advice I got during that tumultuous time was from my lactation consultant, when I called her crying on the phone. “Dear, it’s ok to THINK about throwing the baby out the window. It’s NOT ok to do it”. And I repeat that advice to every new mom I know. because it’s true. It made me feel better when I would rest my head on the changing table, keeping one hand on the baby, while he was screaming… because I couldn’t think of anything else.
And it did get better, and stronger….
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Beth,
Thanks for waving at me in the Google Momma Cosmos, cause I was thinking about writing something like this for a young mother (20 yo w/ a 8 mo) we recently took into our household. I look at her and see myself, 19 years ago, kicked out of the house where I was living with friends, scared, alone and unsure. The parallels between her life and mine are numerous and amazing. I have told her, and hope that I can help her through the trying times, ease her through the rocky times, and introduce her to her own Village, where I will be an Elder Crone instead of a Maiden Mother. It’s time for me to pass the torch, and even though it’s scary and sometimes quite frustrating, I know that my own Mama Tribe will keep me going through my own trying times.
Thanks again, Beth for being the awesome you that you are!
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I so needed this today. I feel like this week has been all about having to re-envision future plans that I really really want but really really don’t have the capacity to try to realize just now in the ways that I want to, in these months of G.’s first few years where I feel as if I am doing everything poorly. I am grateful for posts like this one, and my own experience with D., that guide/remind me that I will not always feel this way, and that the self I am becoming is amazing and ever closer to my true self.
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This is so beautiful. My oldest boy is only 4, but I still feel like I have realized so much. The one piece of advice I try to impress on new mothers is that everyone feels overwhelmed and like they don’t know what they are doing in the beginning. It’s so hard to feel like everyone ‘gets it’ and why am I the only one who is confused/terrified/struggling. I feel like as the ‘mom community’ when we act like we have our @&€% together, it only makes it harder for others who are struggling. The solidarity that comes from admitting our ‘bad mom moments’ is a gift. That gift is what expecting moms need, not a bunch of onesies.
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Wow. I was reading along, nodding my head and mmm-hmmm-ing when this line snuck up on me and hit me in the heart: “You are dying to yourself, laying down the you you once knew.”
I have been needing words to describe what that feeling was, two and a half years ago when I couldn’t figure out who the hell I was anymore. Thank you for giving them to me.
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I too found myself nodding at each line, knowing that the frustrations that seem so overwhelming one moment can just as easily be overtaken by the awesome-oscity of one little smile, a hug, a sigh of contentment.
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Oh me, oh my. Perfection. Nail on the head. Hole in one. Out of the park. This is so crazy true. I think you crawled into my head, saw what was going on, and then put your pen to paper (or fingers to the keyboard). This will be forwarded to ever mama I know because they need to know, you know, that its all normal and okay (or will be, and that is normal and okay too).
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Thank you, thank you and thanks again. As I lay on my couch after 5 relentless hours of fighting with my 20 month old daughter to go to bed. I am so glad I grabbed my phone to read. Perfectly said and by the end the tears were flowing, but good tension releasing tears. I agree with Dara, definately a blog to print and star and all that good stuff.
Thank you!
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Thank you, thank you, thank you for such a beautiful post.
I’ve come across from Crappy Pictures and have fallen in love with your blog. you have such a beautiful way with words. I’ve shared this post with some friends and they said it brought tears to their eyes too.
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I LOVE the zoom out button idea. Wouldn’t that be great to be able to SEE the others we share the journey and struggles with. Wonderful post Beth!
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If you could’ve sent that to me a looooooong time ago, I’d have appreciated it. What I would add to my new mama self is this: Not only do you need to find the village, but you have to BE part of the village. And….forgive yourself; you will do the best that you know how, with a heart filled with love.
And I’ll take Beatriz’s beer.
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Beth, I love the things you write. Thank you for all of them.
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Just subscribing today..through crappy pictures.
I needed this today.. brought me tears.
New mom of twins.. 8 months old.
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You’re amazing
I think this will be require reading for me every day now….
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This was sooo needed today! I agree, will be printing this and keeping it close at hand for those rough nights and lonely days. Thank you so much for this!
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This was EXACTLY what this new mom to 7 month old twin boys needed today! So eloquently put. Destroyed and breathless… but silently hopeful.
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Thank you, thank you, thank you!
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that was beautiful and eloquent and … cough… ahem… there’s something… in my eye….
anyhoo, thank you. if only such letters could be sent for real. or believed by new moms everywhere.
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Okay, so I’m not TECHNICALLY a new mom, since I just had my third, but oh man! This made me cry! And feel so much better! So thank you for posting it!
(I especially like the zoom button analogy. How nice would it be to wave at someone in the middle of the night when things seem so lonely??!)
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I’m so glad my husband is asleep. He’d think I’m so silly crying at the internet. Remind me to come back here in 6 months when I’m sitting on the floor crying with my baby.
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Everyone else has already said everything I would have said, so I’ll just say thank you; you made me cry and breathed fresh air into my soul as I await the arrival of my fourth.
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I know moms get the worst, and it’s not fair. But if a dad is allowed some input, I feel the real secret is to LOWER ONE’S STANDARDS. Just keep on lowering them to rock bottom, and you’ll eventually discover a NEW rock bottom, and then a new rock bottom under that.
I know: are we sacrificing higher principles for short-term relief? Probably. But someone taught me long ago with exercising that sometimes you have to give yourself permission to have a crappy workout: little effort, little results, just going through the motions. But at least you did it—you showed up, you were there.
Aren’t we parents allowed to do the same? Occasionally allow yourself a crappy day of parenting. But at least you did it—you showed up, you were there. Is that enough sometimes? I hope so…
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Webb,
You’re absolutely right. I keep telling the kids that everyone has bad days, we just start over the next day. I give myself some of that consideration as well, and I’m starting to not carry the bad mom guilt around as much. I have a sign on my mirror that states “you don’t have to be perfect, just keep reaching towards it even when your arms are tired.” If you make it to the gym, at least you took that step.
Thanks for another perspective!
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I like the way you interpret what I said. Some might say I was advocating that parents sink to new depths they’ve never even imagined existed….!
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I’m new to your blog. My husband sent me here just today, because he thought this would encourage me. And man did it ever! I’m a brand new mom of just a few weeks and I feel like I’ve been stumbling around trying to find my footing again, and the “it gets better, just give it time” just seems so far out of reach sometimes. So thank you so much for this!
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Thanks, all, for sharing these bits of your stories. I’d like to have you all over right now so we can sit on the floor and laugh and cry together at the insanity and the desolation and the consolation and the healing of our souls that is parenting.
x’s and o’s,
B
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Amazing. Utterly wonderful.
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Very nice words! Thank You for sharing them! <3
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Awesome. Just what I needed to hear. Especially the 1. 2. 3. at the end. Many, many thanks.
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Love the way you write, Beth. This is all SO, so true! Thank you for your ‘honest’ writings bringing encouragement to the masses!!
Hugs & love
Mary x
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I am not yet a mama, but this open letter speaks so graciously to all the fears I have about if and when. I’m printing this off and keeping a copy in my baby hope chest for the if and the when. Thank you.
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Beautiful! I just shared on my RecoveryMama facebook page. Thank you for this gritty, honest, real support.
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I so desperately needed to read this right now. Thank you.
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Sending love, Laura. xoxo
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So I’m a bit late in finding your blog, but I’m grateful that I did. This post is just what I needed (along with your more recent one on the 20 things parents should hear). I am the mother to an amazing, sweet, caring, and fabulous 3 year old son and a beautiful 4 week old daughter. I feel like a new mom all over again as I search through the blocked memories of these late nights, nursing drama, and newborn fun. BUT, it is even more challenging as I try to understand that my sweet little boy has not been replaced by an evil twin. My challenge is finding the balance and patience to give my first Love the attention and support he needs since his world has been turned upside down. He is such a trooper as he tries to help with is sister and figure out why his mother has become a fruit loop/evil twin herself.
Thank you for the hope, the assurance, and the laughter through tears.
I should be “sleeping while the baby sleeps,” but I have enjoyed reading your wonderful stories, advice, and the responses of others. It’s almost like a sci-fi film… we are not alone.
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My daughter is 6 days old. I’m surrounded by the love and support if my husband parents and a close friend who is a doula. I have a cousin with a baby just a week older than mine and yet I fell so lonely. My eyes leak when I read this from the pain of this wild trying time that I thought I was supposed to enjoy. I know it gets better and I know this is normal but it is sooooo hard. Thank you for your words that so poignantly give me hope and the permission to feel without guilt.
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