On the OG Heather and Why I Go to Bed After Midnight

Before I had kids, I used to pride myself in my confidence and self-awareness. Even as a teenager, I knew who I was (relatively speaking), what I was good at, what I was passionate about, and what was important to me. “HEATHER HAS A STRONG SENSE OF SELF,” is probably what I’d confidently say if anyone asked me about my best character trait. I’ve never been one to shy away from doing whatever it was I felt led in my heart to do, regardless of how unpopular/crazy/stupid it seemed to others. I’ve always been proud of that.

But then I became a mom. Pure, all-encompassing, sacrificial love poured out of me in a way I couldn’t comprehend before my oldest was born. Even at the times when I felt the most physically weak and exhausted, my heart bursted with a fullness that cannot be accurately described with words. When I placed each one of my three girls on my chest during the exact moment they took their first breath of air, I gave myself wholly to them. I vowed to love every inch of them—inside and out—because they were now a living, breathing extension of myself. Part of me, forever. My moon and my stars.

I had no idea that through this devotion, I’d soon lose something I never thought I’d misplace.

You see, when I had kids, my steadfast sense of self that I’d once taken so much pride in, seemed to back away in order to make room for them. Did my brain not have the mental capacity to retain “original Heather” as it learned and memorized the ins and outs of motherhood? Surely, my brain, with its 86 billion neurons and higher-than-average IQ, would be able to remember the old me and simply merge it with my new responsibilities. One would think. My life was now full of so many incredible things that made my soul bubble over—first steps and first words and midnight cuddles and family trips—but when I laid in bed at night—fragile, overwhelmed, and guilty—I hardly recognized myself.

Why don’t I do goofy dances to the music playing in the grocery store anymore? Why don’t I flirt with my husband? Why don’t I call my girlfriends? When was the last time I wrote? (Didn’t I always dream of writing a book?) Why do I cry all the time? Why am I plagued with so much guilt? Was there anything else I even liked to do that didn’t involve breastmilk, diapers, or cartoons? What’s going on in the world? I should be ashamed that I don’t even know anymore. When was the last time I wore high heels?  Why do I feel so much resentment toward so many different people and things in my life? Why did I snap at her like that today? Why do other babies sleep through the night so easily?

“Help me!” I could have sworn I heard The Old Heather cry from a dark, shadowy, and cobweb- covered corner in my mind. Had I lost her? I really liked the old me. I missed her spunk. Life as  her didn't feel this heavy.

Some of the older moms (including my own) in my life told me it was just a phase, and the age-old “this too shall pass” mantra was tossed my way more times than I can count. Other moms told me that you never really find yourself again because once your babies get older, your life just revolves around their sports, activities, and homework. Basically, you go from a living, breathing milk machine with bags under her eyes to a professional shuttle service and concierge. Great.

But now, here I am on the “other side” of the infant stage with a five-year old, three-year old, and one-year old. I’d like to say that I’ve triumphantly uncovered The Old Me and I’m now more confident, free-spirited, and sure of myself than ever, but that’s not the case. However, as I’ve become more seasoned in motherhood—battled some bouts of baby blues, spent hundreds
 of hours shushing colicky babies who wouldn’t be consoled, and memorized their weight on my right hip—I’ve learned a few things and reached some milestones that are encouraging and point positively toward my future.

• Some of those ladies were right, the fog does lift...at least a little bit. As your kids get older, your responsibilities don’t lessen, but you get into a routine that allows you a little bit more time for yourself. ROUTINE. (I can’t believe I just said that word—it’s the arch-nemesis of my deep rooted Type B personality.) As each child grows, they become a tiny bit more predictable, a tiny bit more independent, and a tiny bit more reasonable (finally—bribery works!). These evolutions, albeit small, allow mama just enough breathing room to do what she needs—exercise, write, talk to a friend, etc. I’m just now starting to rediscover old hobbies and passions that make me feel alive inside.
• ALONE TIME IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN SLEEP. I will never, ever go to bed immediately after my kids and husband. I would rather stay up for two days straight than be fully rested if it means being able to spend some solid time with myself. Dark, quiet evenings in my clean house are the only time in my day that people are not demanding things from me, climbing on me, or crying outside the door while I pee. Sometimes, in very special and rare moments, I remember again what it feels like to be a creative person. Inspiration usually finds me some time around midnight, and after those nights I wake up with a tingly fullness in my spirit.
• I need to care for myself as well as my children. You do, too. Seriously. Start NOW. Exercise. Get a hair cut. See a therapist. Walk the aisles of Target alone. Talk about your deep, dark feelings. Get drinks with your girlfriend. Eat healthy, whole foods that fuel your body well. Also eat ice cream.
• Change is okay. Different does not equal bad.

I always feel compelled to wrap my writing in a nice little bow. I’ve assumed that readers want to read a thought-provoking conclusion that brings everything full circle. However, this can’t be punctuated with a positive, conclusive statement of assurance, because I’m just not there yet. I’m still working on the guilt and occasional feelings of resentment and I still frequently experience what feel like existential crises. (BUT WHAT IS THE MEANING OF LIFE?)

So here is the question that persists: Will I ever be “there?” I’m not really quite sure if I know where “there” really is anymore, but I think I’m learning to lean into little bits of The Old Me in everything I do. I’m growing and maturing throughout this process, even when it feels like I’m not, and my sweet, inquisitive girls are now causing me to self-reflect more than ever before. I’m learning to reject comparison in all its forms, because momming is hard enough as it is without expecting myself to live up to other’s standards or parenting styles.

Most importantly, I’m learning to practice self-care. When my emotional, mental, and physical tanks are filled up, I’m able to see beyond the kid-filled chaos that’s in front of me at the moment and grasp onto the things that make me, ME. I can’t believe it took my five years to realize that I needed caring for, too.

Moms, I know what you’re feeling and I feel it too. Solidarity, sisters. Even though we often feel alone in these Big Feelings that we pressure ourselves to bury, we’re likely all experiencing the same thing. You're still in there, girl. You're still in there.

Love,

A mom who has to wake up in four hours.


1st photo- Shannon Addison Photography
3rd photo- Erin Brooks

The 6 Ways Motherhood Brings Me to My Knees

First off, let me preface this by saying that I am fully willing to admit that maybe I am just not the best at this whole thing. Maybe I am sensitive or emotional or dramatic or overtired. Maybe there are other moms out there who THRIVE parenting three kids, who get them all to bed without a peep, and who make exquisite preschool snacks in the shape of snowmen or turkeys or Millenium Falcons. Maybe other moms have figured out the magic method to get enough sleep at night and keep the house tidy throughout the day. I’d be willing to bet there’s probably some moms out there who can cook chicken cordon bleu for their whole family while correcting math homework and singing songs from the Tinkerbell soundtrack. But I do not. I have not. I can not.

Motherhood brings me to my knees. Every day—no, every minute—I am reminded that I cannot do this alone. I am reminded I am not superwoman, I must rely on others for help, and I need Jesus. Oh, how I need Jesus.

Before I had kids (when I was pregnant, even) I used to be amazed at how often moms talked about being moms.  I thought to myself, “Well, I am a wife, and I certainly don’t talk about being a wife all the time.” I guess I thought that it wouldn’t be so hard and that I wouldn’t feel like my identity was completely rooted in the fact that I was a mom (“I’ll still go out with friends all the time, I’ll still go to the gym every day, I’ll never leave the house in yoga pants and wet hair, I’m gonna be a cool mom!”), but I was in for a massive awakening. There’s a reason moms talk about momming so much: It’s HARD. It’s all-encompassing. It can feel like its overtaking you emotionally, mentally, and physically.

The other day when I was having a particularly hard day, I thought about the many ways that motherhood brings me to my knees. They are as follows:

• Motherhood has given me a total heart-check when it comes to the way I treat my spouse and the way we operate as a team. Man, nothing like two fighting toddlers, a poopy diaper, a colicky baby, a messy kitchen, and drawn-on walls to make me realize that we are in this together and need each other. I’ve learned to respect him for the strong, empathetic, and kind man that he is. Since we’ve had kids, I’ve often become overwhelmed with regret for all the times I’ve doubted him or given him grief. He is a GOOD MAN and a GOOD DAD. He’s the one who sits in the living room with the baby in the middle of the night when I’m weepy from exhaustion and just need to sleep alone for an hour. He’s the one who does the dishes, pays the bills, and mows the lawn. He doesn’t complain, he supports me emotionally, and he loves me—all of us—SO FREAKING HARD. I’ve learned that sometimes I just can’t afford to gripe or nag or bicker with him, because any break in our unified front will cause everything else to crumble. Our relationship is the pillar of our home. Motherhood has forced me to be nicer to him. He’s the most important human being in my life.

• Motherhood is the hardest job in the world but receives the least amount of glory. By the end of the day,I am simply run ragged. I’m lucky if I’ve brushed my teeth, I’ve consumed far too much caffeine, I’ve likely eaten PB&J crusts for dinner, and I haven’t even been able to pee in peace. Never in my life have I ever gone to a job where I’ve felt as worn out at the end of the day. Yet for motherhood, there’s no Employee of the Month placard. There’s no pay, there’s no vacation time, there’s no leave of absence. Heck, when people find out you’re a stay-at-home-mom, they rarely even ask you “How was your day today?” Giving of myself all day with no recognition has taught me humility. I “work” all day long, 7 days a week, yet I don’t even have my name on an office door. I’ve learned be selfless, to give all that I have to these three tiny humans, and to do so with joy.

•  Speaking of joy, motherhood has taught me to choose joy, even in the darkest, most chaotic times. The other night all three girls were crying. One was sick and complaining about her chapped, raw lips, one was face first on the ground in the middle of a tantrum, and the baby was inconsolable in my arms. My husband was at work, the house was messy with toys and crackers ground in to the carpet, and I was SPENT. I could’ve chosen to give in to the stress of the moment and either break down in tears or lose it on my kids, or I could’ve chosen joy, even amidst the chaos. One of those would make the situation worse, and the other would’ve made it a bit more bearable. When life feels messy or impossible—what else do we have other than joy (and Jesus)? Joy doesn’t come to you. It doesn’t appear when your house is clean or when your kids are behaving or when you have a from-scratch chicken tortilla soup cooking in the Crock Pot. Joy is a choice you make every day—every moment—even during the hardest times. It’s not always the easiest choice, but it’s the best choice (for everyone).

• Motherhood has taught me to rely on my community. There’s not much that’s better for my soul than sitting around and drinking coffee with other moms in the same stage of life me. Just doing life (diaper changing, chicken nuggeting, nursing, disciplining, playing, dance partying, milk spilling, tantrumming, nose wiping, laughing) with my friends is refreshing and reviving. When I had a newborn, my friends brought meals and coffee and held my fussy baby while I showered. When my father in law recently passed, my friends sent cards and flowers and sweet mementos for my girls. They reminded me that they were rooting for me. Through them, I’ve learned to be a better friend and champion the women in my life. We’re all in this together.

•  Motherhood has thrown me prostrate at the feet of Jesus. His grace, mercy, peace, strength, and special sleep powers that make 3 hours of sleep feel like 8—I need it all. Enough said. He is everything. 

• Lastly, motherhood has given me respect for my own mom. Mom, if you’re reading this, I am sorry for all of the times I gave you grief. I am sorry for talking back and letting my room turn into a pigsty. Mothering is hard enough as it is, and I am sorry for all the ways I made it harder for you. You had five kids and I have no idea how you did it with such poise and happiness. You always had a smile on your face, words of advice when I needed them, dinner on the table, and a tidy home. I am not worthy.

 I am still learning every day how to be a better mom for the sake of my kids and my own personal growth. I don’t know lots, but I do know that motherhood has (and still is) shaped me in ways I never thought possible. I’ve been forced to look at the parts of my heart I’ve been ignoring for years; the dark parts that I’d been hiding or refusing to acknowledge. But thanks to the three sweet, curious, lovely girls who call me mom, those parts are coming to the surface and refining me a little bit each day. I hope that with time I will become a little bit more graceful, a little bit more selfless, a little bit more loving, (and maybe a lot more organized).

Thank you, Willa, Maxine, and Ivy for bringing me to my knees and closer to Jesus.