My life as a Mum

My eldest is about to start high school. I felt like I was handling this pretty well until last night some of the pent up emotions chose to come out. As if this wasn’t enough, I decided to look back at the photos and videos of when he was younger. Pretty soon I was a laughing, crying, sobbing mess, and wondering why I ever found the younger years hard when he was so cute (it didn’t take me long to remember why…). It actually felt quite cathartic to let some of this out, and to acknowledge what had probably been stirring me in for a while. There’s something about still walking him to primary school each day with its bright colours and playground equipment, knowing that there’s a shift coming, a shift that will accelerate some growing up. And so, in the spirit of looking back, and whilst trying to hold it together whilst sitting in a Costa coffee writing this, I want to take a moment to reflect. To attempt to put some of my experience of being a Mum, so far, into words…

I will begin by saying I have never done anything as hard as this. I have been brought, countless times, to the edges of my ability and sanity. In the early days, it was relentless having less choice around basic things like sleep, how often I shower and whether I go to the toilet by myself. This made me feel less human. I was not the priority anymore, and it wasn’t until this happened to me that I realised how much I liked being the priority! All of my sharp edges have come out at different points; I have met my worst self. I have been confronted by how irritable I can get, how angry I am when I am not listened to and how fearful I can be if I am operating beyond my limits. I remember the first day of homeschool in lockdown. A few hours in I made sure Luke was around and I got in the car and drove. I parked up on a random road and I just curled up and sobbed. Great big racking sobs of fear. I can’t do this. I can’t cope with the kids at home all the time, and I definitely can’t teach them. There have been many of these ‘I can’t go on moments’. The same rhythms over and over; preparing food (that will often be rejected), tidying up, washing, getting shoes on, bedtimes and toothbrushing. The amount of time we have spent trying to get a child to sleep who is trying to resist sleep. Or the wild type of play that my kids particularly enjoy. In their eyes, the house is a giant ‘soft play’, a kingdom of wrestling and they have one volume settling: loud. The weeks and weeks we’ve had over the years of normal childhood illnesses (thankfully nothing too serious). Of cleaning up, sleepless nights, self-isolating, days off school and hospital trips. And the constant stream of demands, problems to solve and arguments to referee, that mean that I am on call and interrupted constantly. 

And yet, I am writing all this in a season where it doesn't feel so hard. Where I can pause and feel able to see the whole picture, not just the struggle. And so I am writing with a little smile. I have a son about to go to high school and these difficult times pale in comparison to the beauty, wonder and joy that I have experienced bringing up children (cue the Costa tears). I have been taken to the edges of my sanity, but I have also been taken to the heights of my love. Seeing them grow into their own little characters is like a glimpse into a spectacular show that unfolds every day. They constantly surprise me with their hilarity, their kindness and their way of looking at the world. I learn so much from them. And everything is a phase. We’ve had countless beautiful phases that we don’t want to end (right now we have one who likes to cuddle, one who creates comics with characters like ‘Steve’ and ‘Gerald’, and one whose confidence is really coming out). It means that there has always been something to enjoy. Even in lockdown (which was one of the hardest things I have ever done), I have memories of campfires in the garden, countless walks, blossom falling as the kids played, sleeping outside and spending half a day making amazing meals for no reason. And the difficult times will often pass. Our kids can now dress themselves, wash themselves, sleep (mostly), and we don’t have to faff around with annoying straps in the car anymore! They can bike, they can read (although I’m not sure swimming lessons will ever end…). We are through, it feels, the really intense physical bit. It is more about emotions and relationships now. And I can’t count the amount of treasured memories. The beach trips, garden BBQ’s with friends, nature walks, taking them on a plane for the first time, so many popcorn and film nights, watching them in their plays and nativities and staying with family. Most days there are mundane, boring moments and intense struggle, but there are also moments of joy and wonder that pierce through, making all of it so worth it.

I said earlier that parenting has brought out the worst in me. And it’s true. But it has also been a refining fire, and in confronting my worst self, I have had to learn what it means to lean on other people. To let them in and be vulnerable; to ask for help. And one big part of my experience of modern parenting culture has been noticing the amount of guilt so many of us feel. There is less trust in our own love and instincts, and more fear that we are failing in some way. As Mums, we are often expected by society to be all things to all people. To be on top of work, our children’s development, school communication and often, the dreaded mental load. We are more aware than ever of the psychological damage that can be done in early years. We are terrified of messing our kids up or of them having an accident. Rather than children that are raised by a village, or community living, we live in a culture where each family unit needs to be on top of everything; cooking, washing, cleaning and all parenting wisdom. We are some of the first generations to be expected to be playmates for our children as well as caregivers. Some of this is good (kids do need quality time), but when we are always expected to play make believe or come up with entertainment it can also be a bit soul destroying (I learned not to feel bad to say no when I needed). We feel guilty if we go to work, guilty if we stay at home and are less happy because of how hard it is. Guilt can flow through us. 

As I look back on this rollercoaster of a journey and where I’m at now with being a Mum, I have realised that I simply don’t have space for guilt anymore. Or at least I can choose not to pay it much attention when it inevitably comes. And I so wish all of the parents around me could know how incredible they are in the face of such a challenging job, and that it is OK to be imperfect. I am at my best when I am gentle with myself and when I choose to have limits. The house can’t always be perfect, I might not be making big leaps forward in a career, and I often have to say no to things. I cook simple meals and try not to beat myself up when I’m moody and irritable (although we do try to use the word sorry a lot). We have good days and intensely hard days. Recently I’ve found myself with a bit more time and capacity, and I’ve been wondering what to use that for. But for some reason I don’t feel God is speaking to me much about this. What I do feel is a gentle encouragement towards the small things of life (which, I guess, are really the big things). I can get distracted by things that I feel are 'urgent' and 'important', but I want to learn from the pace of my children, from the way that they will fill their pockets on a nature walk and find joy in seemingly inconsequential things. I get to choose to notice and drink in the snippets of wonder that often come in the most unexpected ways, and that often come through my kids. And so I circle back to last night. To when I was sat looking at old photos and videos, and taking a moment to notice. Because I want to keep noticing. The good and the hard co-exist, but there is extraordinary in the ordinary. 

A little note: This is my experience written at a moment in time, which I realise might be different to how you have found parenting. There have been times when I haven’t been able to see the good in this journey and I couldn’t have written these words, and if this is you, I want to acknowledge that how you feel is valid and understandable. Especially if you are doing this as a single parent, without a lot of support around, or with unique circumstances that make this harder for you. I hope you feel able to reach out somewhere if you need help in any way, or if it all feels too much.