We are almost three weeks in to my little one’s life, and everyone wants to know:
How are you?
And as I have tried to answer that question for myself, all I can honestly say is:
Exhausted
Overwhelmed
Depressed
Anxious
But those are not the things people want to hear. Those are not the things I am supposed to say when we have just been given the biggest blessing of a sweet baby boy.
Don’t get me wrong–I love the little guy more than my very own life. And that’s what makes it so damn hard to feel the things I’m feeling. Every time I look at him a flood of guilt washes over me for feeling this way.
To be honest, I feel like my life is over. Or at least, my life as I knew it. All the freedom and independence I had has been stripped away and my days are now relegated to feeding, changing diapers, sleeping, and repeating in an endless, crazy-making cycle. I am at my baby’s mercy. Any semblance of a schedule is gone–planning my days is nearly impossible now and simple things like keeping the house clean or going out for a walk are now incredibly difficult. On top of that, the sleep deprivation and postpartum hormones contrive together to ensure I can’t process any of this in a normal state of mind. What is this thing called motherhood? It’s so much harder than I ever could have expected or imagined. No books or classes can prepare you for this.
My heart is grieving the loss of what was. When things were easier and I could come and go as I please. When I didn’t have a tiny human who depended on me for survival, while all I can do is try to survive myself. When I could make a schedule. When I was in control.
And I realize that’s what this is all about. That’s what it’s always about: control.
I want to be in control of my own life. I want my will to be done. My way. And this baby was not my will. This was not my plan. And yet here I am, responsible for this precious little life, and as always, I have a choice. I can either keep wishing things were different, or I can accept that this is the charge God has given me. This is the gift God has given me. Often His gifts don’t feel like gifts, until we look back and see how He used them to change us. To make us more like Himself. I can’t say I have that perspective yet, but I’ve seen Him do it in the past with the hardest of my circumstances, so I know He can do it again.
Motherhood is an endless giving of self. It is a death to self. I have such a newfound respect for all the mamas out there, and hope I can be half as good as them as I figure this all out. But for now I’m still in the grieving process, and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean I don’t love my son. It doesn’t make me a bad mother. These feelings are normal. And I’m allowing myself to feel them right now, despite what the world wants to see. Despite what other moms portray on Instagram. I’m bringing these thoughts and feelings to God, and we’re working through them together. I’m taking it one day, one moment, at a time, and trusting that it’s going to get better.
rhythms of grace 