They Said I'd Be a Terrible Mother
HUMAN FEELING: HURT at the words that can get stuck in our psyche.
You know those things that people say to you that at first glance are a joke but that eventually seep down so deeply into your psyche that it’s almost as if it’s fact? Maybe it was something a childhood friend said about your appearance. Maybe it was something a parent said about your grades. Maybe it was something a partner said about the way you are in bed.
For me, it was multiple people saying that they thought I’d be a terrible mother.
In full transparency, it’s possible that the word “terrible” was never used. And in full transparency, I would assume (hope?) it was all said in a joking manner.
Regardless, the implication was the same - I wouldn’t be good at being a mother. I wouldn’t know what I was doing. I’d be bumbling and confused and completely inept at the whole thing. Especially when you counterbalance that with the fact that everyone thought my husband would be Dad of the Year.
But Sarah? No, Sarah would not be good at this.
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I’ve never been particularly attached to kids. I wasn’t a babysitter growing up. I didn’t dote on the kids that my friends had, or even my nieces and nephews. Kids were fine. I could hang out with them. But that was the extent of it.
Kids just felt exhausting to me, and as someone who doesn’t like to play the types of games that kids play, hanging out with kids wasn’t fun. Plus, I was never someone who dreamed of being a mom. I dreamed of a high-powered career. I didn’t dream of motherhood.
I’m sure all of this led to the assumption that I wouldn’t be good at this. Especially knowing that my husband and I didn’t even want kids to begin with. This feeling of me being uncomfortable around kids led to the idea that I would be uncomfortable as a mother.
When I first got pregnant with Henry, that’s when the whispers started. Those offhand remarks in passing laughing “oh boy, Sarah’s pregnant? Good luck!” And then it eventually turned into more joking comments to my face about the types of mistakes I’d make. Dropping the kid. Feeding them wrong. Not being able to handle the crying.
I went along with it. I chose to just get in on the joke. But deep down it really started to get into my gut - what if they’re right? What if I really would be bad at this? What if I wouldn’t know how to properly love them, or feed them, or change a diaper? What if I’d be the biggest embarrassment of a parent that ever existed?
But then I’d be reminded (over and over again I’d be reminded) - “don’t worry, you have Brandon.” Or, “thank god you’ll have Brandon to help you!”
I don’t remember a single person over the entire nine months who said “it’s a good thing Brandon will have you.” As if I was just the house for this baby who would then come into the world and have to survive solely thanks to Brandon. I’d birth the baby, hand him off to Brandon, and just be around to say “yeah, I’m the mom.”
I went into having Henry with all of these voices in my head, certain that I was going to screw it up immediately.
And then he came three weeks early (though he had tried to come even earlier than that) - and I thought “I can’t even keep him safe inside of me. They were right.”
And then after I had him, it wasn’t love at first sight - and I thought “I’m not going to know how to love my kid. They were right.”
And then I couldn’t get him to latch and I absolutely hated breastfeeding - and I thought “I don’t even know how to feed my kid. They were right.”
One thing after another in that first day, bleeding into the second day, these thoughts consumed me. And I just kept replaying their misgivings, wondering what the hell I just did.
Somewhere in the second day, when Brandon had gone home to shower, the nurses were nowhere to be found, and it was just me, with tiny Henry in my arms, the noise of the hospital fading into the background, I looked down at him and I felt a rush of emotion. Everything else around me quieted, including the voices in my head telling me I was going to screw this up.
It was just me and Henry. And all I could think was I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU. And it was like at that moment my maternal instinct was granted to me. Like some sort of higher being put this tiny blue eyed baby into my arms and said “don’t worry, you’ve got this.” Amidst the beeps and the muffled footsteps outside the door, I knew that I had this. I knew I’d be okay.
I knew I was going to prove them all wrong.
I know that so many people in my life were nervous about me becoming a mother. And their nerves made me nervous, too. I thought I’d have to rely on my husband to know all of the answers.
But it turns out, I am just fine on my own. I knew what to do, I still know what to do. And if I do say so myself, I think that I’m doing a damn fine job of raising these two boys. I am a good mom. And for Henry and Harrison, I think that just maybe I am the perfect mom - for them.
I don’t always get it right - and it’s in those moments that all of those voices come flooding back to me. “You’re going to be a terrible mother. See? You’re going to be a terrible mother.” And those are the times I feel shame and embarrassment.
Though these days, just as quickly as they come, I can also banish the voices. Because I know that what I’m doing is best for my kids. And that even if I get it wrong sometimes, I’m only ever doing my best. And really, is there anything else that we can ask of a person other than to do their best?
And because I’m an Enneagram 3, maybe, just maybe, there’s a small part of me that is going “You thought I’d be a terrible mom? Just wait and see how good I can be…”