When the Sacred Duty of a Mother Is To Disappear Completely

This is why motherhood can feel like a burden.

I have a son. He is 14 now.

I love my son. But I didn’t love him the second he came out of my womb. No warm feelings came out of my heart as I watched his tiny body for the first time.

I did feel an intense need to protect him. I was his mother. But I resisted bonding with him. Part of me was certain he was going to die soon, so I braced myself for the heartbreak I was sure would come afterward. However, as time went by, something shifted in me: I fell in love with my son. It took some time, but it happened.

I never told anyone that I didn’t immediately love my son. I knew the kind of labels people would attach to me: bad mother, bad person, bad human.

I felt guilty. I had watched the ads, the movies, and the TV shows. I had heard other women talk about motherhood. I was supposed to love my son the second I lay eyes on him. But that was not my only maternal duty.

I soon realized I was also expected to do a lot of other things: I was supposed to suffer for him, sacrifice anything for him, and stop evolving because of him.

My days and nights were to revolve around his life. My existence? That was unimportant now. I had fulfilled my female duty: I had brought life to the world. From now on, it was my responsibility to make sure he would thrive.

Nothing else in the world should matter.

I didn’t matter.

You are not fulfilling your role.

I’m a writer.

People ask me: how long have you been doing that?

I always struggle to answer that one. Here’s the thing: up to my early twenties, I wrote a lot. However, a bit after I got together with the man who would become the father of my child…I stopped. After my son was born, I even reduced the frequency of my reading habit and stopped taking pictures (another one of the things I love to do).

I was a teacher, a wife, and a mother. My days were focused on other people’s needs.

I was severely depressed, but not taking care of my family 24/7 would have been selfish, so had I been told.

Please, do not get me wrong. I’m aware there are lots of people out there for whom this is enough. It truly makes them happy. They find satisfaction in this because that’s what they want. Everybody has their own road to walk.

My problem is with the concept we have created around the idea of being a good mother.

Always giving, always busy, always sacrificing. We have been led to believe that unless you are permanently stressed out, then you are doing this motherhood thing wrong.

No one told me: stop writing. No one showed up with a presidential order commanding me to cease all self-care and focus on my son and my partner, all the while keeping a job to make sure there would be food on the table.

And yet, I knew that, as a modern woman, it was my obligation to do everything for my family. All around, there are these whispers, these side glances that let you know when you are not fulfilling your role. You must sacrifice everything for your loved ones.

Remember: you don’t matter anymore.

So, I stopped writing. It would take years for me to get back to the habit I love. I had to relearn to care about my desires.

The Problem

There’s no doubt in my mind: being a mother has shaped me.

It made me a better teacher. A better writer. A better person. It helped me understand myself in ways I never thought would be possible.

I have zero regrets.

Motherhood is not The Problem.

The Problem is all of the extra duties we attach to it. Turns out, it is our sacred duty to make sure our kids are geniuses at school, good at sports, learn to read before graduating from kindergarten, have glorious birthday parties, accumulate kickass experiences they’ll remember for years to come…

Heck, it is our duty to make sure our children are happy at all times and under all circumstances. They are a direct reflection of our quality as human beings.

They are the trophies we show to the world.

I call bullshit on that.

Simpler Times

In itself, the act of parenting, should you choose to embark on the adventure, can be one of the most fulfilling experiences ever.

But, due to societal prejudices, we make such stupid demands of mothers that it is not hard to see why it feels like a burden for some of us.

My son and I, we make each other better human beings. I don’t need him to be “the perfect son.” He has never asked me to be “the ideal mother.” When we are alone, we do our thing. But whenever the outer world gets in the way, things get tricky.

I’m tired of being told it is my job to make sure my son is happy all the time. I’m also done with this notion that he is supposed to fulfill me.

Nobody deserves such a heavy weight on their shoulders.

I believe I’m here to provide him with as many tools as possible so he can make his choices. I’m here to love him. To support him.

But it is not my job to guarantee his happiness. No one can do that. It is his job and his alone: this is his life to live. I can be his coach, his best cheerleader, but I cannot make the plays for him.

And I’m also here to live my life. To do what I love. To find my satisfaction.

Motherhood has played a pivotal role in my existence, but there’s more to come.

Funny enough: when I decided to be a bit selfish so I could take care of my health and pursue my passion for writing, I felt happier. And being happier has made me a better mother.

I love my son; therefore, I want him to remember me as a happy woman. A satisfied human being. I want to show him what it looks like when a person works hard for her dreams.

How else will he learn to do the same?