Like many mothers, I forgot how to be me...
And now, it's time to remember.
One might say I “self-abandoned” when I birthed my daughter.
What’s truer is, I’ve never been there for myself because I was addicted to being there for others in the hope they’d one day be there for me.
I’m in the process of shifting that. And I plan to take you along for the ride.
I adore being a mother. When I stare into my daughter’s eyes, I’m in awe. 3 and a half years in and I still can’t believe she’s real. A miraculous manifestation of the love between her father and I, brought into this world as an extension of me; offering me growth, expansion, and the opportunity to love more fiercely.
The days of motherhood are sometimes called a woman’s season of Summer (hence I chose to title this collection of writing My Mama Summer). In this season, mothers are productive, creative, and awakening in so many ways.
But it’s also a challenge. A beautiful paradox.
I know as a millennial mother, I’m “supposed” to prioritise myself, drink kale smoothies (or is it meat smoothies these days?), do 6 HIIT workouts a day, steam my yoni, repair my pelvic floor, enjoy a 4am ice-bath, always wear matching lingerie, cook every meal, have a forehead as smooth as a baby’s butt, and be a gentle parent who never raises their voice above 20 decibels. But it’s not as simple as Gwyneth makes it look. 🫠
I find myself:
feeling exhausted,
forgetting what Iights me up,
putting everyone else first,
comparing myself to others, and
chastising myself for not being good enough
And I know I’m not alone. Which means you aren’t either.
Whose needs are most important?
My daughter has needs. So do I. Whose do I put first? Usually hers. Aren’t mothers trained to think this way in the early days of motherhood where their needs are not, cannot, come first? 🤷♀️
“Put your oxygen mask on first,” I hear in my mind.
Friends implore me not to self-abandon as they did. But hindsight is everything. As their kids have already traversed the “No” phase, the “Why?” phase, and the “Ooooh, a boobie!” phase, they naturally become increasingly independent. Their mother fog has lifted and they’re able to finish a thought and god forbid, a conversation. 😉
I promise myself I’ll prioritise my needs like other mothers tell me to. And then…
It’s 3am, she’s burning up against me with a fever, I’m breastfeeding. My eyes are bleeding, my back is contorted, my cup is empty, my heart is aching. And also full. Am I supposed to leave her alone in a dark room because I have needs too? I can’t do that. Look at her innocence. She needs me. What do other parent’s do. Enforce a boundary their little brain doesn’t understand? Why am I working with extremes? This is why other women don’t understand me. Or maybe I’m just sleep-deprived and I should just chill out a little. This too shall pass.
Could there be a middle ground between motherly exhaustion and outright absenteeism? There must be.
And then, comes the comparison game.
With the mothers more relaxed than me.
Their kids scamper up the 10 foot tall, hot metal slide in the blazing sun while super-chill mum checks the ‘Gram. Unworried about them falling. But why am I? Am I a control freak? Stunting my kids’s growth? Why am I so uptight? Will she catch her kid when they fall? It’s none of my business. It’s not even my kid. Am I helicopter parenting other people’s kids?
This is not what I expected to be. Gasp, Aimee. Just chill TF out.
I compare myself to the highlight reels of mothers I perceive to be better or more beautiful than me.
You know, the mothers of 8 kids on Instagram floating in floral aprons, baking sourdough in their homestead kitchen while their husband farms and their hair falls perfectly over their effortlessly toned shoulders in the sultriest of ways. How do they find the time to look so good? When did I let myself go? Why do I find it so hard to do all the things? Am I a bad wife? Should I go and put some makeup on? How does she make it look so easy? Where is my goddamn homestead?
I’m masterful at staying in my own lane in other areas. But mothering? That’s a different story.
When my daughter falls down, I’m there for her with all my tender heart…
“You feel sad. Mama’s here. You didn’t want that to happen. You’re safe. It’s ok to cry. I’ve got you.” 💞
When I fall down, I say to myself…
“What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you succeed like everyone else? Why is it taking you so long? Just get up. You’ve gotta keep going. No one’s here to save you. Suck it up.”
This double standard only recently punched me in the face. 🥊
School forced me to wade through algebra and physics, but where was self-compassion class when I needed it?
The voices in my mind lack the compassion I so easily offer others. My self-flagellation will soon stop. And, until I learn that new habit I’m so glad the voices in my daughter’s mind will be kinder than mine.
Here, as My Mama Summer unfolds, I’ll share the parts of me I’m supposed to hide—like the scathing voices in my head—so you won’t have to hide them too. I’ll invite you to look at the tools, people, modalities, and books I’m using to:
Be kinder with myself - by exploring self-compassion, self-inquiry, self-worth, and more
Slow down - by exploring digital minimalism
Be more mindful - by exploring solitude and meditation
Infusing more intention into my days - by remembering what lights me up, what’s good for me, and what I love
Build a business without burning out - by implementing systems, automation, organisation, and outsourcing
I’m redesigning what works for me in life. I write this away from social media because it doesn’t feel good for me to spend time there any more. I’m done with squandering time and am all for living, creating, and consuming with intention.
In my mind I imagine you carving out time to read my writing. Sitting in a cosy spot with yourself, a delicious cookie, and a chai. Savouring the words and pondering them, rather than swipe, swipe, swiping from one story to another in an unconscious frenzy. 📱
I’ve found that only results in my inhabiting a mindscape contaminated by:
My perceptions of how other people think I should be,
What other people think I should do,
Masculine business strategies that feed hustle and my perfectionism,
Stories I make up that aren’t based on reality
As a millennial mother and online business owner, social media has played a massive part in that. And now it’s time to shake things up. 🫨 I don’t want to feel like everyone else has their shit together and I don’t. So I’m not feeding that wolf any more. 🐺
I’m done with disconnection, masks, and the new norm of families who are never together. I long for the opposite. And I know you do too.
Thousands of women have experienced what I am. Maybe they’ve never shared that. But I am. Because I’m done with the separation of the digital mothering age.
How does it look to embrace a slow motherhood in a fast-paced world?
We’re about to find out, together.
Aimee
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