BRUTALLY BEAUTIFUL
Tears streamed down my face as I bounced, swayed and swivelled my hips. As desperation set in, I reverted to my default - cradling his head and doing unsustainable bicep curls, all while shooshing and humming, then chanting mantras which inevitably became Twinkle Twinkle. My already ruminating, sleep deprived mind that was swirling with sleep cycles, developmental milestones and how many layers he should be wearing had turned to whether my melody (or lack of it) could be the reason why he wouldn’t sleep.
This is the sleep dance. Its rhythm is ancient, and it feels natural and instinctual. It is also relentless, and when it doesn’t work, devastating. It is in this ritual, which is repeated many times a day, that for me, has embodied the melancholy of early motherhood.
Most times, the soft snoring comes and every time, relief washes over me. When he wakes, his smiling face greets me and unparalleled joy washes over me.
I thought I was prepared for this indescribable rollercoaster of motherhood. The ride yo-yos you up and down without any finesse during those first twelve weeks, leaving you giddy as you desperately try to acclimatise. Everything feels near impossible, and the slow days are made up of incredible mundane moments that are both brutal and beautiful… Each one is accompanied by the question of how: How do I do this? How do I get there? How often? How long? How come? How the hell do the other 2 billion mothers out there do this?
It’s fucking hard.
The exasperation I feel isn’t at him. It is at my own desperation, default thinking that I come first, lack of perseverance and patience, and constant worry that I’m doing something wrong. Google has no lack of unrealistic, conflicting advice but comes up short every time on true wisdom, understanding and a warm hug. Why didn’t the resilience training I received during my career better prepare me for this?!
Becoming a mum breaks down who you thought you were and at the same time, the transition cracks you open. It’s raw and wild, smashing you on the unfamiliar shoreline of parenthood with a pummelling that leaves your self-indulging behaviours exposed to the harsh elements. It feels relentless and unforgiving. Life is no longer even keel (for those lucky enough to experience this equilibrium) but rather a rolling sea that fluctuates on the hour, every hour.
Every mum at this stage or those who’ve recently survived it, know very well what I am talking about. For those who haven’t been through the transition though, it’s hard to understand. For those where these early days are a distant memory, the hard moments have been magically erased and all that’s left is nostalgic revelry.
What magnifies the beautiful brutality of the transition is that mothers are left holding their babies behind closed doors. All. Day. Long. The connected neighbourhoods, supportive communities and availability of friends and family to slow down their fast-paced lives, that society demands of them, is not there. Sure, we can meet up with other mums at the local café but in the early days, how the hell do you leave the house?!
I was imagining my birth and thereafter to be a golden lit transcendent experience of bliss and flow that came from my embodied, all knowing, intuition. I would be a goddess, floating around with my Aquarian son. I now understand that my white privileged Northern Rivers perspective was naïve. It reflected how much I needed to let go of my old self that prioritised..me. A rite of passage of any kind is challenging but a woman becoming a mother stretches and forces you to grow in ways you can’t grasp until you are in the grips of it, and it isn’t easy or glorious like it’s depicted on Instagram.
In the few short months of ‘becoming’, I have struggled, I have cried and I have hoped desperately for a leave pass or an off button. Lost in a blurred world of sleep deprivation, fluctuating hormones, aching body parts, loneliness, countless moments of being completely out of my depth and scrutinising my every decision, it has felt huge and overwhelming.
But to leave it there, would be leaving the story half finished...
I have never felt more fulfilled, joyous, contented and pulled into the present. I wake each morning with anticipation and longing to see my little boy’s clear eyes and big gummy smile, knowing that I am everything to him. I feel strong, I feel soft, I feel boundless love and I feel enormous privilege to be bestowed with the duty to keep him alive and help him grow. These few short months have birthed an infinite capacity for my heart to swell and for groundswells of emotion to overcome me. I now understand what Rumi means when he says:
A love so vast,
Love the sky cannot contain.
How does all this fit inside my heart?
I know that life will never be like it once was. My course has shifted and with that, I am letting go of my old life, ways of doing things and self. It is a process and daily practise of reminding myself it isn’t about me. It can feel like my world has shrunk. But it hasn’t. It is expanding as I grow into this role and way of being. This is the work – the all important inner work - to be better. The brutally beautiful lessons of life are being channelled through this journey of motherhood… and the reward is so worth it.
Written by Jasmin Daly