You know the scene that plays out in your head when you’re pregnant with your first child? That one from a picture perfect movie—and you swear it’s going to come true for you. You’re destined to be a mom, you are going to love every ounce of it and be the very best parent to your new bundle of joy.
If it sounds too good to be true, it’s because most moms out there know motherhood really doesn’t look anything like a storybook movie.
I had an incredible pregnancy with my first child and really did love the experience and process of growing a baby.
Living in Chicago at the time, as a 33-year-old fit and healthy woman, I was always walking around the city on foot. On a steamy summer day in late June I went to the doctor’s office for my 36-week checkup, and was stunned to learn that my blood pressure was super high.
This was not something I’d ever experienced and judging by the look on the nurse’s face and then my doctor rushing in, it was certainly a red flag. They proceeded to take my blood pressure a few more times. It was getting even higher at which point I was sent to the hospital and in triage within minutes.
When I look back at the experience, I think of how naive my husband and I were, thinking we’d be going home that evening. You know, just a check up and visit to the hospital to make sure mom and baby are okay—and we would be on our way.
Instead, I was poked and prodded for a couple of days and then informed I’d be delivering my baby soon. He was breech at this point, so my options were iffy for a vaginal delivery. Ultimately, I opted for the cesarean in what felt like a twilight-zone level of confusion.
How could this baby be coming so soon? I’m not ready. We’re not ready. We thought we had more time.
After being in the hospital for four days we knew the next day—July 4—was the day our baby would be born. My 6’7” husband, the gentle giant, would stay with me, uncomfortably, on the cot in the hospital room every single night. On that last night, he brought dinner from our favorite restaurant, and we sat in the fluorescent-lit room eating lasagna and balling our eyes out.
We were sad. Sad it was no longer going to be just us. And we were happy. Happy we’d have this new precious life to love that we created together. It was a juxtaposition of an entire emotion wheel roaming through our nervous systems all at once. It was a precursor of the rollercoaster of emotions to come.
That next day our little firecracker was born to Bruce Springsteen’s “Born In the USA”— which doesn’t sound like a true story for an Independence Day birthday but is! I love music and I was really nervous about the operating room since I had never been in one, and my incredible OBGYN asked if I wanted to have jams playing during my c-section.
He could see that I was having doubts about this whole process and in his calm demeanor, he intuitively knew just how to calm me down. The birth went well, and gosh was it fast. The slight tug and pull that I faintly felt, while strange, was a non-issue. The aftermath was rough though. I was very excited about our new little guy being in my hospital room every day and night, though the constant feedings and then subsequent pumping to try to force my supply to come in was exhausting. I remember a sweet nurse on day 3 telling me that I can request the baby go to the nursery that night. “Really?! I said with excitement, “no one mentioned that to me before, and I would love some sleep.”
This was the pretense to how the first few weeks were to go once we were at home. Our first few days as a brand new family, he wasn’t sleeping and it seemed the only way he was satisfied was if he were on my breast. I would feed 20-minutes on each side then pump 20-minutes each side and have maybe 30-minutes where I would be unstimulated, then back at it. We hired a lactation specialist and within a week were told he wasn’t getting enough milk and was not gaining weight so we needed to supplement.
Not that there was anything wrong with that, but a decade ago there was still this notion of pushing women to be perfect new mothers. And somehow you were imperfect if you couldn’t breastfeed exclusively. Tie this guilt in with recovering from a c-section, a husband that was back to work after 1-week, and very little sleep and it was a bit of a disaster going on in my mind.
After having my first child, there was this honeymoon phase that was exhilarating. It was so much fun to take care of this little human: our own little 5-pound burrito boy. It felt good to be so needed, so necessary and so vital to another life. We had our issues, with latching and milk supply and then weight gain problems, and of course, there were many moments I felt defeated as a new mom. I just wanted to be good at this and to love every second of it—you know, like the movies.
After a few months—and especially upon returning to work after three months of maternity leave—the monotony of daily life pressures set in. Now I was no longer just taking care of him and my house each day. I had other responsibilities and a lot of pressure to perform, earn, and be productive plus keep this baby happy and healthy.
(Yes, it was not like me to nap when he napped. Looking back on it, you know I wish I had.)
I also had to figure out how to take care of myself, which was suddenly daunting even though it didn’t used to be. It seemed like I had to give every ounce of me to everyone—leaving nothing for me. My tank was running low—and my mood and attitude showed it.
It was isolating because I didn’t believe I could share what I really felt with friends. I remember trying once to talk with a friend and the response I got was, “Aw I love my child with all my whole heart”. Ugh. Yeah, so do I. That’s not the point. I wasn’t talking about not loving my child or not being grateful to be a mom. I was talking about real feelings of resenting how motherhood—not the child himself—changed me.
I was resentful that I wasn’t me anymore. I didn’t recognize me. I didn’t feel like me. It felt like I wanted to go back to my life before—but keep the baby. I was able to operate on autopilot as a shell of myself and somewhere deep inside, I had hope that it one day would feel different. Sixteen months later—when my second son was born–I took a step back from my career to care for these two little ones.
This was a mutual decision that felt necessary. I couldn’t fathom trying to find childcare or a nanny in December at holiday time, as maternity leave was ending the second week of January. However within five months I was itching to have another role again outside of mom and wife. I had more time at that point to properly sort childcare and within three months I started in a new corporate executive role.
Being the sole caretaker for my boys those eight months was incredibly trying on my psyche. Going to work completely exhausted and commuting ten hours a week was also so difficult. It seemed like I would sleep in a stupor and wake up in survival mode. Each day I was just waiting for the day to come to a close–kids in bed, house cleaned up, emails checked–so I could finally breathe.
Some would call this postpartum depression, but it wasn’t. I’ve never been one for labels—and I saw it so much more clearly for what it was in my own experience.
I was starting to question why things felt so unfulfilling in my life. On paper it was a fantastic life that I had worked very hard to create. Historically I could easily point to a job, person, or situation that was making me unhappy. But that younger version of me had not realized that I needed to look at myself in the mirror. This is exactly where my journey to heal deep-rooted resentment began.
As I started to be honest with myself, I made a commitment that I would no longer blame anyone or anything for what I felt. My attitude toward my husband at times, and playing the martyr who does it all was not serving me nor him—and certainly not the marriage. I resented the fact my husband “got” to go to work everyday and I didn’t for those several months. I resented friends that didn’t have kids yet and the freedom they still had to work out when they wanted, go out when they wanted and still be who they wanted. I resented acquaintances that I knew through different walks of life that had children but still worked and didn’t have to take the step back.
It was never about my husband loading the dishwasher the wrong way, or the jerk on the highway that cut me off, or the egotistical dude at work that I felt demeaned by. Were all those things real? Of course. Were they annoyances? Yep. I had made the decision, though, that what I felt was mine to manage. I had a newfound awareness that what I project outward onto others negatively affects me in the long run.
It helped that I had learned to meditate a few years prior to pregnancy, and while I gave it up during those first couple years of being a new mom, I communicated with my husband about my desire to pick it back up. It was not easy to fit it in—nor was it easy to read the mindfulness books stacked on my nightstand.
I just started to choose differently. Instead of the 5:30 p.m. glass of wine to “take the edge off” I chose to be present instead. Did I feel pain? Yes. Did it feel unbearable in my mind at times? You bet. But I was able to almost see myself from the outside in and understand that I was just trying to avoid what wanted me to look it dead in the eye. Resentment.
Gathering up the courage to do the inner work on myself is the greatest gift that motherhood gave to me. My children spurred this awakening within me. It is them who gave me this realization that I needed to work on myself. They helped me see I could no longer just go through the motions in life. I was no longer willing to let myself just get by, and I was determined to thrive. The inner work was years in the making and became a daily mindful approach to life that I’ll never live without.
Overcoming resentment and transforming the negative mindset from the inside out empowered me to be whole and to show up as my best self for me and my family. It then permeated into my business life and while still a corporate executive in 2018, I began sharing my voice publicly and vulnerably. I wrote articles on LinkedIn about my personal experiences in work and life that led to numerous speaking engagements. Each time I spoke about personal growth in front of groups of people I was on fire and knew I had found my calling. I was able to take the learnings and growth from my own transformation and bring it to the corporate world to make it a better place. I ended up building a business around doing this work with companies and professionals.
I’ve been able to build a perfectly imperfect life as a mother, successful business owner doing what I love, and a happily married woman with a fulfilling lifestyle of health, love and respect for myself. It’s my mission in life to help others lead an enriched human experience.
Read more powerful essays and narratives on The Mother Chapter.
