Happy Momma

One of the most important things I’ve learned since becoming a mom is that it is essential to look out for your own happiness. Everyone is always going to be expecting something from you. You are going to feel guilty. You are going to feel busy. You are going to be worried that you’re going to miss out on something. But I promise you, nothing is as important as learning to take care of yourself.

I first became a mom at the age of twenty-four. This seems to be a reasonable age, a lot of people start having kids about that time. I was in what I thought was a pretty solid marriage, with a stable job, and a large friend group all telling me that they were certain I was going to be an amazing mom. That was, until I actually became one. And then, my life became sleepless nights, cracked boobs, and tears that flew more freely than Niagara Falls.

And I told no one. I didn’t invest in anyone besides my son, and I sure as heck didn’t try to get help. I was absolutely miserable. The baby woke up every forty-five minutes, I went days without showering, and I found out that my husband was cheating on me because I was “distant.” But I told no one. I tried to push through. I thought that being miserable and exhausted was the honorable badge of motherhood that I was expected to wear, and wear with pride.

And so I did. For six months, I struggled to breastfeed, function without sleep, and smile, telling my husband how wonderful he was for taking out the trash when he was done texting his girlfriend. It was all great and perfect and storybook. Until it wasn’t. Until I woke up and realized one morning that I was never going to make it out of this alive if something didn’t change. I was going to lose myself, my mind, and any bond that I could have had with my son.

And so, I decided it was time to make a change. It was time to start putting myself first. I still remember the night I left my husband. It was scary, and traumatic, but I was finally happy. I could finally breathe. And the first time I bought formula was literally magic. It was as if the entire world had been lifted off of my shoulders. Did I miss breastfeeding? Kind of. Did I miss those morning kisses, and that ideal picture of the perfect family? Of course I did.

But what I didn’t miss was the constant fighting. The uncomfortable hugs. The cracked nipples and 24/7 crying. I could finally enjoy my son. I could finally laugh at his giggles, knowing we were safe. We could finally sing and laugh and play games, and I could actually enjoy it. The guilt that I struggled with from “giving up” on my marriage and “not trying hard enough” to breastfeed was nothing compared to the joy I got from being on my own and finally figuring out how much I enjoyed being a mom.

Looking back now, I realize that my husband was a crappy partner and I was struggling with undiagnosed post-partum depression, probably magnified by the cheating and hormones from breastfeeding. But I think that those rough six months taught me something that I wouldn’t trade for the world. It taught me that it is okay to make decisions that benefit you. It is okay to want to be happy. In fact, the happier you are as a mom, the better a mom you will be.

In our society, it is so easy to get caught up in this idea of the selfless mother and wife, the one who is back to her pre-baby weight right out of the hospital, and who never needs alone time to function. And there are a lot of beautiful and wonderful women out there who can do that, and I applaud them. But there are also a lot of us who thrive on alone time, who thrive on those small chances to breathe and those opportunities to be happy. I think that we need to be encouraging more women to seek out those moments. It is so important to take care of yourself and find ways to be happy. Because when you’re happy, you will be able to invest in your child. You will be full, so you will be able to give to your baby.

Now, my son is almost two. He’s well-adjusted at daycare, loves music, and still sleeps in my bed, mostly because he loves my pillows, I think. He video chats with his dad regularly, and gets presents from him every once in a while. I go to work, write books and articles, and then we come together at the end of the day and read stories, sing songs, and play with trucks. And, I would argue, we are both happy. Especially because my parents take him every weekend, and I get the chance to meditate, take long baths, and read smutty novels alone in my room. But you know what? When we come back together on Sunday afternoon, the smiles that we share, because I am happy and rejuvenated, melt my heart and help us make it through the week.