As I lay in a steaming hot water, sensual salts warming my body and rejuvenating my sleep deprived, washed out self, my eyes felt like they were fully opened, just momentarily before the fear of full change could gain traction.

I was surrounded my a Minnie Mouse bath mat, Granddad Dogs boat floating aside of me and multiples water tunnels stuck on to the wall next to me, not to mention all the ducks, numbers, cups and balls which bathed alongside me. It was cramped and colourful. In conjunction with this kiddie-laden existence which I was literally engulfed in, I lay with a (large) glass of my favourite red vino, scented candles and reminisced about how I used to do this when and how I wanted. I wasn’t fixed to a schedule, I never had routines to adhere to, I was so called “free” to do what I wanted. Whereas now, I was somewhat bound by time.

Jump back to my new existence, kid-laden and not as “free”, I lay in the bath with my two sleeping angels tucked away in their beds, and felt full, a different sense of freedom. Free from any shackles which trapped me from wanting kids, or the cells which contained me when my fear of birth overwhelmed me. One where my hands were full of blessing, nourishment and bundles of intense beauty. My sense of freedom had shifted. 100%. My so-called “freedom” is now when they are at nursery or asleep and this freedom seems so much more precious, hard earned and of much more value and worth. It is mine. I deserve it. It’s not unlimited, it’s confined and timely, but priceless.

Navigating from my current reality to my reality of the past is something I’ve toed-and-froed with for three years! Backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards. Missing and yearning, at times, to do what I want when I want and how I want, but then the thought of forgoing this reality, never! Never ever would I give up my two angels, despite anything, for something that was fleeting, fun, frivolous and easily forgotten. It always felt like I had to have one or the other, they couldn’t co-exist. If I wasn’t 100% in mother mode, I’ve failed. But am I never 100% in work mode? No. Am I ever 100% in house mode? No. Am I ever 100% in social and relationship mode? No. So why the pressure to always be 100% in mother mode? BIG QUESTION. My narrative of motherhood is layered with pressure after pressure, to be perfect all the time, not just ordinary.

It’s so hard to have both realities living side by side and hand in hand. Intertwined. I’ve felt like I’ve had to full on switch off reality 1 for reality 2 to exist and that brought about a lot of longing for what was and somewhat, a sense of loss. Maybe life is like a game of chess, when one piece moves, it opens up space for new move. And an acceptance of this may merge all the different realities into one: because of everything which I did and achieved, of who I was and what I valued, of my choices and decisions in part 1: I am here where I am, in the perfect place I need to be in part 2.

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Published here: https://isabellaandus.com/blog/guest-blog-talya-zwiers

We all dream of perfection when thinking about motherhood: we will be perfect mums, our birth will go according to plan (like the movies) and the transition into motherhood will be bump-less because it is (supposedly) deeply ingrained into our maternal DNA. We will innately know what we need to do and will therefore, progress and mould into our new identity of shifted responsibility and perspective easily – as a part of our greater evolution as a woman. Fairytale?

I, along with many other mums, strongly felt that I would and more so, should have that natural progression. This is the pinnacle of womanhood, right? Was something wrong with me that it was so hard? Was I hard-wired differently? Was I not cut out to be a mum? Was something wrong with my baby? Hundreds of questions wafted in and out of my thinking, enhancing and concretising my self-doubt How could I be the perfect mum when it felt so heavily loaded with so many conflicting feelings and messages?

With the beauty of motherhood often comes many junctures for falling prey to constant comparisons. The urge to get sucked in to hoping for something which may not even be in realistic reach for us is silently damaging: a baby who sleeps through, breast is best, being an (unrealistic) superhuman, the easy weaner, the child who doesn’t bite, the list is endless. With so much pressure on both externalities, the fear of (self and other) unacceptance as well as the way we as mums present ourselves and our versions of motherhood, there’s a trap for failure, inadequacy and not feeling good enough. Remember it’s easy to put out the best, well-groomed, brave faced version of ourselves, when internally, you’re feeling conflicted, sleep deprived, a loss of identity and somewhat in the dark. Filters, hashtags and pretending aren’t a long-last solution. Yes, it’s often easier to depict a rose-tinted version of yourself, rather than accepting and recognising the (hard) truths which underlie.

Fast forward time, with the magic of hindsight and the help of many kind souls, I as a mum, have accepted (whole-heartedly) that it is OK not to always be OK. It’s OK to admit it’s tough with the knowledge that nothing’s wrong with you and it’s tough for everyone. It’s OK to long and mourn your old life of freedom and independence, doing what you wanted when you wanted. It’s OK to admit you need time and space without the guilt and judgement that you’re neglecting the kiddos. It’s OK to juggle and even drop the ball sometimes, as all we are, are human. Not superhuman. It’s OK to confess that motherhood is different to how you envisaged it. This is the only true way to grab the bull by its horns and embrace motherhood and the intricacies therein.

Once true self-acceptance, especially in the role of a mum, is integrated into the intertwining chapters of your life, then motherhood is awarded a new shining crown. A new dimension where you’re able to tap into a sense of truth. Truths of connections, relationships, learnings and love. One where it can boldly shine all that it has to offer, without the fear of being shun away, and falsely judged.

Being a mum requires the support from a metaphoric village. Love, care and guidance can come from anyone anywhere, when you’re open to receive it. Take a sneak peek how warming it can be. Sometimes all we need to do is drop our guard, expose ourselves and then we can experience gratitude for the support. Motherhood is just beautiful, and always just remember, it will be OK!

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