I Redefined What Motherhood Meant To Me

** Trigger warning: suicide attempt

The title does not reflect the love I have for my daughters. I never hated my kids.

I thought I did. I resented them and blamed them.

I love them unconditionally, respect them, care for them, I am emotionally available when they need me, and I support their truths.

It's the role of motherhood that I have struggled to embody, enjoy, or embrace like we are "supposed" to.

Society teaches us that motherhood is beautiful.

All women have an innate need and yearning to become mothers.

All women have the natural ability to embody the role of a mother.

If we do become mothers, expressing discontent is taboo. Mothers are shamed and judged for being human and feeling real emotions in the face of their role, and told that we should've never become mothers.

Being a mom went against my identity, my nervous system, and my needs, but I always prioritized their needs, the way my parents never had.

Well, I agree. The role of the typical mother does not fit me, my nervous system, personality, or innate needs.

So I changed how I embodied the role.

I changed how I defined it.

I am not a mother.

I am a human guiding other humans through life.

How I feel about the typical role of a mother

I do not enjoy being a mother and what it demands from me.

Being endlessly available, selfless, boundary-less, needless, and having a distorted sense of expectations and self-image hanging over me, is not for me.

I do not enjoy the early mornings, the sleepless nights, the needing my attention all the time, needing emotional attention all the time, and the unrealistic standard of perfection.

The role of motherhood replaced my humanity and individuality. I completely lost myself.

Maybe my perception and feelings about motherhood stem from my personality, my nervous system needs, my need for freedom as a Sagittarius, or trauma responses from the emotional neglect and narcissistic abuse in childhood.

Motherhood wasn't for me. I hated it.

Why I became a mother

When I look back at my choices for having babies, I realize it wasn't a dream of mine to be a mother.

I remember when I was thirteen years old, expressing to my mom that I never wanted babies.

Then I fell head over heels in love with my first love.

He had a one-night stand with a girl, and she became pregnant. Through the struggles with coparenting and visitations, I spent a lot of time taking care of her while he worked. I became jealous that this girl had a part of him. I wanted that too. I wanted a part of him, too.

Our relationship was rocky, and I thought that maybe, if we created a life together, it would strengthen our bond. It didn't.

Though the role grew in resentment over the years, I still found myself protective of the innocent life, and the conflict that arose from that need to protect ended our relationship.

In my next relationship, it was the opposite. He was jealous that I had a baby with another man and wanted his own baby with me.

At the time, I thought why not. Not because I wanted a second baby but because this man was safe, grounded, and present. He was an amazing step-dad to my first daughter.

Three years later, I left him. I had my own struggles with mental health, and before I had the capacity to take accountability or understand what was happening to me, I pointed the finger outwards, at him.

I became a single mom.

Sometimes, I wonder if I hadn't faced parenthood alone, I would feel less burdened by the role.

The myth of the natural mother

The belief that all women are natural mothers is a misconception. Just like not all women can or enjoy cooking or cleaning.

The enjoyment of being a parent is not gender-based, in my opinion.

The world will sell you on the lie that motherhood is rewarding, joyful, instinctive, fulfilling and the best thing that will happen to you.

What if they showed you commercials or spoke about all the stressful parts of motherhood? Would you still choose to become one?

I think a lot of us mothers, if we truly knew what to expect, would choose differently.

These false beliefs about motherhood made me feel like a bad mom. I wasn't doing it right. And the guilt consumed me.

My experience as a single mom

I didn't have role models when it came to being a parent. My experience as a child left deep emotional wounds.

I was faced with the responsibility of giving my children the very things my inner child never received. I think that part of me lacked the emotional skills and harboured resentment towards the people who demanded something I was yearning for myself.

I found it very difficult to give from an empty place.

I resented my children for needing so much from me. For years, I couldn't wait for them to grow up and have some independence.

I was torn between regretting my choices and the responsibility of the role.

It was confusing. I love and want to protect them, but wish they didn't need so much from me. Providing and nurturing don't come easy, but in real times of need, it shows up naturally.

What helped me get through was realizing that these tiny humans had never asked to be born. They were pulled into this world with no skills, no wisdom, and no tools. They depended on me to survive.

I wish I loved it, but I don't. It's overstimulating, annoying, and never ending.

I felt guilty for my truth. They deserved better than me.

With time, I learned that despite being a mother, I was human too. I was allowed to set boundaries, make time for self-care and regulation, and say no.

Throughout their lives, I have made plenty of mistakes. It wasn't anything to be ashamed of. I was a human still learning and still growing.

On a difficult night, I was facing an emotional wound triggered by a relationship, and I wanted to end the pain. I left my house while they slept soundly and walked towards the busiest road. As I turned onto the road, I watched the cars pass by rapidly. I watched, but my feet kept walking on the sidewalk. I cried, and my mind kept showing my daughters' smiling faces. I cried even more, out of guilt and sadness. I made it to the end of the road and felt relief. My daughters needed me, and I couldn't leave them behind.

I chose to live for them, and eventually I chose to heal for them.

But I also couldn't be a mother. Not the way I was meant to be. Not the way they needed.

How I learned to mother in a way that worked for me

The more I tried to embody the role of the mother, the more I failed.

I fantasized about what my life would have looked like without them. I may not even be here today if I didn't have them.

When I started healing myself and reparenting my own inner child, something shifted.

I stopped trying to be a mother and allowed myself to be human.

And I treated them the same: humans.

When I shifted my perspective, I stopped mothering from my wounds, fear of being trapped or restricted, and my identity returned.

I wasn't just a mom. I was Michelle, a human guiding humans.

This perspective allowed me to access my compassion, patience and be present.

I also became a healthier mother in their eyes. The mother they needed.

I became a better mother when I stopped trying to be one.

Validating my truth gave me the safe space to redefine my role in their lives.

Cost of pretending vs freedom of truth

For a long time, I hid my truth. I spoke of it to no one. I was ashamed of it. So I wore the mask of motherhood.

When people asked, I lied. When people praised me, I smiled. When people asked me about motherhood, I gave them the quick, digestible answer.

Not the taboo one. Not the one that would give them the look of pity as they look at my children, or the look of disgust at my truth.

Pretending to be the right kind of mom burdened me. I sucked at it. I was hurting my kids.

Only in accepting my truth could I parent from an honest place. Removing the mask was liberating.

Gone were the expectations, the rules, the standards, and the illusions.

When my girls got older, I didn't hide my truth. I normalized my truth, not looking the same as the status quo.

Honouring my truth helped me step out of the typical role and find a way to mother that worked for me.

What motherhood looks like for me

To be the mother they needed, I had to shift how I defined my role.

As a child, I was raised by narcissists with unhealed trauma, an inability to emotionally connect, and a distorted belief about mutual respect.

They kept us alive.

They were the adults, and we were the children. My way or the highway mindsets.

I wasn't taught emotional regulation, mutual boundaries, grounded communication, freedom of expression or of choice.

Our lives were aligned to their needs, their choices, and their goals. One word or glance out of place, one sign of disrespect and punishment ensued.

When I was old enough and out of the house, their role ended. I was on my own and expected to figure it out. I didn't have support or a safety net.

All I knew was what I had witnessed.

1. Dictatorship and toxic authority

2. The neglected child lens

Whether I was competing for my attention or pulling a "Matilda" moment.

Breaking the cycles of parental abuse and neglect meant stepping out of the role altogether.

Mother and child became human and human.

Both guiding and teaching each other. Both, growing together.

I wasn't superior because I was the parent or adult, and they weren't superior because they were children.

We both had needs, and we learned to respect each other's needs.

We were equals.

This perspective allowed me to heal the resentment, anger, burnout, toxic mindsets, narcissism, guilt, overgiving and the fears. It helped me be more compassionate, understanding, patient, and supportive. It helped me detach from obligation and embody the role of the guide.

For example, as a human first, I can recognize the importance of freedom of choice, learning by making mistakes, and expressing one's truths even if I don't agree.

As a mother, I feel the need to control, distance, limit, punish, and assert dominance, but as a human, I can listen, support, reassure, and accept their truths even when I don't like it. As a human, I can recognize time spent together as a connection instead of an obligation.

Treating them as humans first freed me from the role of the mother. When I give to my girls, it's not out of responsibility, but unconditional love and choice.

They may not have a typical mother, but they gained a friend, a sister, a guide, an advocate, a warrior, and a protector.

They gained the human part of me that couldn't exist within the role of motherhood.

And I gained freedom from judgments, doubt, a sense of failure, or the guilt of my kids deserving better.

Now they get presence, unconditional love, acceptance, freedom to learn, individuality, support, care, truth, awareness, emotional connection and space to become their true Selves.

They may not have a "mom", but they get so much more than that.

A word from my 16-year-old daughter

"When you tried to embody the mother role, it was distorted and filled with trauma. I felt like I didn't have the mother I needed. Now, I feel like I do."

After stepping out of the motherhood role, from my perspective, I became the mother they needed, from theirs.

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