The Beautiful and the Exhausted: Story of a New, Working Mom
My 8-month-old doesn’t sleep. I don’t say this facetiously. Naps are 30 minutes at best and night wakings are every 1.5 hours. At this point it’s safe to say that this isn’t a regression or a phase.
It’s my new lifestyle.
Motherhood is still fresh for me. I’m only 34 but I had what the experts call a “geriatric pregnancy.” (Cue: hard eye roll.) I had much of my young adult life to myself. I did what I wanted when I wanted. As a freelance writer, I accepted new work constantly, without a thought, knowing I’d always find the capacity. But the old me vanished the day I saw two lines on a pregnancy test.
For the first time in my life I’m forced to face the fact that I may not be able to do it all. Finding the time and mental space to work has been challenging. My son fills my days and sometimes closing the office door feels unnatural. But other times I can’t wait to get into the office, if only to have a few moments to myself. And then of course, there are still floors to be swept and dishes to be cleaned. I find myself jumping straight from a Zoom call into Where the Wild Things Are. From “let’s circle back” to “oh god what’s in that diaper?!”
Even on the days when I checked everything off the list, I’ll inevitably remember that I forgot to change over the laundry. I think this is what therapists call “overwhelm,” and it’s handed to new mothers on Day One, alongside disposable underwear and nipple cream.
I’m not alone in this feeling. Studies show that 42 percent of working mothers have been diagnosed with anxiety and in more severe cases, depression. It’s interesting that one of the most beautiful phases of life can also be the most challenging. The mental load of working mothers is pernicious — often clouding our days.
I don’t want to look back on this time and only see the struggle and sleepless nights. I think the only way to do this is to embrace the duality of this season, this ephemeral moment in time. I must welcome the overwhelm with open, exhausted arms, knowing that these days won’t last forever. And that is both a relief and a heartache.
Here I am in the thick of it. If you’re here too then know that you aren’t alone. I’m rooting for you. I’m proud of you. You are doing so well. And for any woman who did this before me (I’m looking at you, Kate), I couldn’t have known. If I had, I would’ve come over every day to unload your dishwasher.
Speaking of…
