A year into the journey, a Mama surrenders.....

Last weekend I celebrated my first Mother’s Day, and next week is Ardan’s first birthday. A whole year since that squirming creature emerged from the primordial muck inside me and showed me to a new horizon, vivid with a sunrise of emotions. Joy, love, wonder, frustration, disappointment, surprise, bewilderment, anger, perseverance, delight, pride. I’ve been walking towards that horizon steadily now, and feel the need to stop and look at where I’ve come from.

People tell you all the time that when you become a mother, everything changes. But the experience is so profound that words of warning are too puny to make a difference. There’s no way to tell someone what it will be like, not only because the change is too enormous, but also because it happens uniquely to each individual. How motherhood changes us depends on who we are, how we were raised, how much stability we have in our lives, whether we wanted to become a mother, and countless other factors. Not the least of which is the baby we create, since all of those are unique too.

I’ve always loved the archetypes of the three phases of womanhood—the Maiden, Mother, and Crone”. I never considered how the transition between phases might be sad, or graceless, as well as exciting and growth-producing. I became a mother the day my baby was born, or even conceived, but the “Maiden” that I was before still hung around. And I have to say, she hasn’t always been helpful. She has stood looking over my shoulder, pointing out things like, “You haven’t slept more than three hours in a row in months now,” and, “I guess evenings are not going to be the same for a looong time…if ever.” She holds the memory of life before, the life to which I can not return. Not that I want it back, either—just some parts of it. Uninterrupted conversation. Long easy baths. Sleeping in. Leaving the house in 2 minutes or less. Daily yoga practice.

Don’t get me wrong—I love being a mother more than anything I have ever done, and I am deeply grateful for the opportunity. But I struggled to accept the changes that came with motherhood. All my relationships, with friends, family, parents, and my husband, seemed to rotate suddenly on the single point of Ardan. My career ambitions evaporated for a while. The daily work I did this year was often work I don’t enjoy—laundry, cleaning, organizing—repetitive tasks that don’t require mental engagement. There was so much to process, and but my usual ways of coping (journaling, long solitary walks, sleeping well, exercise) were not always available or possible anymore.

My default coping strategy (when I am not coping well) is to become Supermartyr…able to put aside her own needs with unparalleled resentment, denying all help offered, proving her own superior ability to handle everything. I realize now that I fell into that role at home. “Look how hard I am working. Look at my back pain and my sleep deprivation. I’m the one suffering, I’m the one going through so much change, I’m the one sacrificing.” It was my mother who gently pointed this attitude out to me on her recent visit, although I had already begun to recognize it myself. Supermartyr hates when people point out her flaws.

Just as I was pulling out of that mess, a friend sent a link to Oprah’s site. Oprah had interviewed authors Amy Nobile and Trisha Ashworth during a show on motherhood. Nobile commented that we have to realize that we can never again be the person we were before we had children. “You have to reinvent yourself,” she said. It was a great relief to hear this. I think it was then that it clicked for me that if I measured my contentment the way I had before, I would not be content. The Maiden in me was always seeking, striving to become best self. The Mother becomes herself, is defined by, her responsibility for and to her children. So much of my life now is about tending my camp, and my seeking is in how to balance being mother, wife, and a person at work in my community as well as I can.

I don’t pretend I have become completely reinvented, but I am learning. I am learning to accept the work of mothering gracefully as part of what comes with the incredible blessing of having a child. I am learning how to find balance, to use resentment as a cue to ask for what I want instead of to throw guilt around. Because when you have a baby it’s not just about you anymore—that’s the other thing people tell you all the time.

Most importantly, though, I am learning to surrender. Surrender to the changes that have come, and continue to come, surrender my desire to control what cannot be controlled. Surrender to the wonder of watching this delightful little being change every day, bringing new questions and new joys. Surrender to the love of my family, to the help that they offer, even if it isn’t always offered exactly when or how I want it. Surrender to the relationships that have drifted apart, and the ones that have become so much closer. Surrender to the sick baby that needs me at night, the feisty baby that crawls away with poopy bum, the sweet baby who wants to nurse between explorations. The more I surrender, the less I resent. And the more I am able to appreciate the short years and long days of mothering.