I had my first child when I was 33 years old. I was one of the last in my group of ten close girlfriends to become a mom. These are women that I grew up with; we laughed our way through high school together, visited each other at college, and — of course — still keep in touch daily via group chat. The group chat has been nothing short of a virtual lifeline for our friendship as many of us have since moved across the country and overseas.
When I gave birth to my son, their children ranged in age from 2 months old to 12 years old. By the time I joined the parenthood crew, the group chat was already well on its way to becoming a sanctuary for tackling motherhood together.
Once we were all in the “leaky boobs/toddler melt-downs/school drop off” phase of life, it became easier to open up about the very *ahem* specific struggles that come along with motherhood. There’s something special about your closest friends that makes it less scary to talk about vaginal tearing and clogged milk ducts. And, thankfully, once you do share your worries and fears, you learn that you’re not alone. Not at all. Suddenly, you have tried-and-true tips for preventing mastitis and easing the pain of clogged ducts and, as it turns out, everybody cries looking at their swollen vagina or C-section scar for the first time after birth.
I have confided in these girls about my deepest sources of shame. Things like intrusive thoughts and postpartum rage that – wouldn’t you know – many of them have also struggled with. Sharing our intrusive thoughts with each other made them almost comical. (I always thought I would trip and somehow fling my newborn up and over the balcony railing of our fourth floor apartment.) Laughing at the darkness and absurdity of intrusive thoughts helped make them feel less heavy. And as we laughed, we slowly took back the power they had over us.
Something I didn’t expect when becoming a mom was how inherently different it was to becoming a dad. I was under the false impression that my partner and I were both becoming parents and would be tackling parenthood together. And while that becomes somewhat more true as time goes on, becoming a mother and becoming a father are two wildly different experiences.
I resented the hell out of my partner for months after giving birth because of those differences. As hard as he tried, he just couldn’t comprehend what postpartum was like for me: learning how to breastfeed, healing from birth, the constant and overwhelming anxiety about every little rash or strange breath.
I had no idea how infuriating the seemingly loving question “how can I help?” would be when there was a sink full of bottles, a full diaper pail, and an empty fridge. But you know who could understand all of those anxieties and the occasional stress of a partner who doesn’t always ‘get it’? Yup, mom friends. In moments of peak exasperation, we vented our frustration about spouses with an inability to see the things that need to be done around the house. And we shared podcasts, articles, and personal tips on how to talk to our husbands about these things. By confiding in them, I felt less alone. I felt seen, heard, and understood in a way only other moms can make you feel. And once that burden felt lighter, it helped me let go of resentment so I could use their advice to talk to my partner about things like the shared mental load of parenthood.
They say it takes a village to raise a child. Every mother knows this old adage to be true. Motherhood is exhausting. It’s mentally and physically draining. It’s hard on your body, your mental health, and your relationship. So while, ideally, we would all live in adorable villages with a squadron of mothers, fathers, grandparents, aunts and uncles, ready to help at a moment’s notice, that’s not a reality for many like myself. But the good news? Your village doesn’t have to be nearby. A virtual village, whether your oldest friends or a ‘New Moms’ Facebook group, is still capable of providing the wisdom of the moms who came before us and the emotional support that is vital to surviving this crazy journey.
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Danielle Owen
Author