Sacred Rage + Motherhood

I’ll never forget the time I was in a coffee shop in Brooklyn, carrying my first son, Jack as a baby on my chest in an Ergo. I was getting a coffee and couldn’t figure out how to drink it without getting it on his head. 

(Don’t you worry, I have since mastered this delicate and important skill). 

I was dealing with sleep deprivation and really wanted that coffee but wasn’t prepared to navigate sharing my body with this little being. I was also navigating an inner dialogue of shame for needing that coffee and feared being judged by others. That fear of judgment lives deep in my bones and I have often found myself shrinking to make others comfortable. This unhealed part of me only increased once I became a mother. 

As I was fumbling around, I heard the barista say to a patron: “I have no idea, why don’t you ask her. She’s a mom, she has to know.” This was one of those moments, one of those moments that clearly defined a transformation that had happened in which I had no ritual to honor. I was dumbfounded. I had no preparation to suddenly be identified as a realized person who could answer random questions to less evolved humans needing answers. I couldn’t quite grasp the barista's response and who I was supposed to be now that I had a baby strapped to my chest. In that moment I realized that I was now a mother, which meant I had the answers to the universe but was otherwise invisible. I wasn’t prepared for that stark transition from beautiful and celebrated pregnant goddess to invisibility.

I have a well of compassion for new moms in our disconnected world. That moment is a big piece of where this compassion comes from. I felt as though I was losing my known identity in order to care for this tiny human. I was falling deeper in love with him, moment by moment. There was nuance to this transition and it was a process of grieving for me that I didn’t appreciate then and am just starting to better understand now. I was alone a lot and if I am honest, I was bored. It wasn’t due to a lack of love for my child but for the complete shift in my life that I wasn't prepared for. We are meant to raise our children with support and community yet most of us are left to go out at it alone. I say this as someone who had the privilege of an incredibly supportive partner during those precious months. Yet, I felt so isolated and alone in this new identity. I lost many friends during this time as their lives didn’t align with my new obligations and restraints as a mother. 

I know this transition is different for every mother. For me, it wasn’t the raising and caring for new life that weighed me down but rather the loss; the grief of the old me. This transition from maiden to mother was difficult and I didn’t have a space to share that. I was 5 days shy of my 35th birthday when I had Jack. I had plenty of friends with fertility issues or no partners and didn’t feel like I had any space to complain. After all, this was supposed to be the most precious time of my life. Yet, I felt hollow while also having a deep feeling of love and appreciation for my perfect son. I had no idea how to reconcile my experience in a culture that very rarely recognizes the nuances of life and would much rather put things into categories of either/or. I have been working diligently to unlearn this need to define something so vast in absolute terms. In a society of black and white thinking, I didn’t know where to stand.  This mindset deeply affected my experience as a new mother. 

It was clear I did not have postpartum depression. I have battled with anxiety and depression throughout my life and knew these symptoms well. For me, becoming a mother changed me yet I didn’t have the language to understand what was happening. At this time, I was working with dying patients and their families in hospice care. I held so much grief for others but did not have a space for my own. I felt lost and hopeless while also feeling so much joy for this little perfect person that came into my life. 

Grief has been a huge part of motherhood for me. Yet, I never heard anyone say this or speak of it. How could I honor the woman I was before becoming a mother?  How is it possible to love these tiny beings so deeply and still feel a longing in my soul for the freedom I had known before? I don’t think the transition to being a mother  has to be dark but I personally faced some deep shadows. I don’t believe that it has to be hard yet it was an incredibly difficult time for me. What does it mean to put everything aside to care for new life? Where is the support for mothers to honor this incredible transition? 

When I think of how to honor mothers and what we don’t receive to thrive, I think of the ultimate mother: MOTHER EARTH. Much like mothers of modern society, she has been neglected, drilled into and trimmed and pruned to appear more civilized to us humans. How has that served us? How has that served her? How are we as mothers supposed to love and care for this place when we are being asked to trim and prune our bodies, our spirits to conform to broken systems based on hierarchy and greed? 

A greedy world has no use for the new mother or their kids for that matter. We matter when we can produce, when we can use our children as soldiers for ridiculous fights. I am fucking tired of conforming. I am angry, I am tired and I want to rest. I know Mother Earth wants to rest too yet she is angry. We are all so tired of conforming to a broken world. We are the ones to create life just to have these systems try and dim our light, our worth and our spirit, our soul. 

I raged this week. And listen when I rage, it’s absolutely terrifying. I can see the terror on my loved ones faces. I talk about it to not let it fester in the dark. My family gets exhausted by the talking. Yet, talking is my currency and I know there is something to be said about being authentic and honest and honoring my emotions and honoring my emotions. I faced my guilt by naming the work I am doing, through sincere accountability. 

I know it comes from years and years of being told to repress my wildness, my weirdness, my tears, my heartbreak for the world. I wonder if this is how the great mother feels. She doesn’t want to rage but sometimes it's the only way to release, to bring back balance after years of repression and insincere amends. It hurts my heart deeply when I lose my shit yet I refuse to live in shame. I also know I’m not the only mother to experience this dis-empowered expression. I want to honor my rage. My rage is sacred. Our collective rage is sacred and it’s time to be heard. 

I want to know what it looks like to live in a world where empowered women are allowed to parent and love and say true things and make all kinds of mistakes without fear of judgment. How would our word heal if we were allowed to touch our shadows as a normal part of life? Could we allow ourselves to come back to the light despite the resistance and pain? I desire to look truth in the face and be fearless with my actions and my ways. As I look back on that time, I see that I was grieving. I was grieving that adventurous free spirited explorer within me that felt like it had to die in order to fill the societal expectations of motherhood. I see that the death of my maiden self was necessary in order to become the woman I am now with literal and figurative scars to demonstrate the journey I have been through. Yet, I am still able to explore, experience joy and live a full life. It's just a different radio station that I needed to learn to tune into. 

I  needed time and a lot of it to find my bearings within this new world. I wish for all mothers to receive and offer support rooted in nuance, wildness and love to one another as we continuously find and attune to our new radio stations.