The way my whole body softened at the idea was like liquid warmth.
“How lucky you are to be such an amazing mom, you already know how to care for yourself, the exact same way you’ve been caring for your kids.”
One of my best friends told me this after coming out of a psychedelic journey. Something had just really landed. Not just in my mind but in my body.
Instantly I could see my arms wrapped around my kids when they were so sad about their day going wrong. The way I soften my voice, stroke their hair, stay close while their world felt too big for them. The way I knew exactly how to bring their nervous system back down, how to sit with them in intensity without turning away or dismissing it.
And in that same instant, something in me cracked open.
“Oh my god…I AM a great mother” Not as a thought I had to build. As something I could finally see from the outside. “How lucky those kids are.”
There is no doubt I’ve had a million moments of questioning myself. Wondering if I’m doing it right. Feeling like I’m never doing enough.
But now I knew deep down when they were in the trenches of emotion and life circumstances, I was their rock. I knew how to be steady. I knew how to listen. I knew how to help them find their way back to themselves.
I spoken before about motherhood. I knew it was the only thing I wanted to do in life and so I chose that instead of college. I loved everything about it, pregnancy, birth, breastfeeding I was elated to figure out what miracles my body could do. So much of it truly was and is miraculous.
And I learned. I really learned. Gentle parenting. Emotional attunement. Staying present with big feelings instead of shutting them down. I wanted to do it differently than what I had known, and I did my best to build something more spacious and soft for them.
But underneath all of that I was tired. Depleted. Running on empty more often than not. Giving and giving because that’s what I thought motherhood required. Everyone before self. Martyrdom disguised as love.
I was tired but I was also disconnected from myself in it. I had close to zero attunement to myself. I didn’t even register my own needs most of the time. I was a leaking bucket, constantly pouring outward.
The hardest part in all of it was how I spoke to myself. My tone inside was critical, sharp, constant blaming and shaming, and always not good enough. My feelings were problems. Like I was a burden for having the,. So I stayed busy. I pushed through. I shut things down until I couldn’t anymore and would eventually breakdown.
Then my friend said it again, gently, like it was obvious.
“You can give that to you too.”
And something in me went still.
Oh..
I can give that to me too.
I can mother myself the same way I mother them.
I could see my own arms wrapping around myself in those moments I usually abandon. My own voice softening instead of criticizing. My own presence staying and encouraging what came up instead of leaving.
And then just as quickly came the grief. Because I didn’t get that. And also relief came because I knew I that I knew how, id been doing it all along, just for everyone else.
“Awe wow… I know how to do this.”
And it it was so soft and simple, like I was meeting myself for the first time in a language I had been speaking to others my whole life.
Now I catch it sooner. Not always, and not perfectly. But sometimes I notice:
This is a moment I would never abandon my child in and I don’t have to abandon myself here either.
It’s not easy. It takes remembering and follow through. It takes slowing down when everything in me wants to push through.
But I can say with certainty now:
Motherhood didn’t just teach me how to care for others. It showed me that I already know how to care for myself. And invited me, finally to begin.