I've always wanted to have children. It's been something I've always wanted for myself as well as part of my beliefs. Raising children is a very cultural part of our religion as well as doctrinally based. "No other success can compensate for failure in the hom." "Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children." It was more than common to hear young women proclaim, "I just want to be a mom when I grow up." This background wasn't something I necessarily "bought into," but was definitely influential.

As a newly engaged couple, my fiance and I spoke often about expectations of our new life together. We wanted to raise my children meaning we would not outsource any care, and I would be the parent home doing that. We discussed familial roles, what we wanted and what we didn't want our future children taught. Several years later we began implementing our plan. I was pregnant after trying for some time. I planned to work that summer, and then focus on building a home for our blossoming family. Our son was born the following January.

Then the shame hit. Motherhood was so much more difficult than I ever thought it would be. My child came first, not my ambitions, dreams, career opportunities -- my child. Don't misunderstand me. I loved and love my children. My love for them made giving those things up easier but also enhanced my shame.  I wasn't effortlessly a good mom.  I had to think about why I was doing what I was doing. Am I demeaning myself to think changing diapers isn't a worthy cause? I wanted to do MY thing and someone else's needs were more important, everyone else was more important suddenly. I felt like I was constantly put in the shadows of my own life.

Then the women came, peers, other young mothers. What was difficult was now a competition. Some mothers chose to prove their "good momness" by dressing their child very well, others used therapies, grades, accomplishments, playdates having the right vacations or toys, for some it was the number of children you had, for others it was being a mother and a career woman, on and on the proof of what I was not was staggering. Children's abilities became extensions of a good mother or of a bad one. Anything and everything could be twisted into shame. Not only did these young mothers use it against each other, but against their own mothers. "I'm a good mother by doing X  or by not doing Y like MY mother did."

Five children and 10 years later my shame only grew. I could set aside the societal competition, but within my brain I beat myself up. "I have an idea of what I'm doing with these children I adore so much, but I don't always follow it." "I get angry and frustrated." "I've used all the methods I didn't want to use, and still can't seem to get it right." "I still have dreams, ambitions and wants." "I still feel like their wants and needs are more important than my own." "There are so many measurements I'm not fitting any of them." "My children deserve so much more than I can offer them." "My idea of what a mom is, is not me." "I must be doing something wrong for it to be this hard." The thoughts in my head were a perfect soil for shame to grow. 

My idea of whatever a "good mom" is has done nothing but hurt in an incomprehensible comparison. "If I were a better mom than I wouldn't feel this way." Shaming myself never made me a better mother. In fact it has only made me loathe myself more. I have had to delete what a "good mom" means and redefine with love. Motherhood is human. Motherhood is being willing. Motherhood is compassion. 

The time has come for every woman, mother, daughter, and grandmother to step out of the shame. Motherhood is complex. It's full of disappointments, capacities and incalculable joy. If you are ready to fight the shame, message me for a free life coaching session. 

I've spent much of my time in resentment. It's a dangerous emotion, and yet an emotion that is so common and relevant for our day. Most people have heard the saying "do the right thing for the right reasons." And yet the saying "fake it until you make it" is just as prevalent. Somewhere between these two proverbs lies resentment. It's doing the right thing for the wrong reason, and most often holding that right thing against the for whom person you did it. 

My relationship with resentment came to my knowledge when I realized I have a people pleasing problem. I want people to like me-- and well I'm awesome so why not? But I've found as I offer and others accept, there can become a tendency for other to take advantage. This is where my resentment blossomed. 

Resentment feels justified 1) because you're doing something good 2) so you can use it as proof about how good you are or how bad they are. 

When I was pregnant, my husband promised me that when night feedings came he would get up and change the baby and then hand baby to me for feeding before going to back to sleep. The first night in the hospital I was stiff and sore and sure enough at 1 am the baby was hungry and crying. I tried to wake my husband as he slept on a poor excuse for a couch-- let alone a bed-- but he didn't hear. And we wouldn't hear it for the next 11 years as more babies came and a year of nursing followed. 

I felt it though, not just in the soreness of my body, but like hot coals in my soul. In the dead of night I would feed the coals as he slept soundly and I, I alone, would care for OUR baby. He was taking advantage of me, and my obligation as a woman. But I was going to still be a good wife and mother.

I didn't think he knew. He was asleep of course so how could he feel the waves of resentment poor off of me while he was unconscious. But he did. Resentment grows. Maybe not an all-out forest fire, but just enough to char the insides of your heart and if not caught soon enough will wither your soul to a hollow shell of a person. 

The journey to recovery for me started by recognizing the very thing you give has to be given in love. I wasn't able to love my husband when I nursed my baby, but I could love my baby. I found gratitude in being the only one who could provide nourishment. How could I be resentful when my nourishment was a gift only I could give? It was so special that my husband couldn't be part of it. Nightly feedings became sacred. Our time. Mom and baby. While not every feeding was joyful tears rolling down my cheeks-- I felt the resentment wither and die. What use to be a resentful chore was now special for a limited time.  

By the time we had our 5th child, time was up and I was going to soak up what I could. All those nights resenting didn't do anything but hurt me and the relationship I was "nurturing." Since then I notice resentment more often, in little things, like dinner, laundry and even playing chauffeur. I've seen it rear it's head with family obligations, church callings and even getting together with friends. 

I've decided to not let resentment take hold. I'm still in a battle with it, but when I feel it begin to prickle. I stop. It would be better for me and "others" to not. If I cannot be sincere in my offerings, I am not sincere. If I am not sincere, I am not myself. I am pretending. No one wants to go through life pretending; if the story isn't real neither is the point of the journey. 

I'm not suggesting that my husband couldn't have woken up, changed the baby and handed him to me. He probably could have. The difference was the way I THOUGHT about what I was doing and why he was doing what he was doing. Resentment comes from the way we think. I had to change the way I thought to change ME. Then it seemed like everything was different.

If you find yourself wanting help to change resentment direct message me for a free life coaching session.