Updated: March 14, 2017
Originally Published: April 7, 2015
In the challenging moments of motherhood, please refrain from saying, “You are not alone,” because in that instant, I feel utterly isolated, with both children sprawled on the kitchen floor wailing over a tiny red truck, their cries piercing through me like tiny needles.
Avoid telling me, “This too shall pass,” because I’m entrenched in this very moment, standing over my son who adamantly refuses to do his homework despite my desperate pleas, bribes, and coaxing. The frustration wells up inside me, and the words escaping my mouth frighten me; I sound just like the parent I vowed I would never become.
Please don’t say, “Cherish every moment,” because I’m struggling to find joy in my reality right now—my hair is a greasy mess in a haphazard ponytail as I follow my toddler, who insists on munching rice straight from the take-out container, leaving a trail of sticky grains in his wake.
And please skip the line about, “A messy house is a normal house,” because I’m not you, and when toys scatter from one end of the room to the other, I feel an overwhelming sense of anxiety and tension.
While these dark days don’t occur daily—and for that, I’m deeply thankful—when they do arise, what I crave is not advice. I don’t want sugar-coated reassurances to dull my pain. My suffering is genuine, and the cloud of despair feels heavy. I long to sit with it, to fully experience the unpleasantness of the moment before eventually moving forward.
I always encourage my kids to acknowledge their feelings: to embrace, label, and then release them. I deserve that same grace. I’m not one to frequently complain about parenting or resent being a mother, as I recognize the privilege of spending my days with my children. However, during these tough times, I need authenticity—from myself and from those around me. Unfortunately, there seems to be limited space for raw honesty. Speaking my truth often risks sounding ungrateful or whiny.
What about being human? Parents require less unsolicited advice and more genuine listening. We need to hear, “Yes, it’s tough. Yes, sometimes you are completely alone.” And please, no follow-up remarks about how you’ll miss this phase once it’s gone. We know that already.
The dark days do indeed pass, and I’m aware of this, but when I’m entrenched in them, I need the freedom to fully experience the darkness without pretense or guilt. This approach is therapeutic and ultimately healing—it’s how I transition from the shadows to the light.
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In summary, motherhood can be fraught with dark days that feel isolating and overwhelming. During these moments, the desire for authenticity and understanding surpasses the need for advice. Embracing the reality of these challenges is essential for healing and finding light again.