I don’t want to be melodramatic and say that the summer holidays last year broke me, but at some point between August begrudgingly giving way to September but before the schools blessedly reopened, I did find myself half laughing, half sobbing to Rob that “people used to listen to me, people used to respect me’” in a pathetic self pitying whimper. Children listened to me at least some of the time because I was their teacher and adults used to pretend to be interested in what I was saying in meetings. What I did used to matter, and there’s no getting away from the fact that motherhood, while the most important job I’ll ever have, is a humbling tour de force of just how much you are no longer your own person. Now no one even pretends to give a single solitary shit about what I say. It’s hard to keep a sense of your self worth when you’ve spent the best part of the last seven years quite literally unsuccessfully begging two small children to do anything.
I started writing notes on my phone about other “parenting” things and it turned into a cathartic brain vomit of whinging. This started as a single bullet-point and it’s evolved into a self indulgent greatest hits of all the ways I feel sorry for myself since becoming a mum. I’ve been thinking a lot about the totally new identity you’re thrust into as a mum. It starts when you’re pregnant and kicks into a different gear once baby’s here. Suddenly that’s the first and sometimes the only thing that people notice about you. The fact that you’re a mum. The ‘you’ that you were ceases to be, or at least that’s what it feels like. And that takes some adjustment because when you try to position yourself as not ‘just a mum’ there’s a really oppressive sense of guilt that you’re somehow saying that this isn’t “enough” for you. Or you’re ungrateful. Or any of the other horrible things we feel about ourselves when addled by hormones and tiredness.
Having children changes your entire life, and even if you’re ready for it, even if its the thing you want most in the world, it is almost impossible to get your head around just how entirely your life will change.
Everything you do now has to be weighed in a big set of parent guilt scales, especially as a the ‘default parent’. At the same time as I had our first daughter, I’d just given up full time teaching as my ulcerative colitis was at a real aggressive peak and I was really struggling to keep it together. So I had three things to reconcile simultaneously; Rob was professionally absolutely flying, I had a new small human to look after and I’d given up a vocation that I loved. I didn’t realise how much being a teacher was part of who I was until I wasn’t one anymore. Until the only things I really had to speak about was what Rob was doing or how the baby was. If I’m totally and embarrassingly honest, teaching made me feel important and suddenly that wasn’t there anymore and I felt like I didn’t have anything to bring to the table. Obviously it was a lovely and very privileged position to be in, Rob was doing so well professionally that I was able to focus on getting better and looking after our baby, and realistically it didn’t make sense for me to rush back to a job that had aggravated my disease at a time when I really needed to be healthy.
Now that’s all well and good, but being the permanent default parent is a proper head fuck for want of a more eloquent phrase.
When you’re the default parent there’s a real dichotomy of being the most responsible and grown up you’ve been whilst also effectively regressing to almost the point of being a child yourself. Like a child you’ve got near enough zero personal freedom again as everything you do now has to be negotiated in relation to the small tyrant you’ve just birthed. Everything you need, or heaven forbid want, to do has to now go through a rigmorale of planning, and asking people to help, making sure the baby is looked after and everyone has what they need. That’s 100 x worse if you’re breastfeeding as well. I’m 38 years old and I still have to ask my mum when I want to go out. It’s very hard to feel like a grown up when you’re also trying to sweet talk your mum into letting you go to the pub.
I appreciate that this happens to an extent for both parents, both your lives change massively after a baby. But, and this took me ages to put my finger on, for the non-default parent there’s the assumption that you’re free unless you’ve specifally been ‘booked in’ to be on solo children duty. If you’re the parent who’s leaving the house to go to work, then the majority of your time is essentially ‘non-baby’ unless you plan otherwise. And that bleeds almost imperceptibly into not just work time, but all the time. Whereas when you’re the one who’s at home most of the time, the assumption is that I’m in charge of them unless I’ve specifically booked that off. That assumption of freedom is a really subtle difference between the parents, and its not one I was warned about anywhere but honestly, I think that’s what I’ve struggled with the most since becoming a mum. The now years long assumption that I’m always in charge. And it’s a hard one to push back against without sounding really spoilt because of course the other parent needs to work. They’re providing for you all. Of course they need to work. But you’re working too. It just doesn’t come with a payslip or office hours that necessitate you being allowed to leave the house guilt free.
I think that assumption came about primarily because I wasn’t working, so of course I’m going to be the default parent, however I can see it mirrored with friends who are back at work, and that assumption of responsibility is really hard to shake. You feel like you have to have a “good reason” for wanting to do something; just having some time isn’t good enough or that’s what it feels like at least. So you end up almost asking permission or trying to justify why you need that time.
And it doesn’t stop! Sure it gets easier as they get older as they go to pre-school/school etc and you start to claim back parcels of ‘guilt free’ time but ultimately once you have a child your life is now subject to their timetables and needs. Yours will always come second. Much more so if you’re the default parent. Being brutally honest, I struggled with that, I still do. And those instagram posts where you’re told to ‘cherish the sleepless nights because there’s only 183722374628 of them before they’re at school’ or ‘one day they’ll wake you up at 2am for a cuddle for the last time’ and other emotional blackmail DOES. NOT. HELP. All it does is make people feel bad that they’re not enjoying something ‘enough’. That they’re ungrateful, that they’re somehow doing it wrong, because you know what, not every moment is a moment to cherish. A lot of moments can get in the bin. You feel bad for wishing time away, but some of that time is shit and you don’t have to love it all to love your child.
The loss of a work role really magnified that feeling. Everything for the majority of your life, right from childhood has always centred around ‘what do you want to be when you’re older’ and so much of our formative years are focused on that journey to achieving ‘something’. The grades you get, what university you’re going to, what job you’re doing, how far you’ve progressed, the hustle, and its a real mental shift to go ‘oh I’m a mum’ and not feel the need to justify what feels like the premature ending of that sentence. There’s no head of department or team manager mum roles. No one’s giving out bonuses or awards. You’re a mum. Period.
Teaching wasn’t just a job, it was a vocation, it was part of me. And I always had something to say in conversations, whether that was interesting to other people or not is another matter, but it’s a different feeling when someone asks what you’ve been up to and realistically all you’ve achieved that week is 9 loads of washing and successfully remembering which days they were meant to be in PE kit. It doesn’t feel like you’re bringing much to the table. I mean, how long can you still say ‘I’m a teacher’ if you’ve not done it in years? I can’t quite put a name to the feeling of being asked about your husbands career instead of your own, even if that’s a decision that was medically necessary and made the most sense for your family. I know I don’t need to justify myself to anyone else but there’s a lingering sense of embarrassment that I can’t shake when I say I’m a stay at home mum.
Because of all the above, I’ve maintained an almost constant eye on job adverts for schools around me, with the vague idea that if a job came up somewhere I really wanted to work, with hours that would suit both my health and the girls, I would go for it. And then one did. So I went for it. I knew i’d be a bit rusty as it’s been almost 7 years since I’ve taught properly but I don’t think anything prepared me for what actually happened. I didn’t fully appreciate how much I relied on that little nostalgic safe space in my head, my own personal motherhood panic room, where if I feel myself losing the plot, I could repeat my little mantra that “I can always teach, I can always go back to teaching”. I have good references and without being immodest I was a good teacher. I know wasn’t the best teacher out there because I worked with some of the very best teachers and people I’ve ever known and I’m realistic about my own abilities but I was a good teacher, and most importantly I really cared about the kids I taught.
I didn’t realise how much I relied on the belief that I could go back whenever I wanted to until that lovely rose tinted illusion was thoroughly smashed by practically hyperventilating with nerves throughout the day and knowing I was messing it up but not being able to stop and regroup enough to sort it out. One of those times where as soon as you’ve finished your answer, you think of what you actually wanted to say which was 1000 times better than the drivel you just spouted. Teaching interviews are quite painfully drawn out so I started by teaching a lesson on a random subject to kids I’d never met whilst being observed by two teachers from the school, then I had an interview with the head of department, followed by a tour of the school with a pupil who’s going to be asked for their feedback afterwards on whether I’m a lunatic or not, and then finally rounding off with an interview with the head teacher. Now normally you hear on the day but I didn’t hear for almost a week. Just to prolong the fun for everyone. I didn’t know how much I needed the escape route of going back to teaching until I was there losing it. That old adage you don’t know what you’ve got till its gone, and what I didn’t realise I had was an almost unwavering belief that I could get a job if I wanted one, and I really really couldn’t. And if you’re one of the poor teachers that I inflicted those interviews and lesson on, then please know I can do better. I promise. That quivering nonsensical wreck you saw isn’t me, not really. Just to really add a cherry on top, I found out I didn’t get it, about three minutes before Rob phoned to tell me that they’d signed the podcast with Spotify and I felt bad raining on his parade, so I pretended to be really really excited and then went and sat on the fire escape of the gym where the girls were having their swimming lessons and had a little self pitying cry to myself.
Now I really do get that this is a very first world, and what feels like very self indulgent problem, not just because I’m obviously very fortunate to be in the position where I don’t HAVE to work if my health or circumstances don’t allow. I appreciate that it’s a real luxury. I also don’t ever take for granted how lucky I am to have the two wonderful little nutters to raise either. Not everyone who wants children can have them and I wouldn’t change having them for the world.
However as parents, especially as mums, we have got to be allowed to say that some of it is shit without feeling terrible about it. I love my children more than anything in the world, but sometimes I’m bored out of my eyeballs. Or so frustrated that I could scream expletives into the wind for a solid hour. Sometimes it can be a real mental battle to find the worth in what you’re doing in the moment.
I don’t have advice here, because I’m eight and a bit years in to this journey and I still don’t think I have it right, but what I would say is this; Feeling guilty about living your life is a futile endeavour and serves no purpose, no ones winning because you’re being horrible to yourself. No ones judging you except yourself. We’re all trying to hold ourselves to some impossible standard which I bet doesnt’ even really exist outside of someone’s smug instagram. I’ve really tried to stop berating myself for not achieving as much as someone else appears to be, and lean into where I am right now. It’s ok to go out. It’s ok to want to stay in. It’s ok to work. It’s ok to not work. It’s ok to love all the baby stuff. It’s ok to not love it and wish they were older. It’s all ok. Just remember that everyone else also thinks it’s shit sometimes, and everyone else sometimes wishes they could just leave the house without having to trigger a military operation, and absolutely every parent in the land, no matter what it looks like on instagram, is bullshitting their way through sometimes. Just like I was in that interview.
Lou Em Beckett 
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