I had a meltdown last week. It was raw and it was real. The tidal wave of motherhood swamped me in a wicked concoction of incessant crying, a growing pile of dirty washing and a seemingly endless accumulation of unfinished household chores. It was fearsome and debilitating. It came out of me in one short shrill shriek that surprised both Morris and me. The baby was neither here nor there about it. Then I cried and I felt worse. Stupid. Silly.
Luckily my calm, supportive, saner best friend and husband came to support me, bundled me up for a great big bear hug and debrief. The feelings and words of mother guilt, overtiredness and helplessness poured out in one overwhelming gush. It felt good to explain myself out loud, soothing. We talked and talked about the burden of expectations that we demand of ourselves and those others put upon us, weighing heavy on how we parent and driving our actions. It was soul searching and a reality check. Now, although there is still a little mist lingering in the air, I can see a clearer path forward. I have placed perhaps too much expectation on myself, it can’t all be achieved, at least not at this stage. I’m beginning to be okay with that.
I expect many more of these jolts along the way. They are normal. As long as open communication is maintained it will be easy to pass through them.