I could be a good Mother

but I already am a Mother

When I was younger, I didn’t necessarily crave love… I just knew I wanted to be a mother. Maybe it was an expectation I had of myself, something instilled by the church, or perhaps a bit of rebellion against the wounds of my lineage, a chance to do it all “right.” I’m not entirely sure. But in my bones, I knew I would mother. What I didn’t anticipate was that even after creating and loving four humans, I would desperately need to mother myself.

It’s a hard truth, but loving your children isn’t enough these days. Maybe it never was. This world isn’t set up for mothers. We aren’t meant to be alone, to push through, to spiral while still needing to cook dinner again, frozen pizza? Cue the chicken nuggets, add some peas to feel better.

I became a mother young. I fell in love in a whirlwind with a wizard of a young man. We barely knew each other, but coming from the evangelical world, that was permissible, and we quickly wed. We were madly in love. And yes, we were horny too. Somehow, I lucked out because, over 15 years, we’ve evolved many times, deconstructed, and still choose each other. Together, we’ve created four magical humans. And here’s my truth, one that brings tears to my eyes: I have not mothered well. Friends would argue with me here, but I know, as we all know, our deepest selves. & This is mine.

I could be a good mother… but I’m not. I love my children more than words can express. I love them like my first memory of sunlight warming my skin. I love them like the wind in my hair when I rode my bike as a little girl, feeling free. I love them with a sense of time slipping away, like water through my fingers. I love them in the quiet moments when I remember sleepless nights, learning to nurse, and those tiny hands that saw me as their goddess, their life. I love them like a poem that you revisit over and over… that’s how I love them … Sometimes.

And then, in the reality of day-to-day life, in my chronic illness and homeschooling journey, one I started long before Covid and am now questioning (I’ll write more on that later), I love them out of necessity, exhaustion, uncertainty. Sometimes, that love comes laced with annoyance. I love them while constantly worrying that I’m somehow traumatizing them. I whisper … But please, give me space. Give me a moment. Understand: I’m touched out, worn down, tired. I need a break. Do you know how exhausting it is to watch time slip by while simultaneously knowing you desperately need a pause?

I’m on my phone too much, and I know it. Many parents today know it too. I get inspired easily- I want to read, find new music, create. The internet tricks me into believing that if I’m not constantly looking, I’ll miss that big inspiration. Yet ironically, inspiration always waits outside the screen. Nature is where I find my most creative and compelling company. But even knowing this, apathy takes over. Survival mode, right? A true excuse, but one that lingers.

I could dive into my circumstances, paint a picture of my life’s triumphs and struggles, and maybe you’d sympathize. But I’m not asking for sympathy… I’m asking to be witnessed. Because, in truth, I’m apathetic, sometimes passively mean, and worst of all, I’m painfully aware of this as I navigate my motherhood journey. So, what now? What’s next?

Would it shock you to know that, after 13 years of mothering, I’m only now reaching this cathartic revelation? Probably not, if you’re a mother. We know how time bends, how it speeds up and slows down once that baby is born, until one day you wake up and ask- wait, who am I? Why do these old wounds resurface? How can I love you with my whole being and yet… and yet…and yet

That’s the truth. It’s messy, but it’s real.

That’s why I’m here. Instead of reaching for social media and losing hours to doomscrolling, I recently decided to turn to Substack. I was stalking my friend, Janet, who writes a beautiful substack, looking to see who she follows and likes… I respect her voice and thoughts on matters and just knew she would have some good follows, when I found this article- Everyone is Numbing Out by Catherine Shannon. It is a beautiful article which really struck something deep in my soul. & I was inspired to share my truth, no matter how messy. Not some curated Instagram story or a cute TikTok with a trending sound, no shade, I enjoyed Brat Summer as much as the next girl, but I want my words to be raw and honest. I began writing on a plane ride to a conference where my partner was working. He’s recently co-founded a startup, a story for another time, and we’ve been in a big season of transition. As I wrote, tears began to fall because it felt so damn freeing. And maybe no one will read this. Maybe it’s just for me. Maybe it’s just for you. And if you’re the only one, so be it. & damn that’s freeing

But all I know is this: I’m Elisa, and I could be a good mother… but I already am a good mother. I am good because I want to try. And now, I’m telling you… I’m really going to try. Trying means shifting from Mother being just a noun to embodying the verb of mothering, myself and them. I am a mother. I could be a good mother. I am a mother. I am working on being a good mother. I am… a good mother.

Onward, Elisa Marie

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