No Regrets – the Silver Linings of Motherhood

Sophie McCorry Day - 18 May 16

Motherhood is tough – I will never argue with that. Raising a family is one of those tacit things: simple from the outside, but ripe for overwhelm on the inside. You sacrifice so much over and over again; for tantrums, tears, a body you no longer recognise, kids that quite possibly will end up loathing you, your sanity and a sense of self stripped bare.

Chances are, you’ve heard about mums worldwide raising their hands under the hashtag of #regrettingmotherhood, as featured on the Guardian last week or would-be mums reasoning their way through the bittersweet lifestyle decision that many are forced to make now on the Pool. The thing is, it isn’t just about the romanticisation vs. the sometimes disappointing reality of motherhood. It isn’t whinging or trivial, despite the enduring silly and demeaning sitcom-y label of the ‘baby blues’, either.

Many of these women who said they sometimes find themselves regretting the choice to become mothers also said that it isn’t the deep, essential role and task of bringing up their babies they bemoan. In essence, what their opinions seemed to have in common was how the pleasure of it was clouded by all of the other plates they have to spin – a topic that bounces around nearly every baby group I’ve been to in the year and a half I’ve been a mum.

But by bringing the discussion about motherhood back into the spotlight, perhaps it’s also time for a reminder of the unregrettable silver linings of being a mum, if you will. It’s toxic, this negativity that comes with focusing on the not-so-good bits – but only if you’re not careful. Because as common sense as it may seem, these are the things that make it worthwhile. The things that sometimes we have to work hard to see, and feel. And so far, they have helped. By sharing them here, I’m hoping it helps one or two of you, too.

Having kids is an excellent way to find out what actually matters, what is truly urgent, and what is worth your time. Learning to adopt this line of thinking when they’re deep in a fiery meltdown is an especially handy life skill: your hard-wired autonomic urge to fight or fly (most likely the latter. It’s what ‘Run for the Hills’ was written about. I’m not kidding. I think.) will be bound by the fact it’s your child, and you develop coping mechanisms to enable you to stay and fight the good fight. Chief amongst these is the knowledge that even toddlers can only scream at that decibel for so long – a good analogy for any hiccups in your life. Life with little ones has an uncanny ability to crystallise the permanence of things contrasted with the ‘this too shall pass/and breathe’ moments.

What’s more, children teach us that a huge percentage of what we think of constructive work researching and planning is actually useless. Embracing the present, the mess-around loveliness of daily life and the lack of control we actually have is a shortcut to happiness. As an unexpected bonus, I often find clarity in these sillier moments, because that whole sometimes-you-have-to-get-lost-to-find-yourself thing rings true when you adopt a child’s approach to learning by exploring and doing. Just watching him scramble up slides and down them triumphantly squealing is inspiring.

To be honest, in an age of anxiety, being a mum can actually be an antidote to a supposed loss of self or purpose. To explain, since having my son I have learnt to trust myself and my natural hard-wired instincts rather than intellectualising or dithering. Rocky and challenging times help determine who you are, and define not just what you achieve, but how you grapple with the battles thrown your way.

Then there’s realising you will be superannuated works magic equally on both your abilities to organise and be efficient as you are greedy for time with your little ones. Yes, kids think everything satellites around them, and they are kinda all absorbing; not just when they’re helpless and tiny, but when they start to express themselves and wonder at things you take for granted like the taste of homemade cinnamon buns or that the moon sometimes looks like it’s smiling.

In short, motherhood teaches you to not sweat the small stuff, because there are much nicer things to dwell on.

With motherhood has come an appreciation of slowness, quality idling time – and that some of the best things take time as well as consistent plugging away at. Watching my son doggedly try to crawl all those months ago then suddenly seeming to crack it overnight helped me be more tenacious, thinking: “if the baby can do it, I’ve got this”. On the tougher days, I remind myself that his stubbornness is inherited from me, and will translate into willpower when he’s grown.

Children are beautifully honest and frank, sometimes to a fault – especially when it comes to what they like and do not. There’s a really important freedom in not getting caught up in the ‘show and tell’ of life, or by playing tactical games. By adopting this same stoic approach to my work, I discovered my aesthetic had been simple, natural all along: everything is so much the better for taking cues from my boy’s response to broccoli.

I know that yes, there is probably hard science behind the ageing effects of having kids – once I’d stopped fooling myself that the new folds around my eyes weren’t going to go away once he slept through the night, I’ve come to accept proof of this. When pared away from the straight-back-onto-the-catwalk-in-undercrackers bullshit of Victoria’s Secret mums and their ilk, the consequences of pregnancy and birth are for most of us not pretty. Not to mention faulty waterworks. And it won’t sound at all grandly inspirational, but not being able to run (aforementioned dodgy pelvic floor) any more gave me a bit of peace via yoga; jaded skin meant I finally started taking care of it and practising the French woman’s mantra of skincare first, make-up last – if at all. Not all bad trades.

Of course, the big one is the pristine, unerring, beyond-you-love you feel towards your children. Doesn’t matter that they nearly took as many hours to bring into the world than it takes to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. Doesn’t matter that they vomit, coldly, all over you at three in the morning. Or that they rail against you and tell you they hate you because that’s easier to articulate than the irritation that comes with keeping them safe/healthy/happy in the long run. The best bit is hidden in plain sight all around and within us, so that sometimes you have to remind yourself over and over: “this is it, this is it”.

Sophie McCorry Day

Sophie McCorry Day is a writer, illustrator and blogger. Recently founding art of life meets design goodness and wellbeing blog Amotherstory.co.uk as a companion to her work, Sophie is an advocate of mental health for mothers and the benefits of slow living. She lives with her husband, one-and-a-half year old son Tennessee and mad cat Jagger in Rochester, Kent.

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