Hello my friends,
This is the first instalment of my new reflective parenting series. I share my own lessons, new and old, that have brought me to my knees and torn away everything I thought I knew, and in the process trading it for something so much richer and more expansive than I would have thought possible. You’re welcome to take what resonates with you and leave the rest, or share your own lessons and moments of epiphany. I hope we’ll become more ourselves in the process.
Narration
I turn out all the lights and close all the curtains, trying to make our 2 bedroom apartment as close to pitch black as I can. It’s what I believe I’m supposed to do, but Declan is still screaming on the other side of the living room in the swing. Everything I’ve read about infant sleep through the lens of sleep-training is whirling through my head and making me feel even more like a failure. I hear a plaintive note in his cry, and every time there’s a pause, I hold my breathe in the hope that he’s finally asleep, only to be let down when it picks back up.
I spent the whole day trying to put him down “drowsy but awake” after reading a highly-recommended sleep guide with the exact details of what to do. For his afternoon nap, I repeated this agonizing process for more than an hour. He’d finally relax, warm and safe in my arms, and I would relax with him. “Maybe this time will be different—maybe this time he’ll stay asleep” was the thought that propelled me to continue. And every single time he left my embrace, he woke up screaming. I even left the vacuum running, hoping it would provide the ambience of my womb to comfort him, but all it did was make the room stuffy and hot.
Something in me is saying that this isn’t what he wants; this isn’t even what I want. But I’m so consumed by doing what I’ve been told is the right thing that I can’t hear my own doubt over the noise. And so, unable to make him sleep outside my arms and unable to pick him up lest I create a spoiled baby, I sit frozen on the couch, slowly numbing myself to his plead for me.
It’s late in the evening and Jason finally walks through the door after finishing his shift in the Downtown Eastside. As he comes into the living room, he looks at me crying on the couch, then at Declan crying in the swing, and does his best to understand what’s happening. I start telling him that I’ve done everything right, that I spent so much time putting Declan down when he was drowsy but not fully asleep, and he just would not sleep. I cry in frustration, in shame, in exhaustion.
Jason calmly walks over to the swing and gently picks Declan up. He tells me to go lay down—he’ll hold the baby while he sleeps so that I can get some rest. I want to protest, because we can’t give in or else Declan will get his way. Instead, I go lay down, not believing I’ll be able to sleep, but am surprised to open my eyes three hours later.
Declan has slept soundly with Jason the entire time. And in this moment of quiet, without the noise of the world in my ear, something begins to stir in me.
Reflection
I tell this story quite a lot. It was in this moment that, as a new mom 6 weeks into her journey, I started to reclaim my own inner knowing and accept that what I thought motherhood would look like was definitely not what my son had in store for me. In that moment, I remember thinking that I could keep pushing harder, likely making us both more miserable as a result, or I could just do what worked in the hopes that we would figure it out together.
Even though I didn’t know what the outcome would be, I just literally said F*** it and decided to follow that first seed of intuition.
This story has played out so many times on our journey, in so many different ways. The plot is always different, the characters shift roles, and new characters have been added, but I feel like I constantly come up to this precipice where I need to decide “Am I going to push harder, or am I going to soften? Am I going to hold on to being right and not back down, or am I going to look at my children and wonder if maybe there’s a reason this isn’t working?”
There’s something that happens to me when, unsure of what the next right step is, I pause and look, really look at these little beings I’m living with. So much can happen in the span of 5 seconds when I allow myself to be present to our shared humanity: I notice the disappointment and frustration they must be feeling at the way I’m disregarding their voice; I think about how, in ten years’ time, this fight that seems so important probably won’t matter; I see that they are truly doing their best in that moment—and so am I.
There’s a lot of stories from folks who tell you not to lose yourself in your children, that you can’t let them change you or throw off the balance you had before they came into your life. I definitely understand one truth of this, in that it’s vital to always be making space for our own stories, creative outlets, and activities that give our lives meaning. Our sense of worthiness needs to be grounded from within, not anchored to our children.
But there’s another truth present, one that I began discovering in the years that have followed the sleep training debacle: we can’t help but be changed by our children. That little boy turns 6 today, and I am not the same person I was before. Our balance has been tipped off kilter, childhood wounds have surfaced that we thought we had dealt with, we do things our parents did that we told ourselves we would never do, and there’s so many growing pains—both our children’s and our own. As hard as it was, I’m starting to see that the change has also been beautiful, and I’ve become more myself through it all.
Invitation
This is a creative exercise. You can choose to do it in your head if you’d like, but I honestly believe that stories become much more integrated into our systems when we choose to work through them physically. Journalling is probably the most popular choice, but maybe painting or sketching, molding clay or even reflecting while running is something that speaks more clearly to you.
I encourage you to spend some time grounding yourself in this present moment before starting. Take five minutes to get comfortable, notice your breath, and tune in to each of your five senses by taking stock of your surroundings. Use a mindfulness audio if that’s your jam.
Next, take your journal or other creative outlet, start with this phrase, and allow it to take you where you need it to go:
Before I became a parent, I wish I would have known…
Or, if there’s some other idea being sparked within you, go with it. This is your reflective practice and I’m merely inviting you to spend some time sharing your story, even if it’s only for yourself.
I acknowledge that the changes you’re experiencing in this season might feel less beautiful and more painful. That’s okay, friend. It’s safe to express the grief, the anger, the shame, the difficulty keeping your head above water. I wonder if that’s the only way to move through it—to speak it out loud, and in some measure, take away its power.
I’d love to have more brave stories to share in the Mini Interview series. Fill out by clicking the button below <3
I definitely resonate with this. Thank you for sharing. It's a constant process to trust yourself as the expert, I find, and to let go of the many parenting 'shoulds' and culture that comes in from people that don't know our kids like we do.
I had a similar experience with my oldest in those early days, except instead of sleep training, my dilemma was about co-sleeping. I knew I couldn't just let her cry and had made the decision about that part before she was born, so we were already contact napping and whatnot throughout the day (mommy groups *can* sometimes be helpful lol) but she also did not want to be put down to sleep at night, and I was at the point after maybe two weeks of constantly sitting up to feed her (Jon was great about being the one to bring her to me, do diaper changes, and put her back in the crib or bassinet) where I literally almost fell asleep while sitting up in bed nursing her, which felt so much more dangerous than simply laying her down next to me!
But I couldn't sleep well when she was in the crib or bassinet because I couldn't feel her breathing, so I checked on her constantly when she would actually stay settled for a while, and I was exhausted. So I finally gave in, and we both (all) started sleeping so much better immediately. I ended up doing some searching and made some adjustments for safety, and we never looked back.