Behind the clichés of birth and being born

I was as prepared for what was about to come as the next – I diligently attended my classes, read my books, did my homework/yoga/breathing exercises.

What I lacked though, was some hard core wisdom from The Motherhood. Before you enter the bewildering world of parenthood yourself, the voice of this Motherhood is largely absent. What happened in our society to draw a veil of silence over the stories of mothers? If you aren’t one, you just don’t hear honest realities. I just wish it was more normal for there to be a sort of drip feeding of wisdom for mums-to-be. Nobody gains from this silence.

Mostly I wish someone had dared to tell me some of these truths – not in throwaway clichés over the water dispenser or in dry ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ tones – but in the actual real how of it all. Truths like this:

The birth of a baby is also the birth of you. 

In fairness, they most likely tried. I wasn’t too interested in delving for bad stuff. I knew there would be plenty to learn along the way and I was busy getting on with the last of my days as a person who doesn’t have to plan a trip to Tesco like a military operation. Frankly I had better things to do with my time than worry over the sleep I wouldn’t have or the drudgery of dirty nappies.

And that I guess is why parenting clichés remain the unfathomable fortune cookies that they are to non-parents. A ‘see no evil, hear no evil’ naivety prevails, meaning babies actually come to be!

And yes, there is something nice about this idea of Birth of A New You, of course there is. An inviting door opens to a talcum-powdered, gooey, giggly new neighbourhood where mummy friends sit having mummy coffees over wriggly babies on mats: The Mother-hood (ha).

But there is a shadowy side to this Birth thing that we just don’t really discuss in depth at all. Because from the day of The Birth, I would never not be a mother, sure. And that’s pretty monumental in itself. An abrupt identity shift, one day I’m not, the next I am.

But then there was this: at the time I most needed her, I was saying goodbye to my old self. Worse – she had slipped out the hospital door without me even realising it had happened or saying goodbye.

Yes, I chose to bring a baby into this world; but I didn’t chose this: I didn’t chose to lose me. And yet I did.

So mixed up with the shock of labour, and the elation of looking into your precious newborn’s eyes is this: Shit. I will never be that person again. I will never be truly independent again. I will never sleep with my eyes and mind entirely shut again. How could I? Look at this baby. MY baby. I will never again make decisions on a whim, without the fear and guilt and compromise that comes from this bursting new mother-heart.

And so now, who am I?

And here begins an existential crisis, lived out in total isolation. Because when nobody talks about this, it remains a frightening internal struggle. It lurks in the shadows of happy times.

And so, yes, it is a really special time, having a new life to cherish. But I think every new mother also needs time and space to mourn the person they will never be again.

(Note to dads, grandparents and good friends: That time and space probably needs to be created by you. Because, fear and guilt and a mind and heart bursting with love and new baby knowledge. So please, gently encourage.)

Anyway, I wish I had known about the Death and Grief side of birth. It’s taken me a long time to process that I lost someone incredibly important to me that day. I had taken her for granted, like a loyal friend who would always be there. Until she wasn’t, and I so wished she was.

And how hard is it, to give every last drop of yourself to the most important person that ever landed on this planet, whilst grief seeps in through the nooks and crannies of your heart. Grief not just of anyone, but of the most important person in your life before your baby?