He’s snoozing away. Meanwhile, I’m at my computer, soaking in the rare moment of peace that has settled over my home. It’s a quiet weekday afternoon, and I can’t help but feel a sense of pride—yes, I’ve created this serene atmosphere all on my own.
If you had told me six weeks ago that I would find myself here, enjoying the tranquility of my home without anyone else’s help, I might have laughed in disbelief. Back then, I had just returned from the hospital with a newborn, and let me tell you, my world plunged into darkness.
Not what you’d expect, right? At least it wasn’t what I anticipated. I have a fantastic mother, supportive friends, and a family who rallied around me with baby showers, adorable gifts, and heartfelt messages. Yet, when I finally got home with my little one, I was left questioning why no one had ever mentioned the shadows that accompany new parenthood.
The exhaustion hit me like a freight train. For weeks, sleep was a distant memory. Those long nights morphed into a blur of cries and confusion, and I soon realized why sleep deprivation is often used as a torture method. Fatigue stripped away my ability to keep up the façade of being a functional adult.
The hardest part? That moment when I barely closed my eyes, only to be jolted awake by a piercing scream. I’d leap out of bed, scrambling to address whatever was wrong. Sometimes the baby was hungry, sometimes it was a diaper change, and other times, I felt utterly helpless. With each wail, my confidence eroded, and I questioned my ability to comfort my own child.
Self-doubt crept in relentlessly. I found myself second-guessing everything—from significant decisions to the simplest choice of what to eat for breakfast. As those early weeks wore on, a profound sense of despair settled in. I cried frequently, feeling isolated. No one seemed to talk about this dark pit of uncertainty, which made me believe I was alone in my struggles. I thought I was a failure as a mother.
Whenever someone asked how I was enjoying motherhood, I would cringe. Did “it” refer to my son or the experience of being a new mom? Those two things felt worlds apart. When asked how I was doing, I often felt too ashamed to admit that I was drowning.
What I truly longed for was someone to ask me how many times I cried that day, how sad I felt, or how I could love my baby so intensely while also grappling with despair. If someone had reached out, I would have realized I wasn’t the only one feeling this way.
So, to all the new parents out there, hear me: those long, dark nights won’t last forever. Your little one will eventually sleep for more than an hour or two, and that will restore your faith in life. It’s perfectly normal to look down at your baby while feeding or changing them and wonder if they’ll ever smile at you or love you back. In those first few weeks, positive reinforcement feels non-existent, and it can be draining.
It’s okay to feel envious of your partner who gets to leave for work each day, enjoying warm meals and adult conversations while you’re stuck in the house. It’s also natural to feel a surge of rage when your baby finally drifts off just moments before your spouse arrives home. Trust me, you’re not alone in your feelings of loneliness and confusion, nor are you alone in craving social interaction while simultaneously being terrified of it.
When you finally manage to step out for a breather, it’s completely normal to feel guilty for leaving, yet part of you may wonder if you’ll run away and never look back. Remember, you are doing your best, and you’re the perfect mother for your child.
Soon, the shadows will lighten, and you’ll find your rhythm. Hang in there; it will get easier.
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