Flashlight
© 2022 Renee Brna
He found me on the floor. My three cup coffee buzz faded hours ago and my arms were covered in a crusty layer of baby vomit. My husband Mike, a physician, came home from the hospital after a seventeen hour shift. The last thing he wanted to hear was, “I’m not meant to be
a mother.”
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My six week old infant was throwing up my breast milk for weeks. I tried to fix it but it only seemed to get worse. He wailed all evening—this after his two year old sister had been tugging at me all day. She cried sweetly, “I want to be hold,” but all I wanted was to snuggle into bed, throw a pillow over my head, and close my eyes. This whining-vomit-fest was my daily routine like the 90’s film Groundhog Day where actor Bill Murray relives the same day over and over. There’s got to be a better way.
I wasn’t alone. Over 3.5 million parents in the United States suffer from parental burnout. According to Dr. Moira Mikoljczak this is not normal parenting stress, but a “chronic imbalance of risks over resources [and] a state of intense exhaustion related to one’s parental role.” It can lead to a mother feeling inadequate and detached from her children1.
Inadequate is putting it lightly. I felt like a failure. Was this payback for glaring at parents on airplanes with seat-kicking toddlers?
It wasn’t. We’re living in a broken system. People used to get the work done and care for children together—in small hunter-gatherer groups. Homo sapiens have been around for 300,000 years while farming in towns and cities for only 10,000 years. And the first industrial revolution happened less than 300 years ago. This is a rapid transformation for
a species. One of the biggest changes occurred in the last two decades: we have been physically separated from one another—by screens. We’re separated by screens at work, we’re separated by screens at school. It’s even happened in our neighborhoods. I can’t even knock on
a neighbor’s door before texting to come over or they think I’m a weirdo.
I looked around the room at my gadgets: a baby monitor, a sound machine, the latest baby swing, and a hospital-grade breast pump that quietly whooshed. For having so much—why do I feel so crummy? Compared to mothers in any other time in history, I had access to the most
knowledge. The list of books and websites on potty training, breastfeeding, disciplining children, and getting my body back is endless. However, they are no substitute for a home cooked meal and a pair of hands to hold my baby while I shower—and believe me, I needed a shower
Bearing and raising children is natural. But we didn’t evolve to do it in isolation.2 I began a quest for connecting with other moms. On walks I’d call out to other pregnant women pushing strollers, “Hey! You have a kid; I have a kid. Give me your number so we can hang out!”
Although connecting with other moms seemed to be a good solution, no one had time for it. “Gosh, I’d love to get together, but we have soccer today.” This time-poor, too-busy-for-anything suffering got a name: burnout.
But that name doesn’t help—it implies that the moms can’t hack it. Psychiatrist Dr. Wendy Dean says “this isn’t burnout” it is a betrayal.3 The word burnout places the blame on individuals instead of the lack of supportive socioeconomic structures.
It’s hard to understand why there is a problem. Maternal and infant mortality rates are lower, food is abundant, and creature comforts are provided through the press of a button. Yet our social structures do not bolster families. A few state programs address the problem with paid family leave, early childcare education, healthcare, or mental health support. However these programs are unavailable or subpar for most families.
The United States is the only industrialized country that doesn’t mandate paid family leave. This forces one in four women to go back to work only two weeks after giving birth.4 And this shortsighted lack of national policy has damaging effects. Brief maternal leave is linked to higher rates of maternal stress, depression, and worse outcomes for infants and children.56
I couldn’t imagine going back to work two weeks after giving birth. In fact, I was lucky to be alive. Twelve days after my son was born, I nearly died from a severe postpartum hemorrhage. After a 9-1-1 call, emergency surgery, and two blood transfusions, I’m still here.
The aftercare I received was typical, a comprehensive exam at six weeks. According to the ten question Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale, I didn’t have postpartum depression.7 I was cleared to start exercising and having sex—I didn’t perceive this as good news because I wasn’t ready to get back on that horse yet. Nonetheless, I was sent on my merry way to carry on with the joys of motherhood. Good luck, mama bear!
Five months after Mike found me on the floor, I was still breastfeeding and home alone with the kids. I’d hum to calm myself in the mornings as both babies screamed at me during diaper changes. My hair was falling out, my skin was peeling off my fingers, and eating ice cream was my only pleasure. I was desperate for guidance.
Then one day I found the book Mother Nurture by Dr. Rick Hanson, Jan Hanson, and Dr. Ricki Pollycove. I barely had time to sit without a baby in my arms, let alone read, but I had to try something. Right from the first page, I felt like I was with a best friend who understood how I was feeling. Finally!
First off, this thing has a name. Hanson calls it Depleted Mother Syndrome—“a biophysical condition in which the accumulation of a mother’s outpouring, stresses, vulnerabilities, and low resources drain and dysregulate her body.”8 Hormonal shifts, nutritional needs, sleep deprivation, changes in identity, and increased responsibilities become a heavy burden on a mother who protects and cares for the most vulnerable among us, children. But who looks out for mom?
The goal of Mother Nurture is to restore balance to a mother’s mind, body, and intimate relationships. Depleted Mother Syndrome (DMS) is insidious. The months or years of energetic and physical outpouring from a mother add up to a chronically depleted state that is distinct from postpartum depression—and it’s just as true for women who have not given birth to their child. The risks are higher with more children, longer breastfeeding, being an older mom, traumatic births, or when the baby has health problems.
Once I got my hands on the book, I resolved to get my physical health back. A quick glance at my DMS risk factors told the tale: one miscarriage-check, two complicated deliveries-checkplus-check, older mom-check, infant needed emergency surgery-check, extended breastfeedingcheck, alone with two children-check. Yikes! I was deep in the land of depletion. And the coup de grâce—all of my family lived out of state. The so-called “village it takes to raise a child” was for me—like so many mothers—more like a ghost town.
Step one was getting more sleep. Sleep deprivation can impair the immune system, gastrointestinal system, memory, concentration, and mood. For our first baby, I took the overnight shifts since Mike was going to work all day. I was able to sleep when the baby slept. A
second child doubles the workload. In order to get more sleep, I had to ask for help.
Asking for help is not intuitive. In fact, it seems ingrained in our culture that the best moms don’t need help. Even mothers who out-earn their husbands take on more household chores.9 Eve Rodsky, author of the book Fair Play, warns about internalizing toxic messages like “it’s on me” to take all the nightly wake-ups or “I can do it better” than my husband when it comes to laundry.10 Perfectionism was choking me. When I reduced my expectations of being a super mom, I could breathe again. Maybe I can give formula to my baby, let the house get a little messy, or let others cook for me when they come to town? And since Mike seemed eager, why not let him help?
As I began to create small pockets of time, I found I still could not sleep. I rode a thought merry-go-round. Are the doors locked? I shouldn’t have eaten so many cookies today. Why does it feel like I don’t have friends anymore? Fortunately there is a way to steady the wandering mind.
I began to use techniques from Mother Nurture: meditating for one to five minutes before bed, relaxing by watching my baby sleep, and even extending compassion towards my partner during hard times. As an example I would close my eyes, bring Mike to mind. May he be healthy, may he not suffer, may he be at peace. This lovingkindness mediation seems trivial in theory, but it is powerful in practice.
Routines that foster good sleep are also a practice. This is called sleep hygiene. I limited nightly screen time, avoided aggravating tasks or arguments before bed, and cut down caffeine. I kept the room dark during nighttime diaper changes which allowed me to get back to sleep faster. Light stimulates the brain and increases wakefulness for parents and baby.11 Finally, my husband took on part of the night shift so I could get uninterrupted sleep.
It worked. I started to feel better and could look at my other problems, such as mood, skin, and concentration. It was time to face my poor diet—the life-sucking chore of difficult choices. I just wanted a chimichanga and a margarita. But I knew I could do better. I was eating mostly white carbs. It didn’t start out that way. My son threw up my breast milk for six months straight. I followed the advice of the pediatrician to give up soy, dairy, and eggs. It didn’t help me or my son. Mike repeatedly asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to work with that nutritionist we know? She said her speciality is helping mothers.” I didn’t. I really didn’t. But after reading Mother Nurture, I finally gave in.
It was overwhelming, so I cleaned up one meal at a time. I cut down white flour carbs and refined sugars and added high quality fats (like avocados), protein, fresh veggies, and supplements. My mood, skin, and hair thanked me.
The changes snowballed. I read. I studied. I developed confidence in advocating for my health. I asked my doctor for additional tests that had not been offered. I was on a pathway to wellness. Next up: stress.
My best friend said being a mom meant she was always “on the clock.” There was no more going out for a quick run or coffee with a friend. There was always a partner or babysitter staring at their watch waiting for her return. But what can we do when we are surprised with a free moment?
Mother Nurture suggests 1, 5, 15, 30, and 60 minute soother activities. Having this list ready to go reduces the cognitive load of figuring out how to calm myself when I already feel flooded. Here are some of my favorite examples from the book—soothers based on time constraints:
1 Minute:
splash water on your face, hug your partner or child, take 4 deep slow breaths while imagining stress leaving your body, smell something good, or rub your feet
5 Minutes:
have a cup of tea, go outside and watch the birds, listen to a favorite song, or do a few stretches
15 Minutes:
meditate, go for a short walk, dance/stretch, read a magazine, or take a shower
30 Minutes:
call a friend, take a nap, read a book, play an instrument, or take a long bath
1 Hour:
take yourself out for a meal, go for a hike, browse a bookstore, or my favorite—go to a yoga class.
The book suggests relaxation techniques (tensing and releasing each part of your body, one at a time), acknowledging feelings (I’m upset right now, I feel tightness in my chest), or taking in the good (relishing in your baby’s smile or a warm comfortable bed). These simple shifts of coming back into the present really calmed me.
To this day I like to imagine myself as a child to soften my harsh inner critic. I tell myself that I am allowed to make mistakes and am still learning. It’s ok if I don’t do every task skillfully. There is always room to grow. I also make space to grieve the lost pieces of who I used to be in order to bloom into the person I am becoming.
Change is not linear and it’s sometimes painful. I discovered my sadness. My vivacious personality and fun spirit had been extinguished by the endless loop of schlepping the kids around, washing diapers, doing dishes, going for groceries. I no longer saw a future self—a
problem that I never had before. I felt this intensely when meeting new people and they’d inevitably ask, “What do YOU do, Renee?” I hate that question. Saying, “I’m at home raising my kids,” left me feeling worthless.
Women are hard on themselves, shouldering their list of “shoulds.” Dr. Pooja Lakshmin says, “women have internalized a culture that demands they bear the brunt of caregiving while simultaneously devaluing that job.”12 So while we devote ourselves to this new role, we are also out in the world being told that raising children does not serve the bottom line. Mothers often face a no-win situation where they feel guilty for working and not being with their child. But then if they stay at home they feel guilty for not bringing home the bacon. Is earning money the only thing that makes a person productive?
The dissonance felt balancing family with work seems to worsen parental burnout.13 Anne Crittendon states in her book The Price of Motherhood, “Individuals who assume the role of nurturer are punished and discouraged from performing the very tasks that everyone agrees are essential. We talk endlessly about the importance of family, yet the work it takes to make a family is utterly disregarded.”14
I didn’t feel valuable the way I did when I first met my husband. Sure, my life was filled with a deep purpose to serve my children and family, but I felt like I had to make myself very small to attend to the wants and needs of three people and a dog. I often woke up in a sweat from a recurring nightmare of Mike divorcing me. I was no longer the woman he married. And the divide between us was growing.
If there was a better way to parent together while still enjoying the love we had when we first got married, then I needed to find it. We had gone deep into what Hanson calls our “practical partnership,” but we had lost our “intimate friendship.” Communication was tense, even to the point of us snapping at each other regularly. This was new and started after having children.
Partners can start by connecting—to their breath, to knowing that they are on the same team, and to a sense of feeling loved. They can also lead with the positive—the aspect of the relationship or person that is praiseworthy. So instead of piercing Mike with my eye daggers
for leaving a crusty oatmeal bowl in the sink, I bravely decided to have a conversation about it. That’s right, I said bravely, because these talks are hard especially when things have been tense. But first, I led with how I appreciated that Mike fed our toddler and played with her while I napped with the baby.
A subtle change in communication is powerful. I started to listen with curiosity during a conflict. It turned out that Mike valued that I kept the house clean; he just hadn’t known how upset I would get about dishes in the sink. We made a plan for me to alter my expectations of when dishes needed to be done and for him to make a better effort to keep things tidy. Open communication seemed to be the way forward.
Style and tone can make a big difference when communicating. My way is busy and boisterous, so I had to slow down. Mike tends to speak
more thoughtfully and dislikes being interrupted mid-thought. This was a tough adjustment because I was raised in a family that talks over each other, gets louder, and attempts to finish each other’s sentences.
Hanson says to approach a conversation with empathy for your partner. I have a tendency to take things personally, but the truth is
that my husband is never trying to deliberately hurt my feelings. He is my partner, he loves me, and I love him. It was helpful to talk about conflict using “we” statements rather than “you” statements. “We care about our kids staying healthy and having good oral hygiene, so can we find a system that ensures the kids get their teeth flossed and brushed every night?”
Partners can get closer by defining their values. What matters for you as a couple? Is it your health, family time, patience, empathy, or maybe spirituality? If Mike plays with the kids while I make dinner, I value the alone time to center myself and he values the healthy meal. We all value family time delivered through Mike’s collection of very popular physical games he plays with the kids called “couch jumps, roller-squeezer, and buffalo rides.” And the added benefit? Fathers who engage in physical play with their children have higher levels of oxytocin—the love hormone.15 Wins all around!
Getting clear on values can support friendliness and cooperation with our partners. Another big piece of an intimate relationship is sex. Almost every mom I’ve met has experienced some disparity between how much sex she wants and how much her partner wants after the baby
arrives. Moms who felt overworked and grabbed at all day were worried that a nice hug from her partner would inevitably lead to the bedroom. And their partners were confused by the withdrawal of physical affection.
Alongside rebuilding a foundation of good communication, teamwork, and friendship, Mother Nurture explores practical, respectful ways to get both of your needs met—beyond just “accepting your differences.”
To boost physical intimacy, many women need non-sexual affection (like a no-strings attached hug), practical help with children, and fair division of household duties. Also, talking about your differences in sexual desire can open a pathway to solutions. Lead by expressing your softer emotions of sadness, fear, and hurt—this can help curb judgement and foster empathy for your partner.
Ultimately, sex is rooted in connection. Hanson suggests asking your partner to ask you “three questions a day about your inner world” to reawaken the energy of when you started dating. I found that when Mike took on more responsibilities in the home, I had more time to pursue work and other interests, which led to us having more to talk about (that didn’t involve the house and kids). We rekindled our admiration for each other which brought us closer—and invited more physical intimacy.
It was hard to see these struggles as a storm that would soon pass. Even now I sometimes feel shame when I think of how thin I was stretched when my kids were babies—I wonder if I gave them enough attention. I wasn’t really the mother I thought I’d be—one that had a learning activity every day, avoided all screen time, never yelled, and never hid in my closet just to breathe. But as I’ve learned to be kinder to myself, I’ve noticed that kindness shines outward toward my children, husband, and everyone else in my sphere.
My adjustments to get more sleep, have a nutrient-dense diet, ease my stress, fuel my spirit, and communicate more skillfully with my partner completely changed my life. But each of the changes affected the other, like the unfolding of an image in a kaleidoscope.
A few years have gone by since those days. As I write, I’m sitting quietly in a library near our home. My kids are off learning to read and finger paint. Mike has drastically cut down his work hours to help at home as I’m happily working part-time. I meditated this morning while Mike made lunches and got the kids to school. I’ve lowered my expectations of a clean house, what the kids should wear, how many meals need to be homemade, or even how I should look. That has made space for the joy I had desired all along. I do still shudder walking by dishes in the sink, but I’m working on letting that go too.
My world is messier and noisier now. The storm is over, the sun is out, and like a little groundhog, I’ve come out of my hole to take a look around. My eyes are open and I see a socioeconomic system that has failed mothers. I can’t fix it, not immediately anyway. What I can do is offer moms a flashlight to find their way through the darkness. Hopefully one day depleted mothers will become a thing of the past. Until then, there’s Mother Nurture.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Renee Brna is a writer and researcher at the Wellspring Institute for Neuroscience and Contemplative Wisdom. She was previously a professional actor and singer who performed on Broadway, in national tours, and on television. She earned her BA in Psychology from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. She lives with her husband, two kids, and affectionate Border Collie in Ventura, California.
  
Posted by mkeane on Thursday, December 15th, 2022 @ 4:56AM
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