I Don't Love Motherhood
Words by Candi Barbagallo
The first time someone asked me “Don’t you just love motherhood?” was roughly two weeks after I had given birth to my magical little person. My c-section incision was still red, the drugs had barely worn off, and the trauma of his birth still had me shaken. Of course, I was sleep deprived, lonely, and covered in baby puke most of the time on top of this. “I love my son,” I responded with a half-hearted chuckle to make my accuser feel more comfortable. I have since been asked some variation of this question numerous times over the past three years. It is obviously a question with an expectation of “Oh yes, it’s wonderful!” - but my answer remains the same. I love my son. I am enamored with my son and I cannot think of a greater blessing and honor than to be his mommy. But do I love motherhood? No. Not really.
I was never a girl who played with baby dolls, I didn’t really know what I was supposed to do with them. Barbie on the other hand, now she’s a gal I could relate to. The fashion! The dates! The career! Travel! Yes, yes, yes! I could get behind all of this. This I understood. Being the youngest of three children in a nuclear family, I had zero interest in taking care of anyone else; I was the one to be cared for. The one to always have a safety net, never to be anyone’s safety net.
My early 20s were marked by a highly dysfunctional marriage. Whether or not I wanted a child was not even considered as my only ambition was survival. By the time I reached my 29th birthday I started toying with the idea that perhaps I wanted a family with my new husband, but my response to motherhood was a resounding “meh”. I read books about motherhood and they struck so much fear in me I became legitimately depressed for about a week after each read. It wasn’t until my grandfather, patriarch of my Sicilian-Polish family, passed at 93 years old that I started to consider it again. Then we lost my father-in-law suddenly, and my mother was diagnosed with stage 3B cancer a few years later. I began to realize that unless I wanted to eventually live life with no family I would need to make one of my own.
At 34 years old, my husband and I created a family of three. My son has been the center of my world the past three years, but only recently have I begun to fully understand that I am also the center of his. Just as my mother was magical to me, I am to my son. Just as she was at the center of her young family, I am at the center of my own. In knowing I wanted family always, I overlooked the difference between being born into a family versus creating one. I didn’t understand the full weight of being cared for in a family versus being the caregiver of a family. Many days (most days, if I’m being honest) that weight feels like far too much to bear. I collapse under it far more often than I care to admit, but I also grow a little more each day. Some days, a little more each hour.
A walking, talking, typing cliché, I often daydream of being untethered. I imagine a life for myself that is quiet and caters to my introverted nature. A life of travel and independence and simplicity. But I also understand that everything that is beautiful in life must exist in duality for it to exist at all. I know that my desire to do life alone at times is a desire that’s been cultivated from inside a life of security that’s been built by two. It’s a daydream that is a luxury to have because I get to live the reality of having two beautiful people to love and they so happen to love me back. So I show up for the complications and the doldrums. I savor the joyful moments my husband and I have curated inside our walls. I am woven into the safety net and we are all stronger for it. And at the end of the day, at the end of this life, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
About the Author:
Candi Barbagallo is a writer, boy mom, jewelry crafter, and personal growth enthusiast. She values synchronicity, authenticity, and a healthy dose of cynicism. When she’s not chasing a toddler, she’s drinking coffee, trying to sleep, and daydreaming about all the things.
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