What A Momma Really Needs {and why it’s worth fighting for}

Today I want to introduce you to a new friend of mine. Kristen is a woman who knows the hard work of motherhood and shares a deep love for Jesus. She understands what it’s like to walk through hard times and she’s one of those people whose soul is deep and wide and generous.

She’s sharing on the blog today from her new book, A Good Way Through. Go ahead and read, but don’t forget to grab a copy on Amazon when you’re done!

*****

FUNDAMENTAL AS WATER

Rain
wakens me in the middle of the night
It has always meant life, growth, refreshment, cleansing;
now it means wet laundry
a trip to the Laundromat we can’t afford
because time is precious
and energy dear.

Everything is the same
and yet everything’s different.
The same cat is a menace
the same sun is a danger
the same friend, a life-saver.

Never before has a shower felt so good
luxurious water
warm, caressing, cleansing
the scent of soap, satisfying as a meal.

Nothing is the same
and everything is different—

I do not recognize
the face in the mirror.

******

            His name is Everett.

So began a fundamental shift in myself and my world.

When my son was born, my husband and I stumbled through the basic acts of caring for a tiny human. The days were a blur. Everett didn’t eat well and wanted to be held constantly. We fell into a rhythm that was far from sustainable but allowed us to survive: Dave syringe-fed Everett while I pumped, feeling more like a cow than a mother the first few weeks. Dave was up with Everett until two o’clock most mornings, then I would take over during the day. Sometimes we read poetry together in the middle of the night, the three of us snuggled together on the bed.

Everett napped anywhere the first few months, as long as he was in my arms, which gave us freedom. We walked to coffee shops and went out for breakfast. Our eyes were glazed, our minds foggy, our clothes rumpled and spotted with spit up and milk, but we were out of the house, and that felt good.

I remember distinctly how rested I felt after my first three consecutive hours of sleep. How glorious it was to complete one REM cycle! Dave and I were like tired bumper cars knocking into each other between shifts. Why didn’t anyone tell us it would be like this? we wondered, droopy-eyed. Would anyone ever have kids if they really knew what it was like? It was worth it, but it was hard.

Between the hormones and the sleep deprivation, I was an emotional wreck. Everett’s inability to nurse made me feel like a failure. I couldn’t meet even his most basic needs. “You are all the mother Everett needs,” a friend told me. I tried to believe I was enough mother for him. It wasn’t easy.

I was surprised. I knew mothering a tiny baby would be difficult, but I did not expect to feel so incompetent. I did not expect to lose who I was. I found a counterbalance of sorrow with joy. I adored Everett, but this wasn’t what I expected. Disillusion grew within me. New motherhood is full of grief—grief at the loss of self, the loss of the life I once had, the loss of our marriage as we had known it, and the confusion of learning to love a little person who is so hard to know.

What surprised me most was how alien my own body felt. It had just done an incredible thing—grown a baby, pushed him out, and nourished him completely—and it was out of control. I was a sticky, milky mess. Showers felt wonderful, but I was usually covered in milk before I’d managed to dry off. On more than one occasion I discovered milk dripping down my belly onto restaurant floors, in parking lots. Everett was great in public; I couldn’t take me anywhere.

Also strange was the tether that tied me to him so tightly. I thought about him all the time. When friends held him a few feet away, I watched constantly, analyzing their technique. I even did that to Dave, though he was a more capable parent than I was in those first weeks. He read Everett’s needs better than I did, and he was more patient in meeting them.

I don’t like doing things I’m not good at. I like to be competent. I don’t like to start at the beginning or practice or learn from my mistakes; I just like to do everything right the first time.

This made new motherhood difficult, because I didn’t know how to do anything. I couldn’t even figure out how to eat. My mom came to visit when Everett was three weeks old, and I had a revelation: I can put him down in a baby chair for five minutes and he’ll be OK! You mean I don’t need to hold him every second and wait for someone to tap in so I can go to the bathroom?

There were many lessons like that, lessons that broke down the myth of my all-importance to Everett. He would be OK without me for five minutes. Eventually, he would be OK without me for five hours!

Six weeks. That’s what they told me: Survive the first six weeks, and you’ve made it. It’s an insane test to make sure you’re qualified to care for a human being. We did survive the first six, and then another six, and then eventually Everett was sleeping through the night (sometimes) and napping like a champ (on a good day).

The first months of parenthood are hard to describe. They are magical and impossible. I constantly cleaned things—diapers, dishes, laundry—but everything was always dirty. I felt invisible. Everett was too young to say thank you or even smile, and no one else had any idea what I did all day. Most days, there was no more to show for my efforts than a crying baby and a cranky Mama. My dad says mothering is an act of holding entropy at bay; it is a cosmic endeavor. But I felt small. I told Dave I needed him to ask me what I’d done when he got home from work every day. I needed someone to know how I’d spent my time.

But there was God. In the night, when Everett wouldn’t sleep, we whispered to him stories of God’s love. I stole quiet moments in God’s presence during Everett’s naps. We felt the tangible effects of God’s love in the hands of friends bringing food, loving arms, listening ears. I understood Jesus and God’s love for us in a profound new way. Though it felt impossible some days, I fought for time to rest and remember that I was beloved, just like my tiny son.

How do we rest when it feels impossible?

Rest seems like something we should be able to do in the margins of our days: When we finish everything else we have to do, and before the next thing comes along, we can rest. But that will never happen. Never will I finish my to-do list.

When Everett was tiny, Dave watched him for at least two hours every weekend so I could get away. I went out for coffee or sat in a park, reading or journaling or painting. For me, true rest requires time away from screens. I crash in exhaustion in front of a TV show, but I don’t rest.

You have to fight for rest. You will never rest accidentally. You may distract or entertain, but rest requires intention. You have to decide it’s worth fighting for.

Make the time because it’s worth it for you and for everyone else in your life. I am kinder when I’m not operating on empty. I don’t always come home from my hours away happy, joy-filled, and tranquil, but those hours fill me up for later. They make me more willing to give time to someone else. Funnily enough, they make me crave more time alone, and I’m more likely to spend Everett’s naps reading and reflecting and praying and creating instead of scurrying and checking Instagram.

I want to live as if time is abundant—to give it freely, without fear of scarcity. It is abundant, isn’t it, if we believe in eternity? The best way I’ve found to share time freely is to guard just a little bit for myself—time that helps me attune to the voice of the Spirit and rest in my identity as beloved.

An Invitation: Set aside time to intentionally rest. Choose an activity that feels restful to you: going for a walk, reading a novel, listening to music, or taking a nap. Rest for at least fifteen minutes each day or for two hours once a week. It’s worth it.

–Adapted from A Good Way Through: My Journey with God from Disappointment into Hope, available on Amazon.com.

Kristen Leigh Kludt is a contemplative Christian writer and spiritual guide. Her first book, A Good Way Through: My Journey with God from Disappointment into Hope, is available on Amazon.com. Mother to two boys, she lives, works, and plays in San Francisco’s East Bay, where her husband is a pastor. She is growing daily toward a life of integrity and love. Read more of her writing or say hello at KristenLeighKludt.com.