Excerpts from Discovering Motherhood

Contents: The Road Less Traveled Transitions

A Note from the Editors

Discovering Motherhood grew out of the thoughts and feelings of thousands of mothers.  The development of this extended community began in 1984, when three mothers founded our national nonprofit organization, Mothers At Home.  Concerned by our society's misconceptions and stereotypes about mothers, they also had noted the lack of support for those who choose (or would like to choose) to be at home with their children.  To support these mothers, they began publishing a monthly journal, Welcome Home.  From the very first issue, mothers with diverse experiences and personal situations have responded with gratitude and enthusiasm.  Every month, the pages of Welcome Home are filled with articles, poems, and art created and donated by these mothers.

Thousands of women write to us each year.  They send letters, manuscripts, and responses to questions and surveys.  They tell us how important it is to them to be part of our community, sharing information and understanding.  We have spent many hours learning from these mothers, discussing our own experiences and observations as well.  The insight we have gained has shown us that new mothers, faced with significant physical, emotional, and social changes, are especially in need of assistance while they make the transition into motherhood.  This book emerged from our desire to help by providing information and support.

Discovering Motherhood gathers the voices of many mothers to convey the essence of a home-centered life.  The articles we have collected affirm the critical importance of nurturing and note the subtle, daily interactions out of which trusting relationships are built.  They explore the potential for personal growth to be realized through mothering.

This book was written, edited, illustrated, designed, and published by mothers.  It took almost two years to complete -- far longer than we first anticipated.  Mothering has taught us to be patient, to respect the process as much as the product.  It would not have been the same book had we been able to devote our full attention to it for a shorter period of time.  Its slow development gave us the opportunity to reflect on many things:  the range of information we wanted to include, the organization of the sections, the editing of the articles, the design.  The pace of production work slowed periodically, as other commitments demanded our attention.  After stepping back we always returned with renewed energy and fresh insight.  By taking time, we could gather opinions and discuss them, think about them and then reach a consensus on most decisions.

Countless volunteer hours, in addition to the dedicated work of our staff, made this book possible.  The shared commitment of many family members, including our husbands, our parents, and our children, enabled us to complete this project.  We hope you will feel the spirit of camaraderie and friendship with which it was created.  Each mother who contributed to this effort offers a glimpse into her life, and together we extend an invitation to you:  join us in Discovering Motherhood.

The Road Less Traveled

By Robin Rice Morris

Two roads diverged in a wood and I -- I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

--Robert Frost

I have been thinking about the road less traveled.  Since I first heard those words they have been my ideal.  It is not so much because I dislike the beaten path, nor that the unbeaten path holds some great lure.  It is because I desperately want to have a life that, in the end at least, "made all the difference."  A life as big and as grand as my personal potential would allow.

I did not realize the two roads would diverge at motherhood, although in retrospect it is the most natural place for this to happen to a woman.  Yet diverge they did, and choices have been required.

So which is the road less traveled by?  Certainly mothering at home is a trodden path if ever there was one.  On the other hand, my generation -- the ME generation -- encouraged "having it all," and I am choosing a theme closer to giving it all.

I think of the old German proverb which asks, "What is the use of running if we are not on the right road?"  Indeed, what is the use of choosing the prescribed road, be it greater or lesser traveled, if it takes you somewhere you really did not want to go?  Today, I have chosen to be a mother at home.  My idea of a big and grand life, not to mention my conception of my personal potential, have changed.  Indeed, they have grown.  And I no longer need another person -- even as lovely a poet as Robert Frost -- to point me in the direction of what will make all the difference.  I instinctively know.  Motherhood has given me that, and I will be eternally grateful.

How odd that in giving myself away, I have found myself at last.
  Robin Rice Morris's web site is www.robinrice.com/

 

Transitions

by Heidi L. Brennan 

Like many women expecting their first baby, I spent a lot of time making plans. I practiced with my husband for labor and delivery. I organized my baby's room and purchased clothing and supplies. I prepared for the loss of some of my employment income. I even planned to continue my career at home by leaving my job a few months before my due date in order to develop a possible home-based business.

What I simply could not plan for was my emotions. I wasn't able to adequately anticipate how I would feel about my new baby, as well as about myself and our new life as a family. As I left the hospital, I was overwhelmed by unfamiliar feelings of protectiveness and even fear. I did not want to let my new son out of my sight. At the same time, I did not know how I would possibly take care of him.

My planning, as useful as it had been, could not have addressed the emotional changes inside of me. Suddenly I needed others in unexpected ways. My mother came to stay for two weeks, and my husband worked shorter hours. This was a special time for us in which we began to explore our new roles as mother, father, and grand- mother. Together, my husband and mother helped me to recover physically from childbirth. However, the emotional support that I received from them was as important to me as the physical care. As a new mother, I needed nurturing almost as much as did our baby.

All too soon, my mother's visit came to an end, and my husband returned to his usual schedule. Alone in my house with our new son, I found the silence deafening, broken only by his gurgles as he nursed for hours on end. I needed other people. I called friends, but phone conversations have to come to an end. I stared blankly at the phone when I wasn't using it. Who did I want to call, and what did I want to ask her?

While many of my questions were about baby care, others were about motherhood itself. One question, however, seemed to be following me around, one that I really couldn't ask aloud. "Who was I, now that I was a mother?"

While I knew that I was the same person, I also felt myself to be different. My bonds with my son had grown stronger, and I had begun to change my expectations about motherhood. Having a child had transformed me, and now I wasn't sure what my new life meant and how I was going to live it. I had become an adult in a culture that said, "Don't base your identity on motherhood." Yet how could I explain my intense desire to give my time to our baby? I felt that society was asking me to ignore my feelings and to believe that it was wrong to make childrearing the central focus of my life. I was not prepared for this internal conflict, and I felt alone as I struggled with it.

When I turned on the television, I was mocked by its images of contemporary women. The radio was no substitute for conversation or friendship. My husband's workdays seemed to last forever, and I longed for the weekends when he was home.

I lived far away from family and relatives. I knew only a few neighbors. Home alone, my adjustment to motherhood was a time of stress and confusion. It was not that I couldn't ever "get out." But trips to the market and walks in my neighborhood did not replace what I needed most -- the frequent and spontaneous contact with people who knew me, cared about me, respected me, and included me in their daily activities. I had enjoyed this type of support at my former workplace, and I now missed it. This, then, was something else that I hadn't planned for -- the loss of community -- a place where a person shares common interests and purpose.

My relationship with my baby was just developing, and I missed the daily feedback that would have helped me to feel secure and competent in my new role. I knew what was expected of me in my previous job and now the old workplace begged for my return in both subtle and not-so-subtle ways.

The pull of my work community had begun long before my baby was born. People would say: "When will you return to work?" "We need you here." "What kind of child care are you looking for?" "You would be bored at home." Even after I was home, I continued to receive the same kinds of questions and comments.

It became apparent to me that my career had been, in many ways, my most important source of identity and friendship. I felt a real sense of loss when I separated myself from daily contact with people who had appreciated my work and reinforced my self-image. I understood how a new mother might long to return to her old job, even a mother who had planned to be at home.

I searched for an explanation for my confusion. I remembered a time, several years before, when I had accepted a new job in a different state. It was a wonderful opportunity, and I was very excited about it. But the pain of leaving so many familiar things, especially relationships where I felt valued, prevented me from enjoying my new job and developing friendships for at least six months. I had to adjust my skills to different responsibilities and to a changed work environment. It took time for me to prove to myself, as well as to the others, that I was capable in my new position.

I began to realize that my transition to at-home motherhood was mirroring that job experience. I could not avoid feeling sad at the loss of my work identity. As I started to accept that loss, I was able to get to know the "mother" within me.

While I felt the tug of my former job, I knew that even if I did return, things would not be the same. My life was different now. I needed the give-and-take of a community, but I didn't want one that would separate me from my child.

At first, I wanted companionship and support. I joined several local mothers' support groups, became actively involved in my neighborhood, and developed a growing network of friends with whom I could share my joys and concerns as a mother.

With time and effort, I began to find my mothering community. My new peers were people I liked and respected. I found role models who showed me how to include a variety of activities into my new life. I developed confidence in my nurturing abilities. Eventually, I learned interesting ways to use my former job skills both in the management of my home and in volunteer and civic work. As I began motherhood, I had been concerned that I would lose these skills. In reality, I found that they were enhanced by my motherwork.

My transition into motherhood was not accomplished in a few weeks or even a few months. It was at least two years before I felt "at-home" in my new role. Looking back at that period of time, I realize that I could not have planned for the changes which occurred inside of me. Nor could I have anticipated the surprises that having a child brought me. Motherhood is far more challenging and fulfilling than I had thought it would be. The effort I put into my mothering is rewarded in many different ways. Before I could make these discoveries, I had to accept the process of change: the confusion, the questions, and then newfound confidence and abilities.

As I began to understand the significance of my nurturing role, I gained a greater sense of purpose for my life. I find that opportunities for mental, emotional, and spiritual growth continue to unfold along this path of motherhood.