Mom Guilt
Three years ago, in the middle of a very difficult time, I decided to begin a dedicated yoga practice. I went 3–6 days a week using my ever-present capacity for hustle to try and support (expediate) my healing process. It was, of course, transformative in the end, but the real process felt akin to surviving a procedure to remove all my skin.
It was similar to the raw exposure I experienced after EMDR sessions with my therapist. Raw, skinned, healing. I made an agreement with myself on my first day at the yoga studio that I would show up as I was in any given moment. No pretending. Not here. Who cares what others see or think of me? (This is still not easy, but I keep trying!) The teachers would talk about our practice on and off the mat. At first it was coming into my ears as blah blah blah, but at some point, the words settled in my bones and took shape and meaning.
For me, the practice was about not pretending for one hour at a time, but instead focusing on myself, my body sensations, and the emotions stored in the corners. For me, yoga swept out the corners releasing emotions that had been stored for decades. The class, the teachers, the practice, gave me space to hold them, let them sit, and then roll through me. Sometimes this looked like a lot of tears; sometimes, it felt like my old stomachaches from when I was six years old were back for a visit. A few times it turned into full-blown panic attacks. This was/is my practice. A scheduled time to know myself outside of others. To reclaim what space, I inhabit outside of being a mother, a wife, a daughter, a friend, a healer. It wasn’t fun or pretty. I was saving my life.
Each class became a transfusion of healing. Past, present, and future healing all disguised as asana (yoga poses). The off-the-mat part of my yoga practice was bringing this knowing of myself into my home, my family, my relationships, and into the world at large. This capacity to know myself, to hear what She had to tell me, and use this as my guiding light, is at the very center of my health now. If I lose this capacity to hear, know, and follow what She knows, everything else begins to crumble.
My family suffers when I fall apart. My son, who is a brilliant, complex, differently wired teenager, whom we homeschool, will start to spin out in his own way too. I understand and accept that I am the nucleus of my family. This does not mean I waive the right to be an individual, separate, whole person. But finding my space wasn’t easy.
The conundrum of this whole story was the wretched mom guilt I felt every time I left home for a yoga class. Crushing guilt. Pressure on my chest, pressure from the inside and the outside. For months, I was always sprinting to the door hoping I made it in before they locked the doors. Dozens of rushed, almost missed classes later I asked myself “why are you always late? You live 12 blocks away, what is underneath?” Guilt. Mom Guilt. Urban dictionary defines Mom Guilt as “guilt a mother feels anytime she takes time to do something for herself, outside of work, that does not involve her children.”
I felt so bad about leaving home that I waited until the last possible moment to leave and maybe catch the class depending on red lights. I felt guilty as I rolled out my mat and hustled to begin my practice. Then, there would be a moment where She would rush in, and I would see her, know her for the first time that day and bow my head in gratitude that I had survived the crushing weight of mom guilt long enough to make it to my mat, so that She could lift the boulder off my heart. It felt so good to be there, even though I never knew how my practice might be hijacked by the release of my stored trauma. It still felt so good and right and lifesaving to be there.
The guilt of leaving for yoga class stayed with me for over a year. I had to leave hundreds of times before I could know that no one died while I went to yoga! The world was still spinning! My idea about how dangerous it was for me to carve out regular time for myself had nothing to do with the actual impact my leaving had. My son was fine. Eventually, he was probably relieved to have a break from me. And of course, the practice, the knowing, listening, and healing helped everyone. My family became healthier than ever before. I became a much better mother to him. But what if the Mom Guilt had stopped me? I don’t even want to know the answer. It's dark and makes my stomach hurt. Smoke monster dark.
I have been thinking about Mom Guilt as I contemplate the new reality for families during COVID-19 and shelter-in-place guidelines. How mothers are out there likely working from home, helping their kids switch to eLearning all the while helping their families weather a global pandemic. No big deal.
I am a student of the polyvagal theory and now I know the science behind what I always knew in my gut. That you can’t hide your mess from your kids. You can pretend all day long, but their nervous systems are constantly scanning your nervous system to see if you are OK, so that they can be OK. The question children are always asking is “am I safe?”
Some children will be like me and be natural empaths with an acute ability to read and know others’ feelings. And let's be real, how much safety can we feel during an unprecedently global pandemic? So, these mothers, who are scared themselves, are all trying to act as if they are not scared, meanwhile trying to do ALL of the things (and probably feeling like they are falling short anyhow)—that they can spin and spin, hustle and hustle, and not feel like they are doing enough.
Where does this come from? Where does my own crushing guilt and fear that I am not doing enough as a mother come from? I think we have inherited these unreasonable expectations from our culture (another gift of the patriarchy). The very idea of a great mother is her ability to not have any needs. Glennon Doyle speaks about how we idolize martyrdom in mothers. It’s true. We have some ancient cultural beliefs that mothers don’t have individual lives except when all their children are happily asleep. But this is not possible if we are pointing our compasses toward health! Moms absolutely require tending. Especially now. If they can’t have a practice where they have space to know their inner voice and hear it, their health suffers, and their children aren't able to lean on them.
In the polyvagal world we call this co-regulation. When a person is dysregulated and “out of that safe feeling,” they can use the nervous system of another person who is regulated (safe) to return to a regulated and safe feeling again. If Mom Guilt is crushing all the possibility out of the opportunity for moms to cultivate their own wisdom of self, co-regulation isn't available for their children.
I would like to see a revolution in how we explore our understanding of what healthy parenting looks like. That parents are born out of whole, integrated individuals that yes, transform as they become parents, but also continue to be their own unique selves built around a flame of inner knowing that they continue to tend and cultivate throughout their lives.