Tag Archives: motherhood
independence 05.21.23
I discharged from the crisis center two days ago and got the keys to my new apartment. I’m learning new skills and so proud of this little space in the world I’m making for me and my kiddos ♥️
My Separation Reality
Last September, I posted a piece titled My Divorce Fantasy in which I got really honest about the state of affairs in my marriage. I concluded it hopefully, truthfully, authentically. I’m going to start this one the same way.
My husband and I are currently going through a separation. I could give a wagon full of reasons why we made this decision, but even typing that ignites that bittersweet tingle behind my eyes and warmth in my chest.
After having a nervous breakdown and spending 17 days institutionalized in a prison dressed as a mental health facility, the old Bobbi died. Flat on the concrete floor of that solitary confinement cell, hair in twin braids, sunflower seeds scattered around, my soul briefly left my body. And when I floated back into my body, I leveled up. There was no going back.
And like my diagnosis, my marriage felt constricting and tight, a skin I needed to shed.
I can’t go back to the same cycle of disagreements and conflict, the same stormy patterns. I owe this new self the space to discover who arises from the wreckage of my old life without the responsibility of shepherding his healing journey.
Our futures look like a lot of therapy – individual and couples – while we shelter our babies in the eye of the hurricane. And this will be the most amicable, healthy separation because of the mutual love we have for those boys.
In four days, my divorce fantasy becomes my separation reality. I get the keys to my own small, lovingly curated apartment. I answer only to myself. I prioritize making my own dreams a reality and bad vibes are checked at the door. I have consistent solitude to prioritize my mental, spiritual, and physical health. I parent with patience, instilling the values and boundaries I find most important, without compromise. After separation, I never find my “other half” because I’m already whole. I don’t ask permission to have needs – they live inside me guilt-free.
I feel sad. I feel happy, angry, optimistic, guilty, scared, proud, confused, terrified, but ultimately hopeful. Because I know this is the right decision.
Love and Light,
Bobbi
22 Ways I Grew in ’22
1. I learned the difference between reacting and responding.
…and every day since has been a practice in choosing to pause, breathe, and respond. In creating that space, I give myself the freedom to choose how I show up, rather than letting my triggers dictate my direction.
2. I found joy exploring my spirituality.
Religion and spirituality aren’t synonyms, which was news to me. I found peace and purpose exploring my spirituality through discerning adult eyes. In abandoning the intolerant and sexist religious doctrine of my childhood and embracing a god of unconditional love and infinite grace, I’ve found healing.
3. I experienced true body neutrality.
Breaking up with diet culture started before 2022 for me, but this was the year I spent an entire 365 days enjoying the freedom that comes with accepting my body exactly as it is. I dress my body in a way that feels right and comfortable, and I feed myself when I’m hungry.
4. I practiced being the watcher of my thoughts and feelings.
I am not my loneliness, my guilt, my anger. I am the one watching a part of me that feels lonely, guilty, angry. And as the watcher, I can validate that feeling, practice non-judgement, and show compassion to that part of myself without letting it become me. Much easier in theory than practice. Right now, reaching this level of consciousness requires solitude and silence in my closet. Maybe someday, I’ll be skillful enough to carry this practice into the rest of my day.
5. I discovered Internal Family Systems.
… and found power in isolating warring parts of myself to identify triggers and survival coping mechanisms that kept me safe as a kid but are no longer serving me as an adult.
6. I boundaried up.
A lack of boundaries had me accepting responsibility for everybody else’s emotional states and needs while leaving me completely blind to my own. I read the books, practiced the scripts, messed up, and tried again. I’m still terrified of being rejected every time I have to set a boundary and have the hard conversation, but I’m pushing myself to do it anyways.
7. I faced my codependent tendencies.
…and found peace in accepting the reality that all I have control over in this whole world are my thoughts and actions. I release responsibility for anybody else’s happiness and healing and accept full responsibility for my own. Chronic daily guilt over what I did/didn’t do/should have done is dwindling as I work through this.
8. I parented in a way I’m proud of.
Well, mostly. I still have my moments. But this year I started practicing repair when I mess up and putting the kid before the behavior. My wildest hope is that my boys grow to be their truest, most beautiful selves. My greatest privilege is watching them learn who that is.
9. I challenged injustice when I saw it.
Following the murder of George Floyd in 2020, I heard the term “performative ally” for the first time. I had to sit with the yuck that good intentions can make for sh*tty allies, and there was some room for me to learn and grow in my allyship. For too long, I let fear of conflict keep me silent. I hold myself accountable to using my privilege and voice when encountering biased language and behaviors. And when I mess up, I commit to educating myself and others . As poet Maya Angelou said, “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”
10. I explored nature.
Joy is moonlight fractured through ice-tipped tree branches and the first warm spring breeze on bare legs. I discovered getting outside is one of my most potent, underutilized coping mechanisms.
11. I (we) broke a marital cycle.
My partner and I tackled the most toxic of our communication patterns this year. For years, we’ve known better. Now, we’re actually doing better. (Baby, there is nobody I would rather forge new neural pathways with than you. These days, I’m proud of the marriage we are modeling for our kids. We’ve got this.)
12. I rethought my relationship with alcohol.
I set some self boundaries around excessive alcohol consumption after I spent my 31st birthday on the floor of a bar bathroom, forehead cooling on the toilet bowl. I commit to continue being reflective and intentional when I engage with alcohol.
13. I aired out some shame skeletons.
Author and researcher Brené Brown writes, “Shame cannot survive being spoken. It cannot tolerate having words wrapped around it. What it craves is secrecy, silence, and judgment. If we speak shame, it begins to wither.” There are plenty more skeletons lurking in my closet, but the few I’ve let out left it feeling much less haunted in there.
14. I firmed up my values.
The two values I turn to when making difficult decisions are courage and growth. I’m trying to get better at pivoting quickly when I realize I’m out of alignment with these.
15. I gossiped less.
I fundamentally believe people are doing the best they can with the resources they have at the time. And I just want to move through the world embodying that way more than I am right now.
16. I dreamed seriously.
This year, I let myself want: to write. to heal. to exhale.
17. I saw other successful women as inspiration, not competition.
Prior to 2022, my ego couldn’t handle reading authors like Glennon Doyle, Liz Gilbert, and Martha Beck. I would have been crippled with envy over the successful writing careers they built by living reflective lives and writing vulnerably. These women are now my soul teachers who’ve given me the keys to set myself free in order to imagine my most fulfilling life and to pursue it relentlessly.
18. I chameleoned less.
My gift and curse is the ability to transform into whatever version of myself feels most advantageous in any given circumstance. It happens almost instinctively. This survival mechanism, coupled with people-pleasing tendencies, left me a total codependent mess with a convoluted sense of self. It may have served me as a child moving every 3-4 years from one military base to the next, desperate to belong. But as an adult, not so much. I know what it takes to be liked by a roomful of people. But it leaves me not liking me very much.
19. I started practicing mindfulness.
For years, I’ve heard of the profound impact simple behaviors like breathing, walking, journaling, stretching, and meditating can have on a person’s life when done regularly and with intention. I wasn’t nearly as regular or intentional as I hoped, but I started.
20. I flossed regularly.
(For real this time – not just my annual hack job the night before my appointment. I promise, Dr. Whilm!)
21. I carved out this little corner of the internet.
And in doing so, I built a place to heal out loud, to find my voice, to take my dreams seriously.
22. I learned I still have a lot to learn.
I would love to tie all of this up in a pretty little bow and say I’m officially all healed, case closed, thanks… ha! But the good news is that unlearning all the things I’m not and remembering who I am underneath all of the cultural conditioning is profoundly meaningful work and actually kind of… fun? I hope to carry this energy into 2023 and stumble through the new year with grace, grit, and integrity.
I’m a mom with no maternal instinct
While pregnant the first time, I carried a lot of worries about what life as a mother would look like. I logically knew there would be less sleep and more expenses and, like, diaper changes and stuff, but I didn’t stress too much about the parenting part. Our culture fed me this idea that once I became a mom, this “motherly instinct” would kick in and I would just inherently know the right thing to do in any given situation. After all, mother knows best.
I took comfort in this. It lulled me into a sense of safety knowing this instinct would kick in once the baby came and all would be well. I mean, this parenting thing couldn’t be that hard, right? Lots of people became parents.
And then I became a parent. And I held this child I’d been growing in my body for nine months, and my skin prickled, and I sobbed with joy, and I knew my life would never be the same again, and I was so, so okay with that. I felt a lot on the day I met my child, but not some lightswitch of parental instinct. Maybe it would come?
When they sent me home from the hospital, I remember pretending to be prepared and confident while on the inside I was a torment of worry, wondering how in the hell I was going to keep this baby alive when I hadn’t even managed to work brushing my own teeth twice daily into a routine.
What were these people thinking, sending me home with a human? Couldn’t they see I had absolutely no idea what I was doing? Where was this instinct I’d been promised?
It didn’t get any better. Everything was hard. Everything was learned. Nothing was automatic.
Childbirth? My body may have instinctively gotten the process going, but my babies came into the world with skilled professionals and modern medicine in the form of a glorious, glorious epidural.
Breastfeeding? Latching? Trigonometry to me.
Thank god for diapers with convenient labels like “Front” and “Back” so I didn’t look completely incompetent in front of the nurse I felt like I had to prove myself to.
Even bathing my newborn at home for the first time was hard. His soft skin became dolphin-slick once wet, and I worried I’d fumble him like a football. I kicked myself for not taking notes while the labor and delivery nurse bathed him so adeptly in the hospital sink.
Getting my kid to sleep literally anywhere besides my arms and the car seat became a complicated scientific process of independent and dependent variables – maybe the fleece pajamas will help, let’s try white noise, maybe if I set him down so, so gently, like a bomb…
At one point, I remember googling “help i am a mom with no maternal instinct what do i do”
I felt a lot of shame about this. I really, truly believed I wasn’t a good mom because it was so hard for me and none of it felt natural.
But I’m thinking differently now.
Maybe parenthood feels so hard because parenthood is so hard. And what I believed was supposed to be instinct actually just ended up being really, really hard work on my part. And, like, a lot of love and commitment to do best by my kids.
After all, you don’t become a good parent by simple instinct. You become a good parent by showing up again and again. By trying and failing, learning and unlearning. You tap into your village and resources and commit yourself to raising the next generation to be braver and kinder and more prone to grace than judgment. Biology shouldn’t get the credit for the hard work – that was all us.
So, I proudly affirm: I have no maternal instinct.
But I am still a good freaking mom.
We are done “should”ing
I inherited many beliefs about what makes a woman “good.”
I learned that a good girl should be compliant at home and school. She should be ambitious but not too ambitious. A good woman goes to college and gets a steady, practical job to support herself and her future family.
More important than work and education, though, a good woman should dedicate herself to attracting a financially stable partner with “would be such a good dad” potential. She should change her body, her words, her identity to attract someone who checks all the boxes. She says “I do.”
Then comes motherhood, where a good woman should be fulfilled by her family alone. Infertility is the ultimate shame because good women procreate. Of course, they would never, ever choose childlessness. That would be selfish, and a good woman is never selfish.
A good woman shrinks. She does not want. She does not need. She gives.
A good woman disappears.
I absorbed these lessons. I got the husband, the house, the kids, the job. I performed and pleased my way to this so-called American ideal, only to look back in a moment of breaking and wonder if I ever wanted any of that in the first place.
I felt confused. I had it all. I should be happier. Why was I so unsatisfied?
Earnestly, desperately, I asked myself: Do I even want to be married? To have kids? To teach? What else have I been “should”ing? These roles I’ve built my entire identity around – do I actually even want them?
Panic.
A good woman shouldn’t ask herself these questions, I thought.
But maybe I’m done being a good woman.
I want to be married. But I want to be whole – not another half.
I want my children. But my dreams don’t belong permanently on the back burner.
I want to teach. But with boundaries.
I want to be a good woman. But not under its current functioning definition.
Sisters, daughters, mothers, friends – we must dismantle the narrative of what makes a woman good. These cages are getting cramped.
Let’s forgive ourselves for “should”ing and pursue our joy shamelessly. We are done settling for being liked – we demand belonging, as our needy, imperfect selves.
Women with the audacity to ask themselves what they want and the courage to answer honestly are the changemakers, the patriarchy shakers, the cycle breakers.
We are here. Change is coming.
Struggle Bus Confessions 