I Miss My Old Life When I Hate Motherhood

It isn’t enough to say that motherhood is the hardest job on the planet. Those words do not fully convey the heavyweight of responsibility that comes with raising a child. A more accurate way to phrase this experience would be closer to motherhood is demanding in a physical, financial, mental, and emotional way that might destroy you. Still, you’ll do it with love anyway because you cannot imagine any other life even if motherhood steals every last ounce of your identity and sanity.

I won’t put words in “your” or “we” mouths. I’ll stick to *I* and say that I am not allowed to be a grateful or respected mother and simultaneously admit that motherhood can cause me to feel resentment and anger. It’s not wholesome to say that I sometimes hate being the mother. Or that sometimes the thought of walking out the door and not coming back is more tempting than cooking one more dinner that no one will eat and everyone will complain over.

And so I reminisce about my past. I dream of those days when responsibility was no more complicated than paying an electric bill or agreeing to have dinner with my parents when I’d rather be at the bar singing Cat Power songs with my girls. I wasn’t needed. I was wanted.

I miss smoking. I miss drinking. I miss staying up until obscene hours of the night painting and listening to loud music. I miss laying in bed until noon on Sundays while reading the New York Times Sunday edition and eating way too many donuts. I miss stupid things like date night with my husband…