Confessions of a Sometimes-Manic Mom

Mother. Mom. Ma.
The word sounds simple enough. In fact, it's said that this sound is the easiest and most natural for a baby to make—it mimics their suckling action: mmm-ma. But the person who plays this role carries the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Oof, the expectations that come with the role! Put the baby first no matter what.
It’s the “no matter what” where moms often lose themselves.

My pregnancy journey was like a bike ride on a treacherous mountain range to say the least. It had more dips into valleys than clifftops though (fewer breathtaking views), and it was ridden with cycles of depression, dejection, hope, and then depression and dejection all over again. To share the entire story will take a book, and maybe that’s a story for another day. But what I can say is that the whole journey took away pieces of me—sometimes small and sometimes in big chunks.

Another part of me vanished when my baby was born at just 26 weeks—14 weeks too soon—and weighed only 814 grams. She had to be rushed into the NICU and placed on a ventilator immediately.

I lost small pieces of myself during the daily NICU visits. Watching your not-yet-fully-formed baby tangled in wires and tubes, writhing in pain with every needle prick, can do that to you.

It wasn’t all loss, of course. I gained new pieces too—small, fragile ones. Like when I saw my baby slowly gain strength, weight, and form. I gained a little more when we could finally remove her from oxygen support after three long months. (She hated those tubes and the mask on her nose and would constantly tug at them, by the way.) I gained a slightly larger piece of myself when I finally brought her home.

But then, just a week later, I lost everything I had gained in a single moment—when she almost lost her life during one of those dreaded early-morning feeds. Her oxygen levels dropped so dangerously that we nearly lost her.

So where does all this gaining and losing leave me?
Incomplete.
Hollow.
Numb.
Without a clear sense of self.

And that’s where the expectation to “put the baby first no matter what” becomes problematic.

My story only scratches the surface. Every mother I know has their own complex journey—some visible, some invisible—but they all carry the weight silently. And still, society expects them to be everything and do everything.

I know this might sound like a long rant. But if you paused—really paused—and thought about what each of our mothers did and continue to do under the crushing weight of expectation, you'd see just how deep this goes.

So, why am I writing this?

Because May is Mental Health Awareness Month. It’s also the month of Mother’s Day. (Coincidence? Maybe. Maybe not.) It’s time we learned that putting ourselves first sometimes is not selfish, it’s essential. It’s time we started reclaiming the pieces we’ve lost. Bit by bit.

I hope mothers everywhere find something, anything, that helps them feel more like themselves again. For me, it's music. It's been over two years since I sang along and danced to a song. This May, I vow to sing again and dance again. And to do other little things that make me feel a little more me.

(To those of you who might be wondering about my baby’s health, maybe my baby will sing and dance with me too, now that she’s doing so well. #KnockOnWood.)

I hope you find your “music” too.

(Written by Shilpiya, Momly Mom)