One of my daughters is six years old. Only six years old and already I'm astounded by the amount of times she interprets everyday life to mean that she isn't good enough. It doesn't really matter whether it's struggling to learn Chinese in her immersion class in first grade, or her parents not acknowledging her because four other voices are asking for things at the same time... that is her conclusion. "I'm not good enough."
It starts early, but all of us struggle with this. Most, if not all, of our tangled webs lead to that conclusion if we just keep following the string til we get to the core of it. A belief of not being good enough.
That's what I've discovered as I've made lifecoaching an everyday staple of my life (listening to coaching calls almost daily and being coached myself once or twice a month). I bring an issue to the coaching session, we talk about it, loosen it up, I inevitably cry about it, and realize in the end that it comes down to a deep belief that I'm not good enough.
I'm thinking of the moms I help now, the ones who are in the trenches after having their first baby. There are many things they experience that try to convince them that they are not good enough, and in so many ways.
Here were a few of mine.
I remember looking at my reflection for the first time after my first baby was born. It was strange to see how much smaller my tummy was than it had been just a few hours earlier, but I was disappointed to see I still looked pregnant. Maybe twenty-four weeks instead of forty, but nonetheless. I expected to "bounce back" to my pre-pregnant size. And I believed- wow. I'm not thin enough.
Any time I was in public and the baby happened to cry, I felt like I was in a fishbowl with judgmental looks and unwanted attention. Inevitably someone would comment that she must be hungry. Hearing this over and over soon became triggering for me because it took several weeks before breastfeeding wasn't agonizingly painful for me. I also wanted to feed her discretely and stay in the church meeting or family gathering, but didn't know how to without seeing what I was doing. So I would banish myself and miss out on things. I felt like there was a societal expectation to not allow a baby to cry, and since she was exclusively breastfeeding, I was the only one who could make her stop. And I remember feeling pressure to do that, even when being hungry wasn't her reason for crying, just because the other adult suggested "she must be hungry". I was allowing other people's guesses, advice, and even just a passing comment to dictate the way I parented and second-guessed myself all the time. And then I believed, wow. I'm not competent enough.
I remember being jealous of my new baby. Because when she was inside of me, I'd get comments that I was adorable, or glowing, or I'd receive happy attention because I was having a baby (granted, sometimes I didn't like the attention, especially near the end of pregnancy when everyone always asked the same questions). And people would be extra considerate, making an effort to make sure I was comfortable. And then as soon as she was out of me, the attention shifted instantly to the baby, and I started to think that was why I had any of that love in the first place. Like my worth was only in the fact that I was a vessel for bringing her earthside. And then I felt self-judgment and kept all these thoughts to myself, because who would be immature enough to actually be jealous of their baby?! And then I believed, wow. I'm not lovable enough.
Not strong enough.
Not beautiful enough.
Not smart enough.
I could go on.
New mama, I know you look around and think, 'look at that mom with five kids. I only have one and I'm barely surviving. I'm not good enough.'
I had the same thoughts. And now I'm a mama of five and I wish I could go back to my fresh postpartum self and just be with me. I'd sit, and we'd cry together, and I'd say,
"Yes to all of you."
It's easy to say yes to the "good" parts of you: the parts that love being a mom. The parts that serve, sacrifice, and lullabye.
But I mean even yes to all the rest of you too.
Yes to the part that waited too long to change her diaper and now she's got a rash.
Yes to the part that let her into your bed in the middle of the night but couldn't get back to sleep because it felt like you were doing something illegal.
Yes to the part with the scary, violent, unwelcome thoughts that you felt you shouldn't tell anyone.
Yes to the part that felt so weak, bearing the weight of the carseat and new responsibility of all of this.
Yes to the part that wanted to be involved in social things but left exhausted because of worry about what everyone else was thinking of you the whole time.
Yes to the part that is disappointed by how the birth went, and then the part that chastises you because "you should just be grateful that you and the baby were healthy."
Yes to the part that gets up every day (and several times in the night) and tries again, even without self-confidence.
All of those parts of you are worth loving.
Mama, I know you think you're not good enough. But when you accept and say yes to all those parts of you, you start to see that you always have been.
If you want help to be able to say yes to all of you, consider my one-on-one help. I love you already.
Until next week. ❤
And now for a FUN announcement!
If you are (or know someone who is) pregnant with baby #1, I'd love to give you a little heads-up for what life can be like after the birth of your baby. Spend 3 minutes learning in this super fun (and free) way: a Choose Your Own Adventure inspired game, Choose Your Postpartum Journey. Click here to play!