15/03/2026
I think this is very well written and an important thing to have out there.
I read with genuine fascination this week a piece published by the BBC: The women who regret being mothers.
Those who have been a part of our little community for years will be well versed in just how much I struggled with becoming a mother. Both of my children were very much planned, very much wanted, and are very much loved; and simultaneously, being a parent is the hardest, hardest thing I have ever done in my life.
Sitting down to write this post, I am fascinated by my own reluctance to use the word "mother" when describing myself. "Parent" feels a bit easier, but "mother" is something I feel an almost visceral sense not to need to label myself as. There are inevitably many reasons why.
The article is well worth a read. So much of it resonated with me. These are women who adore their children; but who regret, deeply, the lives that they have lost in the process.
One of the primary reasons I wrote this blog in the early days is because I couldn't find anyone, anywhere, talking about just how absolutely, utterly, exhausting and relentless the early years of parenting when you are the primary carer - and we know, still, that is typically the mother - can be. No one, anywhere, ever, had suggested to me that parenting might not be something that I enjoyed. It was the panacea: the natural next step in this game of life.
There are lots of reasons that we don't talk about this. Firstly, for fear of how we will be perceived. How could anyone not love being a mother?! We don't want to be perceived as a "monster", as one woman heartbreakingly confesses to in the article.
Secondly, because we know how lucky we are. God, we are so lucky. There will be women reading this today who are unable to have children; who have lost children; who are missing their own mothers. Is it even right that we should articulate our own struggles with all that others are facing?
Thirdly, because we conflate struggling with being a mother, with a perception that we don't love our own children. I am going to say this bit loudly, so there is absolutely no room for doubt. IT IS POSSIBLE TO SIMULTANEOUSLY FIND PARENTING HARD; ISOLATING; RELENTLESS AND DOWNRIGHT MISERABLE.......WHILST ALSO LOVING YOUR CHILDREN WITH EVERY BREATH IN YOUR BODY.
There is absolutely zero correlation between how hard or easy you find being a parent, and how much you love your kids. Zero. Zilch. Nothing. From the moment Jamie and Beth were born I knew I had never loved anyone this much, ever. And from the moment Jamie and Beth were born I wondered what the f**k I had done, as the life I had known disappeared seemingly overnight.
Being a mother in those early years is one of the loneliest, most exhausting and most relentless things I have ever done. For me it was not about regretting becoming a mother, but rather grieving the life I had lost. And doing so on an average of 2 hours' sleep a night, while being on 24/7 call out to a helpless human being who was totally dependent on me.
I hate the lazy parroting of "postnatal depression" that gets trotted out to women who do find themselves able to speak up about how difficult they are finding things. Yes, postnatal depression is very real, experienced by many women, and should absolutely be acknowledged and supported. But it is also not true to say that all women who are struggling are experiencing postnatal depression. Sometimes, it is simply that we are struggling because parenting is f**king hard. I think if there was a more honest and open dialogue about the fact that that is the case.......it would feel like a weight had lifted.
As I've said so many times on here: in parenting, we all find our time. We all have our individual skillsets and things we enjoy. For some, becoming a mother is everything they have ever wanted. For others, it is quite the opposite. I had nothing in my armoury that could help me manage those early years of baby and toddlerhood. By contrast, when we hit the teenage years: suddenly, life was great again. I have adored spending time with my children as teenagers; for others, I appreciate it can be the very toughest of times.
We all find our time.
Back to my second point, above. Grief is not a competition; and we do all those suffering a disservice when we make it so. We can absolutely feel sadness and empathy and compassion for those who would give anything to have children; and at the same time acknowledge our own struggles with being a mother. Not speaking up doesn't alter our truth. And the brutal reality is that far, far too many women - some men, as well, but it is primarily women, as the prevalent primary carers - are suffering silently with the brutal realities of everything parenting has to throw at us.
Mother's Day is in many ways a strange day. Dependent on where you are on your own life journey, it can be a day of celebration; reflection; grief; joy.
Being a mother is an enormous privilege, but it is also an enormous load. It is the systematic dismantling of the life that we once knew. For some, for better; for others, very much for worse. It is the enormity of unconditional love. It is everything. It can give us everything, but it can take, everything, too. It is huge, and it is relentless, and it can ebb and flow as the waves on the shore, crashing fiercely before, sometimes, receding into gentler currents; nothing but the quiet in and out of the water on the sand.
To everyone who finds Mother's Day tough, for whatever reason: I send you my love ❤️
