Resenting Motherhood

 

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I don’t want to be a mom anymore. I’m done. My nerves are shot, my fuses are short-circuiting, and my brain has backfired on cold, stale coffee for the very last time. The lone spark plug of sanity keeping me out of the loony bin has finally fizzled out. The mounting pressure has become too much for me to bear another tantrum-filled moment of motherhood. This mom is burnt the fuck out.

Sorry but I’m not sorry for admitting aloud how I feel. The little voice in the back of my head chants, “run away and save yourself”, on loop like a Scientology auditor during an audit session. Thoughts of being childless again and only responsible for my own self follows me around like, well…ughm…like my children; constantly tempting me to give in to its illicit demand. For Christ’s sake – I need space to breathe, too, dammit. Some time alone to grow as an individual would be lovely. Maybe even remember how to take care of myself again, because I am pretty sure after my billionth ass wiping, it all went out the window.

Four children, a rollercoaster marriage with The Right Guy (after The Wrong One gave the genetic data sample, which led me to motherhood in the first place), and the lack of familial support over the past twelve years has led me here. The point in my life where I resent my role as a mother.

 

Brilliantly, I managed to trash the infinite amount of unexploited potential my future still held in a matter of five, sweaty, skin-slapping, fluid-swapping, orgasmic minutes. With that guy who had no future potential once the party phase was over. Between his lack of work ethic and love of getting high, he was the farthest thing from husband and father material I would have looked for – if I had actually been looking to start that chapter in my life. Alas, I was not. This was back before the medical field thought women should be aware of the correlation between taking prescribed antibiotics and birth control medication failure. The newly embraced freedom from the unnecessarily prolonged hampering of my youth was lost forever in the bypassing of a condom, under the influence of alcohol and cocaine, at 4:26 a.m. that 16th of December. Twelve loooong and painful years ago. We had trusted in The Pill far too much.

That decision cost me everything.

Now, here I am at my fucking breaking point; being crushed under the weight of pure exhaustion and the endless amount of bullshit responsibility dumped on me. I was far from ready for it all and the struggle to keep my head on straight has become far too real. I desperately need a timeout from motherhood. From the snot, poop, vomit, farts, and spit. I want to sleep one whole night without smelling stale piss emanating from my mattress. Or being pissed on. For the love of all things holy and sacred – I just want a whole damn night’s sleep without those bratty hoodlums hijacking even the little voice of control freak level paranoia worries in the back of my head. Deciphering crashes at random while I keep one eye open for uncoordinated sleepwalkers cannot possibly be considered a good night’s sleep, in the first place. Even if my bed remains dry. I cannot escape my children, no matter how badly I need to. They are always on my heels, crawling up my ass, attached to my hip, and in my face with their milk breath (which was no longer so sweet-smelling after their first birthdays came and went).

I created the greatest Catch-22 of all time with the choices I made and I cannot help but be resentful for it. Having kids before I was fully grown and matured forced my hand to play along with the expectations of society – becoming another nuclear family stereotype in order to rectify my societal disgrace. In my depraved naivety at twenty-one, I wholeheartedly believed the fantasy happily ever after with The Right Guy would go just as I had daydreamed it to be. I have to stop and laugh at myself, now, for once thinking such girlish delusions. The Right Guy is not perfect, by any means; his own flaws will be so disenchanting at times, life can seem even harder than it needs to be. He certainly was not responsible for controlling what life handed me… and the decisions I made thereafter, either. What one brings into a marriage and supply the family dynamic with, is exactly what one will get out of it. I had to learn that fact the hard way. My struggle to grow up overnight has created the storm threatening to sink this ship that is motherhood and marriage rolled into one. My husband is already stretching himself too thin in order to allow me the luxury of being a stay-at-home-mom. It is not his duty to get a grip on my reality for me.

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Don’t get me wrong. I love my children more than life, itself. They amaze me with their continuously blossoming personalities, playful antics, and kind-hearted compassion for others. I am just so Goddamned sick of the ear-piercing whines, the sibling rivalry, the unnecessary defiance over the smallest of tasks, and the never-ending demands for everything under the sun when my hands are full and my back is breaking. Disgusted by the dirty faces, sticky hands, shitty pants, and broken record tattle-tales over petty nonsense. Motherhood has pushed every nerve I have left. OKAY!- the only nerve I have left. There is no time allotted for my self-preservation, whatsoever. I cannot even take a shit or shower alone. This mom is fresh out of fucks to give and needs an escape. STAT. Reinforcements never showed up to give her the slightest reprieve to catch her breath.

So, if you happen to see some strange woman with her dirty, disheveled hair in her fists, screeching something along the lines of “They’re coming! They found me! Hide me! Better yet, just shoot me and put me outta my misery…pretty please with a cherry on top,” don’t be alarmed. It’s just me. In the throes of a nervous breakdown, trying to save myself from those relentless children of mine who have flipped turned upside down the life I had dreamt of for myself. At least I have enough maturity and wisdom under my belt, now, to know I won’t feel this way forever. The resentment will pass, as with everything else life throws at me. Even my children.

One day, when they’ve all flown the coop and can no longer torture my sanity with pulsing migraines and bad attitudes galore, I will look back on this and resent ever feeling such resentment – for deep down under the grit of the daily grind, I know I painstakingly built this tiring, but ever-so fulfilling life out of the unconditional love and adoring affections I could never live without now. Even if it makes a lovely, albeit temporary, daydream.

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11 thoughts on “Resenting Motherhood

  1. Oh, my lovely, I’m so sorry you are going through this. I, too, and most mothers out there to through this to some degree. Mine was severe. I had no family help either and a husband who worked long hours and drank his way through his home hours. It is overwhelming, I know. You’re not a bad mother, at least you know that. I’m not sure how old your youngest is but if you’re still butt wiping, I’m assuming pretty young. I wish I had some great advice. I’m sure there are a million and one articles out there on ‘fun activities to keep your kids busy while you take a breather’ but let’s face it, once you’re to this point, the last fucking thing you want to do is gather craft materials and then they bicker over that. This glimpse into some other mothers lives that seem so perfect may in fact be, but mostly the struggle is very real. I wish I were closer and could come play grandma (ewwww, let’s rephrase, could come play Auntie Pookadie) for a day for you to shower, sleep and eat an actual hot meal ALONE. All I can offer is an ear, the fact that I’m an incomniac so my office hours are pretty damn convenient and my fees are reasonable – free! lol I can tell you this, at least you have the mom balls to tell it like it is. I felt every fiery, resentful emotion you are feeling right now but had no one or no way to say it. I love you, Sisterfriend, and your children will grow and go. But again fuck that because that doesn’t help you now. You’re not alone and are loved by many. Keep writing keep wiping – butts and tears, and reach out anytime, day or night and jingle my shingle. xoxoxoxoxo

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    1. I can’t tell you how much love I have for you, Auntie Pookadie! If I can’t say it aloud, then I’ll never resolve it. At least that is how it goes for me. Letting the thoughts and feelings consume my mind ain’t gonna help anybody. I read something this morning about owning time that really gave me pause on all the built-up resentments, so I’m embracing that today now that I’ve opened myself up to healing by hitting publish. Having the greatest friends, even computer screens apart, makes it so much easier to be the best me I can be and work through the times I feel like the worst me possible. Thank you for being there for me, love. ❤❤❤

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  2. I truly hope you feel some better for getting all that magnificent rant out. I imagine, no, I’m sure, there are many mothers and no few (probably single) fathers who can relate both to the resentment and the love that makes it (if, sometimes, barely) tolerable and can heal it. Thanks – rebloging

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  3. I can certainly relate and I am glad you are not afraid to say it. We all often feel this way and wonder what people will think and fear if people will equate us to the ones that tragically drown their kids in the bathtub. We aren’t! We are human beings being pulled thin. We are parenting in a society that expects much more from us as parents than any other generation before us, and that shit is hard.

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  4. What a raw and honest post.. and I know all mothers can relate to this at least at some level. I hope you are able to sneak some time to yourself soon but I know that can be nearly impossible!!!

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  5. I was a mom to twins at 17. And sure as shit didn’t get a reality show with a huge paycheck out of it, but I digress. I so remember that feeling of resentment and then the immediate guilt that followed because it was me and my choices that caused my situation not my precious babies.
    They are now 21 and my pride and joy along with the rest of my kiddos. But there us a special bond with the two oldest because at one time it was us against the world. It felt like everyone was watching and waiting for us to fail simply due to circumstances.
    It is so cliche but I promise as I am on the other side of things with now adult children you will look back on your struggle and be proud. You will know that despite all those feelings you tried your damndest and loved as fiercely as you could. And in the end that is simply what kids need. An involved parent who loves and cares for them and does their best raising them.

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  6. Awe! Hang in there girl! It’s tough I know but we were born to be mothers! You got this! I too have a mommy blog if you wanna check it out. I’m a new blogger, so it’s not complete. I’ll be posting about motherhood, marriage, and just life in general. I suffer from post partum anxiety so I will definitely be blogging about it. Thegoodenufmommy.wordpress.com

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  7. I know this post is from over a year ago and you may not even be checking this thread anymore, but I still had to comment. You and I sound like we’re one in the same! My resentment of motherhood had me googling “I Resent Motherhood” and up popped your blog post. I too became pregnant amidst a night of too much Ciroc Vodka and over the top New Years Eve shenanigans with my then boyfriend. At the time I was 33, carefree, living a good life. Fast forward three years in and I found myself parenting solo after my daughter’s dad died from cancer. Before she was 4 we’d lost 3 main people essential to her life and my support system: her dad’s mom, my dad and her dad (who passed 3 mths after my dad). She’s now 8 and I have been miserable ever since I’ve been having to do this alone. I resent that I can’t get a moment to breathe let alone remember who I was as a person before she came along. I haven’t had a real relationship since her dad died. Can’t meet anyone because I rarely go out. I haven’t been to the beauty salon or pampered myself in YEARS. Whenever someone invites me to something I really want to do motherhood always gets in the way. Plus, my kiddo has ADHD, anxiety disorder and ODD so that makes parenting even harder. I’m a writer also (I can tell you are too because you have a kickass way with words!). I had dreams of moving to NYC and living the life of a writer. Welp, that’s gone down the shit hole. I can’t even remember the last time I really wrote anything. All of my writing tablets have more dust in them than words. I love my child, but I truly hate motherhood. I keep hoping the regret and angst I feel for it will one day dissipate but it hasn’t yet. I don’t know how I can do this for another 10-11 years.

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