“Mothers have martyred themselves in their children’s names since the beginning of time. We have lived as if she who disappears the most, loves the most. We have been conditioned to prove our love by slowly ceasing to exist. What a terrible burden for children to bear—to know that they are the reason their mother stopped living. What a terrible burden for our daughters to bear—to know that if they choose to become mothers, this will be their fate, too. Because if we show them that being a martyr is the highest form of love, that is what they will become. They will feel obligated to love as well as their mothers loved, after all. They will believe they have permission to live only as fully as their mothers allowed themselves to live.” - Glennon Doyle, Untamed
It was 2011 and I was handing my new baby boy over to a young babysitter for the first time ever. The physical distance between us was just a few feet (he, in the living room, me, in the office / guest room). But the mommy guilt was deep as an ocean, wide as the sea. My heart told me I was, in fact, doing irreparable harm to my sweet boy by choosing to have a career, when given the opportunity to be a stay-at-home-mom (a privilege in and of itself; who would turn that down)…
I didn’t accomplish a single thing that first day, short of soothing my own heart as best I could and counting the minutes until my workday was over.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago — twelve years, two more kids, and a whole lot of work and life later. I am leaving for North Carolina for a photoshoot.
“Later dudes!” I holler from the bottom of the stairs, suitcase rolling behind me. My three kids barrel down the stairs half-yelling, half-laughing, “Mom don’t go! What are you going to bring me? Can I have my iPad tonight? Can we order pizza? Tell Mrs. Whitney we said hi!”