Motherhood Is Hard (And We Need to Stop Pretending Otherwise)
The Things Mothers Aren’t Allowed to Say Out Loud
It’s not really something we are allowed to say out loud. And even if these feelings don’t define the whole truth of motherhood, many mothers—myself included—have had moments where the role feels unbearably heavy. The weight of responsibility. The pressure to emotionally regulate ourselves and our children. The constant vigilance. The invisible labour.
Becoming a mother is complex.
Being a mother is even more complicated.
Across my therapy practice, I’ve heard this confession over and over again. Mothers whisper these truths to me in sessions because they don’t know where else to put them. It is often the first time they have spoken these words out loud:
“Motherhood feels burdensome.”
“Sometimes I wish I could just disappear for a day.”
“I miss myself.”
And almost always, these confessions are accompanied by shame.
A fear of being seen as ungrateful.
Selfish.
Not mother enough.
But having space to tell the truth matters. And it has never surprised me how many women have entrusted me with these words—because they have nowhere else to go.
The Myth of Glowing Motherhood
The entire process of becoming a mother comes with this unspoken promise: that it will be the most magical, fulfilling experience of your life.
“Oh, you’re pregnant—you must be thrilled.”
“And surely, you must love being pregnant.”
But not all of us do.
I didn’t.
And even though I wanted my child deeply, I hated being pregnant. Every minute of it. Yet even admitting that feels like a violation of some sacred rule. Because women who dislike pregnancy are treated as suspicious. Ungrateful. Emotionally defective.
Pregnancy is framed as radiant, but in reality it is also an identity unraveling. A quiet, internal loss. A reshaping of the self that no one prepares you for.
Many women silently ask:
“Who will I be on the other side of this?”
“Will I still recognize myself?”
“Will motherhood consume me?”
And we never say it out loud, because good mothers are supposed to give endlessly, tirelessly, and without pause.
The Unspoken Burden of Motherhood
Motherhood is rarely the glossy narrative we are sold.
Most women live in the space between:
I love my child
and
this is really hard
Many mothers carry invisible burdens:
The emotional labour of managing everyone’s feelings
The ongoing mental load of planning, anticipating, organizing
The grief of losing parts of themselves
The quiet resentment that appears on hard days
The fear of becoming like their own mothers, even when they know deeply they are different
The loneliness of not being able to express any of this without judgment
Some days, the weight is so heavy that women privately think:
“I wish I didn’t have to do this today.”
Not because they don’t love their child—but because they are human.
The shame is not in the feeling.
The shame is in the silence.
The Patriarchal Blueprint of the “Perfect Mother”
(Bethany Webster, Discovering the Inner Mother)- List is quoted from her book.
Bethany Webster names what so many women feel but cannot articulate: that patriarchal cultures have made motherhood oppressive by turning it into a mandate and embedding impossible expectations into the role.
Historically, mothers have been required to:
Relinquish personal ambitions for the family
Deplete themselves in service of others
Carry the primary caretaking burden no matter what
Suppress their own needs and attend endlessly to everyone else
Handle everything with effortless grace
Maintain well-behaved children, a thriving marriage, a successful career, high libido, social grace, emotional perfection, and physical beauty — all at once
And if a mother struggles?
Society’s unspoken message is clear:
If motherhood is hard, it’s your fault.
Shame on you if you’re not superhuman.
Some women are “natural mothers”—if you’re not one of them, you’re defective.
This messaging seeps into the psyche of mothers everywhere.
So when they struggle, they don’t think:
“The expectations are unfair.”
They think:
“I’m failing.”
The Taboo of Wanting to Be Alone
Here’s another truth mothers almost never speak out loud:
We need to be alone.
Not because we don’t love our families, but because humans—every single one of us—need solitude.
We need time for our own thoughts.
Time to feel our feelings without interruption.
Time where no one is asking for something, climbing on our bodies, needing us to regulate their emotions.
Time where we aren’t speaking, soothing, planning, responding, explaining, or performing.
We need time where we can simply be.
But once a woman becomes a mother, the taboo appears:
“You must put the family first.”
All the time.
Without exception.
Without complaint.
The idea of a mother taking a vacation alone?
Heavily frowned upon.
It signals selfishness.
It implies she is abandoning her duty.
But here’s the truth I want to normalize:
Yes, put the family first—but also, fuck always putting the family first.
Because a family system cannot thrive without the separateness of its members.
Without individual space.
Without moments that are just yours.
Without the ability to pause and reclaim yourself.
Two parents who never take time for themselves do not create a strong family.
They create a drained one.
And needing space from your family does not mean you aren’t putting them first.
It means you understand how family systems actually work.
It means you know that your wholeness is part of your children’s safety.
You are not abandoning your family when you take space.
You are supporting them.
We Heal By Telling the Truth
Motherhood becomes heavier when it is lived in silence.
But motherhood becomes more bearable—more authentic—when we allow space for ambivalence:
“I love my child, and I am overwhelmed.”
“I adore being a mother, and I miss my old life.”
“I want closeness, and I want space.”
“I am devoted, and I am tired.”
You do not break generational cycles through perfection.
You break them through honesty, awareness, repair, and self-respect.
And your child does not need a flawless mother.
They need a real one.
A mother who feels, who tries, who rests, who repairs, who loves deeply.
A mother who honours her own humanity.
That is enough.
More than enough.
Maintain well-behaved children, a thriving marriage, a successful career, high libido, social grace, emotional perfection, and physical beauty — all at once
These expctations are inhuman.
And yet they shape how mothers judge themselves every single day.
Our society’s covert messages to mothers are equally brutal:
If motherhood is difficult, it’s your fault
Shame on you if you are not superhuman
There are “natural mothers” for whom it’s easy—if you’re not one of them, something is wrong with you
These messages make women feel defective for simply being human.
Why It’s So Hard to Admit the Truth
Because admitting motherhood is hard feels like confessing a crime.
It feels like saying:
“I’m not grateful enough.”
“I’m not cut out for this.”
“Something is wrong with me.”
“I’m failing.”
But here is the truth that patriarchy never taught us:
Feeling overwhelmed does not mean you’re failing.
Feeling resentment does not mean you’re unloving.
Missing your old life does not make you ungrateful.
Needing space does not make you selfish.
Struggling does not make you defective.
It makes you human.
A human who is mothering.
And there is no identity in the world more demanding, more consuming, or more emotionally complex than that.
Reclaiming the Real Story of Motherhood
Motherhood becomes more honest—more bearable—when we allow room for ambivalence:
“I love my child, and I am exhausted.”
“I am grateful, and I feel lost.”
“I want to be here, and I want to be myself again.”
“I am doing my best, and I need help.”
You do not break generational cycles through perfection.
You break them through awareness, humility, repair, and compassion.
And the truth is: your child does not need a flawless mother. They need a real one.
A mother who feels.
A mother who tries.
A mother who learns and repairs.
A mother who loves with depth and honesty.
A mother who acknowledges her limits.
That is enough.
More than enough.
A Reflection If You Are Reading This
If you feel torn, tired, grateful, resentful, overwhelmed, hopeful, lonely, joyful, and everything in between—
You are not alone.
You are not failing.
You are not meant to be superhuman.
You are a mother.
A real one.
Trying her best in a culture that demands perfection and offers very little support.
And if nobody has said this to you: You’re doing enough. You are enough. And your humanity is not a flaw — it is your strength.
