By: Katrina Donham
Motherhood Content Warning—If you’d prefer not to discuss motherhood or moms today, feel free to skip this essay. We see you, and your choice to take care of yourself. For those who want to join us, read on.
Katrina, a parent and mother of two, reflects on her motherhood journey each year and shares the challenges and wisdom she gained throughout.
Nearly five years ago, I was deep in the throes of new parenthood, a reality wildly different from what I had imagined. I’d just given birth to my first child in NYC in April of 2020, and the sucker-punches were relentless. The blows of sleep deprivation, mastitis, postpartum anxiety and depression, the Covid-19 lockdown, and the absence of a “village” knocked me down, both figuratively and literally. During that inaugural year of my firstborn’s life, I suffered immensely—mentally, emotionally, and physically—but somehow I pulled myself back up to standing and continued to walk and fight my way through whatever came my way. And with every passing day, I became more agile, stronger, and wiser.
Four years ago, I morphed into a more confident parent, listening to my intuition and trusting my child’s ability to communicate her needs. I started to wear clothes that made me feel like myself again, add bold red lipstick, and get back to self-care appointments: a haircut, a dental cleaning, and yoga classes. Within a matter of months, I discovered that I was pregnant with our second child, and my first postpartum experience quickly began to haunt me. My fears and worries grew along with my baby. Unequivocally, I knew I needed to do things differently this time. So, I did. I came up with a postpartum plan with my partner and informed my newfound “village” in our new city, Asheville, North Carolina. And, as my due date neared, I found myself in a much better headspace than with my first.
Three years ago, I gave birth to our second child, falling in love all over again but with another gravitational force. I was surprisingly calm and collected this second time around. I’d become a more seasoned, more patient, and more compassionate mother and also had an easier transition with recovery, nursing, and sleep. All of my fears and worries dissipated with that first skin-to-skin embrace, and my heart expanded more than I thought possible.
Two years ago, things got more difficult. After a year of caring for a baby and a toddler simultaneously, the center—me—could no longer hold. I started to unravel. I soon realized it was no longer sustainable to ignore my own needs, and I needed to take swift, immediate action. Within a week, I found a therapist and began weekly virtual appointments. Soon thereafter, I gave up control over every aspect and hour of parenting by handing over various household and childcare tasks to my partner, so I could reconnect with myself—so I could rebuild, heal, and reclaim space for my own well-being.
One year ago, I felt a distinct shift—a cosmic pull—to express myself creatively again. Ever since I was a young girl, I’d wanted to be a writer, and when I finally answered the call to sit down, listen, and type, the words poured out like rain on drought-stricken land. Slowly, I began to feel alive again—not just someone going through the motions. I started dreaming, feeling empowered, and reclaiming a sense of self that had felt distant for too long. Since committing to that daily writing practice, I haven’t looked back.
Today, I’m at peace. I’m happy. I’m proud of myself. With more childcare help, my partner and I have been able to repair our relationship and rekindle romance, and I’ve also been able to carve out time to reunite with my first loves: walks in nature, cooking in the kitchen, and chats with old and new friends over coffee. Every morning, I look forward to the day ahead knowing that it will have its losses but also knowing there will be wins.
Indeed, the last five years have not been easy by any stretch, but I am grateful for them.
There were times when all I could see was darkness, but it was my daughters—my two little suns—who guided me with light and illuminated my world, offering unbridled joy, unforced forgiveness, and unconditional love, unapologetically.
Yes, I’m sure parenthood will inevitably continue to throw curveballs, but because I’ve learned to trust myself, my partner, and my kids, I’m better equipped to take on all that comes my way.
By nourishing my mind, body, and soul, I’m able to be the mother that I long to be. I’m able to pause before reacting. I’m able to recognize signs of overstimulation or dysregulation and know what to do to effectively cope. I’m able to be fully present with my children—to take in the warmth of their bodies close to mine, to record their bright smiles and boisterous laughs to memory, to immerse myself in all of the wonderful sensations of parenthood: combing through the strands of my daughters’ golden hair, feeling their spontaneous kisses on my round cheeks, and the beating of their hearts while I lay my hands on their backs as they fall asleep.
That’s the dichotomy of parenthood: it’s beautiful and ugly and magical and mundane all at the same time, and—I love it.
I can’t imagine myself writing that last sentence even a year ago. So if you’re in a motherhood season of challenge or despair, I encourage you to remember that a season is just a season, and one day, you’ll find yourself in a different season, one with new struggles but also one with ease and moments of gratitude.
About The Author
Katrina writes about parenting and mental health. You can find her words at Business Insider, The Mother Chapter, and her Substack publication, Human/Mother.
