A while ago a friend of mine was chatting about energy vampires, and how the term really wasn’t fair because often people don’t mean to suck the energy out of others. Instead she said, she was taught about how people can either be radiators or drains.
We can radiate joy or love, or we can pull the plug, and it’ll drain out of us, and eventually other people to.
This really resonated with me, because I think many of us go through periods of being both of these throughout our lives, and sometimes, we’re neutral – though always a little more inclined to one pole. That said, life in 2023 is anything but binary, so of course, thinking about our energy contribution or contamination is the same; we all sit somewhere in the spectrum.
Where we sit is up to us. At least in part.
Yes Tony Robins will tell you that you decide it all, that you have a giant within and can bend space to your will; and I believe him to an extent, but I am also a neurodivergent woman who’s got 3 (also likely neurodivergent) kids and a 12 week old puppy. I know, that as much as I can decide something and make a plan, life happens. What I can do is figure out who the biggest energy in the room is.
Confused? Yeah, I was too!
It’s taken me a while to figure out what I meant when I wrote that down in a journal after listening to many talks and coaches and trying to figure out why I was still spending days spinning out when my kids and life got chaotic.
I can control what I do / how I react within the capacity I have. I can check in with my body and see where the energy is. I can look to find the biggest energy in the room – i.e. who’s the radiator or who’s the drain, and who’s winning?
If I’m with my kids and my 6yo is bringing all the radiator energy and LOVE for whatever the game is, I will absolutely give him the space to be the biggest energy.
Conversely, if he’s in a grump or screaming; I need to be a bigger energy so that I can help him through co-regulation. Fancy word, but all it means is I can step in to help calm without joining the chaos. Importantly, I need to genuinely validate the chaos first.
Then, I set the mood by leading.
I choose to drain the grumpiness away and instead radiate a more neutral feeling.
Does it always work? Nope. Is it effective? YES!
Like everything, sometimes things change, sometimes I’ll try switching to fun and they’re hungry or too hot and the attempt at fun actually peaks a whole new drama. Sometimes, I just haven’t got the energy.
But regardless, as my son said to me recently “we’re all just made up of energy and molecules moving around” so no-matter what we’re doing, we are somewhere on that spectrum.
“we’re all just made up of energy and molecules moving around”
“I feel like a shitty mum and a shitty wife for dumping loads on you today” I replied.
“That’s what we do things, if you need help, ask”.
He just gets it.
So for context, the day has been SO good and also SO rollercoaster-y; like many many of the days in my life with the kids and now our puppy. We’ve had her for nearly 4 weeks, and it’s been the hardest time in many ways, and not because of toilet accidents or night waking.
I’ve had rebellion in the rain over shoes and socks at the park, and tears over wet bums and cold feet. Stomps because dinner wasn’t right and so many sibling arguments to referee today. It’s a beautiful chaos, topped into explosive territory because my middle and youngest child have started squeaking like squeaky toys around the puppy, and freaking out when she comes to play and jumps on them. So I’ve been separating the crazies all day.
Pretty normal.
Also a lot.
Which led to this text conversation… and me sharing my feelings.
And then, true to pretty much everything in life, especially with P, he couldn’t sleep. So started to chat about molecules with me; and we went downstairs to tidy up and set up an experiment.
3 bowls – water, ice and air.
He sat on the side; and watched, telling me the water would evaporate and ice would melt.
…
…
…
“It takes time for things to change mummy“
Another day, I might have nodded along and agreed without much thought, but tonight, he brought a much deeper lesson. He was talking about the molecules in the ice cube; I was hearing words that resonate about life.
It takes time for things to change.
And honestly, we live in a world that prioritizes instant gratification so much that waiting feels especially hard. We want things now, we want things tomorrow, we want things yesterday.
I think we’ve forgotten the beauty in the build up of excitement while we wait for things.
Its not easy, in fact, waiting is downright uncomfortable, and probably why I’ve been in such a weird headspace today; but waiting is a part of life, and the fact that he gets that; the fact that it’s just normal (ish) for him, makes me feel really hopeful tonight.
Wherever you are reading this,
Whatever life is bringing you,
Whatever changes you are waiting for,
It takes time.
So I’m here waiting with you, and want to remind you, you are loved, you are important, you are enough.
The experience of welcoming a new human earthside is a remarkable journey. I’ve done it 3 times… and the feeling I get when I share my experiences, and listen to others is incredible. There is something so sacred about birth.
However, though absolutely deserving of the attention it gets; birth is the highlight in media and many conversations; with postpartum being a little left on the wayside. For first time parents, there is some emphasis placed on the changes of this transitional period (though by no means enough); but after that, it kind of just dissapears into the noise of everything.
Postpartum is just as – if not more – sacred that birth.
As I prepare to deliver a session next month on the postpartum period to some wonderful Doulas in training, I am called to write about it here too. In part, this is because, through the whole rollercoaster of parenthood, the attention, support and social associations between male and female parents is so different. I honestly cannot speak from stories of same sex couples; because to date I only know 2 same sex parent families who’ve had children, both of whom are female identifying. That said, we’ve all seen the memes where mum goes to the shops and is expected to ‘control the toddler’ versus dad who is ‘so wonderful’ for literally being a parent.
Nonetheless, outside of social expectations, speaking to men about their experiences postpartum – it is just as lonely, if not more so for them. It is isolating. It is hard. They receive even less support, with many (much needed) services aiming to support mothers as they transition into motherhood, and few doing the same for fathers.
Yet, it is, in my opinion, vital to recognise, support and celebrate the role that fathers play in the postpartum period. Supporting families as a whole unit here, in these early months, can lay the foundations for a family life that is built on a strong sense of connection, trust and nurturing. Not only is the child or children in a far more stable, healthy environment for their emotional growth, but both parents are more likely to communicate kindly with each other, have compassion, and connect in a more intimate way – which, let’s be honest, isn’t going to harm anyone’s sex life.
How can we support families as a whole unit?
In my postpartum prep session I dive deeply into conversations about the 4th Trimester and ways we can really support families.
If I could gift any new parent something, it would be this support. A step towards that is this information.
Nourishing the Body with Good Food:
One of the most fundamental ways to provide support is by ensuring that postpartum families are nourished with good food. In the absence of being able to literally take someone food (because honestly thats a BIG task), recommending recipies or supporting them to create a meal train where friends/famkly bring food, can make a huge impact.
The demands of parenting, combined with sleep deprivation and physical recovery from labour and birth, will massively affect new parent’s energy levels. Fathers, in particular, often are expected to step up to ensure that the family is well-fed during this vital period – and a sense of support and direction is helpful.
Nutrient-rich meals not only aid in physical recovery but will contribute to state of mind. When both parents are nourished with wholesome, healthy foods, they are less likely to falter in moments of stress, because they are physically having this need met.
Rest
In a fast-paced world, the idea of rest that isn’t justified by some kind of productivity beforehand might seem elusive. However, the fourth trimester calls for a major shift in perspective, where rest is acknowledged as a precious commodity. This is as true for fathers, who at least in this country are required to go back to their day jobs only 2 weeks after baby arrives, while still adjusting to their role as supporting the family in this new way.
Many conversations centre how fathers can take on more responsibilities. In part, yes I agree, because nursing a baby is a full time job and mums need rest. But, radically, I also assert that fathers should prioritise rest.
This should absolutely be a conversation before baby arrives. Dishes can be minimalised. Hoovering doesn’t have to be as often as it was. The house will be a mess and that’s okay. When dad’s rest is prioritised alongside mum’s, there is more balance, more opportunities for meaningful conversation and more joy.
Mental health
The last big focus in creating a supported postpartum experience, without diving into the other (essential) aspects mental health.
Yeah that’s too vague Rohana … we all know mental health matters, but how do we do anything about it?
Chat openly and honestly. Before having baby and after. Every step of the way… honest, non-judgemental conversations are essential. This is probably best done when everyone has been fed, and there isn’t insane levels of sleep deprivation being used as competitive advantage in the who feels worse game. But seriously, taking to partners about the JOYS and the things that are hard, makes a difference.
Divide and Conquer. Divide jobs/tasks. Remove everything that isn’t essential to be done by you/your partner. Delegates the none essentials. Easier said than done… I’m banking on the idea that you’ve got a gorgeous groups of family and friends who want to help (and can) OR a wonderful doula. If neither applies (it didn’t for me!), then lower the bar massively. Do the essentials. Survive. This isn’t forever.
Find friends. Groups. Peanut. Facebook local groups. Whatever is an option… if you can, use it. Parenting is isolating, and by having someone to give and receive some solidarity around, it helps. *careful not to just find ranting buddies who keep you feeling low*
Lastly, do things for joy. Don’t give up hobbies. Don’t ask your partner to. In fact, schedule them in with extra vigilance, because being reminded that you’re a human outside of helping this tiny person grow and survive is really important.
There’s so much more to say… creating a supported, wholesome postpartum and beyond experience isn’t going to magically happen. It is worth the work though, because when you are supported, you feel safe.
When you feel safe, your nervous system capacity can hold more.
When you feel safe, baby (and other children) feel safe too. Their mirror neurons mimic your regulated state.
Then, the cycle of safety, support, joy repeats. It cycles. And grows.
This time for growth and unity as a famkly builds the sturdy foundations of trust and connection, which, when toddler and teenage years come by, will be something that holds everyone through.
Talking to kids about grief is a big topic, and it’s often one that many parents find hard. Most adults steer conversations away from grief, or are awkward when it comes up. So talking to children is even harder.
And it’s even more important.
These are my reflections of our experience of losing my parents dog, how it’s impacted my children and how it’s opened windows into conversations that we’d have otherwise probably not have had.
Last year, we spent a few months in Gibraltar living with my parents, and consequently my childhood dog who was 17 years old by that point. Soon after we came back to the UK, my dog (Lucky) died.
I didn’t bat an eyelid. Mum messaged me, and within the same hour I told my kids.
In my view, an hour, or day or week wouldn’t make a difference, except that I’d be lying by omission with absolutely no reason to. I knew it would be sad and hard, and I also knew that they would need the time to process it; so by telling them straight away, I could have my feelings and then be able to hold space for theirs when they came through in full force.
This proved to be an extremely valuabledecision for us, because by the time the big feelings came a week later; I’d been able to light a candle, say a prayer, and celebrate the life and joy my dog had brought. It gave me the mental space to hold them, hear them, and also steer them through their grief. Yes she was a dog, not a person, but she was family, and they felt the impact of her loss deeply.
We had read books on death before, and regularly spoken about the circle of life, and we’d told the kids that Lucky was old in her bones. She slept a lot. Was slow. We knew it was coming.
They loved her. In the short spurts of time they’d spent with her, she left her pawprint in their hearts; especially my oldest who met her for the first time when he was 5 days old. She’s a part of their story, and their first real experience of death and grief.
When it hit them, the kids cried. They asked what would happen. They asked where she’d go. We spoke about different traditions, and how she specifically had been cremated so her ashes would return to the earth and new life would bloom where she was laid. Our favourite book was The Endless Story which is illustrated beautifully.
My parents kept her ashes and when we went back to Gibraltar, we scattered them together. We spoken about the grass and flowers, and how the ashes would seep into the soil, and be a part of the process to create new life. We spoke about how some people (including me) believe in reincarnation.
There were many tears. There was a lot of very audible and visual grief… and I told the kids to let it all out. They could be as sad as they wanted, in whatever way felt right to them.
My daughter collected flowers and cried. My oldest son sobbed and shouted, and said he wished we could be immortal jellyfish so we’d never die. My younger son wasn’t sure… he was too little really. But he was there, and that mattered. My parents and brother were with us of course, and they held my children, shared some fun stories and shared in sorrow too. It was a hard and important day.
That was 6 months ago.
With his recent birthday, P woke up several times in the weeks leading to it, with sobs of not wanting to get old because getting old means we are closer to dying.
Since then, topics of saddness, missing loved ones, wishing nobody would die, worrying that we’ll all get old and die, wanting to be cremated together and various other aspects of death have since become a part of our life. At any given moment, sometimes close together, sometimes with weeks in between, they’ll make a comment, or get quiet, or have a wave of tears about Lucky being dead. A (aged 3) has commented and cried things like “I didn’t want Lucky to die” or “I wish I could stroke Lucky again” … but her process has been straightforward for me, we’ve cuddled, cried, sonerimes shell ask for a story of when Lucky was little or for me to tell her about when she’d help my dad with dog walks, and then that’s it. P (aged 6) on thr other hand, has not been so straightforward; like with pretty nuch everything, his high sensitivity has really shone through.
The way I’ve been managing this has varied; sometimes it’s just a case of listening, reflecting back what he’s said, and then holding him through it. Reminding him that I am here and these feelings are normal. He often will spend a few minutes here in this space and then enter a new conversation with me or say he’s ready to play.
On his birthday, he said when we die, we disappear forever, and so I brought in the concept of memory keeping us alive, and about how people leave their legacy; I specifically said about how people that invent things might live on through their inventions or discoveries, like gravity and electricity, or through movies and stories like Vikings, or through preservation like the dinosaurs. All of those creatures/people might be dead, but we haven’t forgotten them. This worked remarkably well, and he visibly relaxed as he worked out that we fly planes and take pictures and drive cars, even if the people who invented them lived long ago.
Lastly, if it’s a really hard one, or a particularly big feeling, like when P says he wants us to all be immortal jellyfish, or when he tells me that he’s scared he won’t come back and be with the same family, I remind him he can choose what to believe. They there’s no right or wrong, and that nomatter what, we are here now, making the best of it. Usually this also involves cuddles or closeness too, something I’m particularly aware of because I want him to feel safe through the feelings.
Chatting about the grief has open windows of conversation, and we’ve spoken openly about how grown ups come back and that also not always. We’ve spoken about safety first in situations like climbing or jumping or in the car. We’ve spoken about age, and how age isn’t the only factor in death.
Mostly the emphasis is on saying thank you to the earth; for growing more and blooming, and showing us that there really is a circle of life.
Motherhood is a marathon. It’s sweaty and exhausting and often filled with various bodily fluids, not many of them our own. We often find that we are in a cycle of doing and being for everyone else, wearing the same clothes for days or holding back hair while our kids are sick even when we just want to throw up too!
But somehow, despite doing all of the things, often on little sleep and a vague remembrance of what it feels like to have a full cup, we begin to wonder if we are enough.
Am I doing enough?
Am I cooking enough ‘good’ food?
Is the house clean enough?
Do I cuddle my children enough?
Have I been a ‘good enough’ partner recently?
Have I even thought about all the birthdays or friends or the appointments I need to book?
Am I enough? Or am I screwing up?
It’s exhausting!
The mental load of motherhood is enough to break us. We feel guilt glands grow with every ‘to do’ and every ‘should’; and eventually, we end up feeling like we just can’t cope – but that there’s also no way we can stop.
You are holding everything together; almost exclusively at times; with not even a thank you or any notice taken. You are not a superwoman, but you are being asked to be.
But what if there was another way? What if we could, at least, shift the guilt.
Move away from the guilt that we aren’t enough – because my goodness we are!
Our inner critic roars when we get frustrated by broken bananas and bedtime battles; because we are so stretched at every angle, that we cannot see how adding more big feelings is possible. Every time our inner critic pipes up, we buy into the belief that we ‘should’ be doing more.
I call bullshit!
And, in fact; I call so much bullshit, that I created a course on this exact topic. The Rollercoaster of Motherhood in all it’s messy madness doesn’t have to include guilt over not enoughness. It doesn’t have to include overwhelm at all the things society tells us we should be. And it doesn’t have to include days after days where we feel like we are failing; just because we haven’t met the impossibly high standards we (or others) have set for ourselves.
If you’re interested to learn more; contact me. I will be opening opportunity later this year, to work with mothers, and families at a much deeper level than I have been writing; because I believe it’s time we reclaim the power we have raising our children. Reclaim the political act that parenting is; not just so we move away from not feeling enough – but so that our children have better, more positive writing on the walls of their mind.
As ever, thank you for reading.You are amazing!
Rohana
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