Admitting Need: Putting an End to Surviving Motherhood Alone

This is a contributor piece I wrote for Portland Mom's Blog.

A contributor piece for Portlandmoms.com

It was the end of January, and the twins were six weeks old. Although it took most of the morning to get the three of us dressed and fed, I was ready to leave the house without the help of another adult. I was meeting a friend to go shopping at the outlet mall just one town over. She had also recently entered into motherhood. She had given birth to her first baby, a girl, just three weeks prior. We had enjoyed being pregnant together, and we were now ready to embark on our first mother-daughter shopping adventure. Time was of the essence, for reasons related to nursing and napping. I was not yet courageous enough to try to nurse my twins in any sort of public forum. My cumbersome twin nursing pillow occupied a full seat in the car. Not my idea of discreet. The clock was ticking. We hit the road with high hopes of newfound freedom.  

Visions of bebop-ing to Top 40 tunes with my white mocha in hand filled my mind. But these visions did not alter my reality. Both babies had lost their pacifiers just minutes into the trip. My inability to reach them while still safely operating my vehicle added to my frustration. Their tears continued for the duration of the drive, and mine quickly followed. Motherhood had my number that day. Once I finally arrived at my destination, I threw the car into park. I frantically searched for the pacifiers to mute the noise.  

I unloaded the stroller and found my friend. I acted like I was fine, and we didn't talk about the previous 20 minutes of agony I had endured, because I chose to withhold it. I casually perused the aisles of the Carter's outlet store for things I didn’t need and acted like I had this motherhood gig under control. 

The trip was cut short by two of the three babies needing to be changed, napped, or fed. The effort to get out of the house that day did not quite turn out as planned.

Weeks later, my friend invited me over for coffee. I showed up in my “soft” clothes, and she greeted me with coffee in hand. 

“Motherhood looks good on you,” she said with eyebrows raised. In turn, I raised my eyebrows, accenting it with a smirk, because she was donning the same “mother” uniform as I was. 

We got the babies situated and began to relax. Our conversation turned to the shopping trip from weeks ago. 

“I was not ok that day, “ My friend confessed. “On the car ride home, I had a panic attack.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” I prodded.

We’d been friends for years, and honesty in our relationship was standard practice. Motherhood, on the other hand, was new territory for us. Apparently, it had impaired both of us to the point that we weren't bringing all our cards to the table. We were barely surviving the transition. 

“I didn’t tell you I was having a hard time because I felt silly voicing my struggle with one baby when you have two.” 

I began to think back to the moment in the parking lot when I had decided not to be vulnerable. To portray to my friend that I was fine, when in actuality, I wasn’t.

“I cried most of my drive to the store. The loud kind. The twins were both screaming, and I lost it. I should have told you, but I was embarrassed and felt like a failure. I should have been honest. I was distant because I was scared of falling apart again. I’m sorry.” I offered up my apology while nestling my feet into the couch cushion beside my friend. 

“Let’s not do that again. Friends share what is real. Neither of us has time for pretending. The right choice is to stay away from Carters and opt for coffee and homemade scones instead. Even if we enjoy them with a side of tears.”

“Done.” 

The clinking of our coffee mugs that day solidified a new way forward in friendship and motherhood. Admit your need honestly, and you’ll unpack the gift of friendship that gives value to survival.