I was going to write this post months ago when Bane dropped out of preschool. But low and behold, another one bites the dust…

I pulled Beaux out of public school this past week. My intuition has been scraping at me for a few months now, questioning whether I should send my kids into the public education system at such tender ages. My intuition started to get louder when Bane dropped out of preschool in December. Though we tried hard to get him to like it (and he went to a wonderful preschool), he just wasn’t having it. I’ve always told my kids that preschool is an option. I’m fortunate enough to be able to stay home with them until they reach grade school, but I did have high hopes for the day when I could clean and make progress without stopping every 5 minutes to get someone a snack. But it became clear that day would have to wait; I couldn’t go back on my word.

I struggled alone at home with Bane. School was the only time I got a real break. Those precious 6-hour intervals that I got twice a week were when I booked appointments, cleaned without child interference, edited sessions, and did our bookkeeping. But he cried almost every day I dropped him off, clinging to me, begging me not to leave him, and this mama’s heart just couldn’t take that. I could if I had to if I needed to work outside our home to pay our bills and put food on our table, but a this point in our journey, I don’t.

After Bane left preschool, I did some real soul-searching. It seemed to me that in order to do what I believed was best for my kid, I had to sacrifice my own mental health. Being home alone with Bane is not easy. He is wildly independent and strong-willed. I love him, but I like him better when I get regular breaks from him. Some might say that this is reason enough to force him to keep going to preschool, and maybe they would be right. But as a mom all you can do is follow your mommy gut, and mine told me to let him stay home. I came to acknowledge that there was an element of self-betrayal in my decision to have him. I know a lot of people who would get worked up about me saying that. How could I possibly say that I betrayed myself by having my son? I can already feel the judgment and condemnation from other moms as I write this; that same old narrative that to acknowledge any unpleasant truths about how we feel about motherhood somehow makes us unfit.

Don’t I love him?

Aren’t children where we find meaning and purpose in life?

Yes, I love my children, with a fire so wild it burns through my chest, with a feeling so deep oceans can’t fathom it. But no, I do not find meaning and purpose in being a mother. To make our children the meaning of everything and the purpose of our lives is to weigh them down with unhealthy pressure, and to set ourselves up for midlife crises once they develop lives outside of us. No one should be your purpose. Not your husband. Not your children. I believe this holds true, no matter how much you want to be a mom, or how content you are in motherhood, your children cannot be your purpose in life.

Although I greatly wanted my children, I did not plan to be a mother. I planned to exercise autonomy and freedom to chase whatever dream or goal came my way. I was going to be an academic, a scholar, and an artist, forging new ways to contemplate the human condition. I didn’t want to love someone the way that mothers love children. I didn’t want the agony of acknowledging that love’s impermanence. I didn’t want to give all of myself to someone and then have them ask for more. But then I found out I was pregnant with Beaux. I struggled against motherhood. I riled against the narrative that said I had to give up all of who I was in order to serve my progeny. But for those who choose to become mothers, motherhood devours us all. I lost myself, as I had known that I would. I fell in love with them, as I had known I would. I cried often thinking about their fragility, vulnerability, and the ever-present fear that I would not be able to protect them from everything that is dark in the world, but I never cried for myself or for the unfair limitations that the world puts on mothers. I unconsciously thought that doing so would mean that I was a bad mom, that I was ungrateful, or not taking responsibility for my own life and my choices.

When Bane left preschool, I had to acknowledge and accept that for me, motherhood holds an element of self-betrayal. This took a really long time. I had to accept that there is a part of me that is angry at myself for becoming a mom, and angry at the fact that much of my decision to have more than one child was due to the fact that my husband wanted more and that I overrode some of my strongest desires for myself because of what he had told me that he wanted. And that wasn’t his fault, it was mine, for trying to mold myself into what I thought he wanted instead of descending further into myself to find my truth. Maybe if I had, I still would have chosen to have more kids. But I’ll never know because I didn’t honor myself by making that descent.

I want to be clear; I do not regret becoming a mom. These wild little forest fairies bring me so much joy and they’ve taught me so much about love, patience, and grace. But as long as I am denying that for me motherhood was on some level, an act of self-betrayal, I will continue to resist this phase of my life, and I will miss the wisdom and deep teachings that it has to offer me. Because when I began to face this truth about myself, I started to see a change in my life.

I started being more present with my kids. I talked with them more and listened to them and their stories with more reverence. I began to grieve the path that I had for myself that was irrevocably changed by having children. I started to have more grace for myself. I began to WANT to be with my kids more and more, and I started to grow a larger capacity to hold space for their big feelings.

They say that self-sacrifice goes hand in hand with motherhood. But I reject that premise. As a mythological scholar, I have a clear image of human sacrifice, and I will not sacrifice myself on the altar of motherhood, or marriage, or any other altar that women are led to. Yes, as a mother you must learn radical nurturing and patience, but this narrative that tells us that as women we must abandon all that we are in order to provide for our children is so fucked up.

Instead, what I will do is engage with the practice of mindfully considering my children’s needs and balancing them with my own while asking for help so that I can ensure that all of our needs are met. Sometimes it won’t be possible to meet all of our needs at the same time, and in those moments I will have to choose my kids, because it is right to do so, but I will no longer accept this as a give-in for how my experience as a mother must play out. But I also will not engage with the counter-narrative that children are a burden that we must bear if we choose to have them. My children challenge me, but they are not a burden. They are not an obligation. The fact that Beaux was thriving socially and academically in school, yet dreaded school purely because she wanted more time with ME – which was also Bane’s primary reason for not wanting to continue with preschool, (There are other reasons for Beaux, related to the structure and nature of the public education system that I won’t go into in detail here, but please comment if you’d like to explore this aspect more), well isn’t that so fucking beautiful? That these two little people love me so much, need me so much, that they just want more time at home, to bond with their family, to explore with their mom? It doesn’t erase the challenges of motherhood or the internal battles I face, but it matters.

And so I descend, with Beaux and Bane at my side for another 5 months for sure. Maybe they will teach me about perseverance and time management. Maybe homeschooling will teach me how to bring my children into my soul-feeding so that we are nourished together. Maybe I will discover that it isn’t as hard as I thought it would be and absolutely love it. Or maybe it will be a tough few months of struggle with these feral kids and I’ll decide to send them back to school next year. Either way, I’ll be learning while tearing down layers of self-preservation so that I can see myself more clearly, and have more raw and honest conversations with myself about the nature and wonder of this journey called Motherhood.