“All of us must make our own way, exploring some of the most universally shared experiences while also navigating a solitude that makes us feel as if we are the first to set foot in uncharted regions.” ~ Brené Brown, Rising Strong

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Strangely enough, one of my treasured family “happy snaps” is one where I’m pictured with my son, at the beach on holiday.

We’re both looking at the camera, I’m smiling, and he is sporting adorably plump, rosy cheeks. But don’t be fooled—at this point in time, motherhood looked like a big, dark, looming wave that was about to engulf me.

Unlike other holidays, there was barely any planning for this trip. I’d phoned my staff just a couple of days prior and explained that I needed to take a break immediately. I took two weeks off work and cautiously started to take antidepressants for postnatal depression.

The image above is a photo of me on the brink of wondering who on earth I was, feeling completely disconnected and scared sh*tless that I was totally disintegrating on the inside.

In the nervous lead-up to my son’s due date, I drew strength and courage from reminding myself (and being reminded by many others) of the countless women who’d given birth before me, which meant that I’d be able to do it too. The countless women who’d successfully breastfed, nurtured, soothed, clothed, bathed, sheltered, loved unconditionally, counselled, lead, consoled and raised their well-adjusted children before me meant that I could do it too.

Yet, there were many times I felt completely alone and very much out of my depth. Oh, the overwhelm that a cute and cuddly baby can generate…

I recently received a message from a mother who suggested that some of the “bad stories” shared by my Little Tsunami project might scare off other mums, and that showing both sides of the motherhood coin could be a better approach.

My concern—particularly for first-time pregnancies and births—is that the polite code of silence surrounding what should and should not be shared with expectant mums does not benefit and support them in the long run. The term “expectant mother” is in itself laughable, because in fact, I had completely unrealistic—if any at all—expectations about motherhood, and then spent subsequent weeks and months asking: “Why didn’t anyone tell me it would be like this?!”

There are plenty of wonderful, uplifting, mind-boggling and utterly joyful stories surrounding motherhood—deservedly so. Jump on Pinterest or Instagram to search for quotes about motherhood, and you’ll have more inspo than your data limit can cope with. But keeping tight-lipped about the very real and likely possibility that the proverbial sh*t could hit the fan, at some point in the motherhood journey, will only serve to further isolate mums who are unable to align this foreign parallel universe with what they dared not remotely equate with the concept of “having a baby.”

So share yours stories—the bold, brave, sad and heart-breaking. There is room for them and there is a need for them. Yours will be new and unique, but in my experience, I expect it will also be universally recognised and understood.

Perhaps the courageous unveiling of warts-and-all accounts of motherhood will create a connectedness so powerful between mothers that our bravery and honesty will override the fear of messy-ing the neat, palatable version of motherhood we’re often politely served.

And while we’re on this solo-mission, we can take comfort in knowing someone’s been in this very place before us and made it through to the other side—a little battered and bruised, much sleep-deprived, but now at the ready to give a knowing nod to the mum coming up through the ranks behind her that says “you got this.”

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Author: Nami Clarke

Image: Author’s own

Editors: Yoli Ramazzina; Emily Bartran