The Paradox That Is Motherhood
Entering the season of motherhood brings its fair share of highs and lows. And more often than not, the lows can feel heavier, especially when you're a first-time mom.
The thing is, it didn’t really get easier for me the second time around. But the birth of our second child gave me a deeper perspective on the paradox of motherhood.
It's the happiest season, but also the saddest
What my mother said was true: the moment you hear your baby’s first cry, all the pain fades away. And in its place blooms a kind of joy unlike anything I’ve ever known—as if the heavens opened, angels sang, and my heart overflowed with a love so pure it almost hurt to feel.
But motherhood also taught me that joy and sadness can coexist.
There’s joy in marveling at this tiny human you brought into the world—the little hands, the cute giggles, the sweet smiles.
Yet there’s also a quiet grief: the mourning of the person you once were, the version of yourself who existed before you became someone’s mother.
You lose friends, but you also gain some
Another kind of grief I struggled to cope with after becoming a mother was the loss of friendships.
Some drifted away quietly, unable to relate to this new season of my life. Others simply faded into the background as priorities shifted and time became scarce.
However, as you navigate motherhood, you also meet new people who understand this season in ways others can’t. They may come in the form of tired moms at the playground, in online groups, or in the quick grumbly exchanges with fellow parents during school pick-up.
They might not have shared your past, but they share your present. And in the midst of the chaos that is parenthood, they remind you that you’re not alone—that community can be rebuilt, even in the most unexpected places.
There's freedom in the way you parent, but you also need to reparent yourself
Growing up in an environment shaped by generational trauma, I made a promise to myself that when my time came, I would parent differently. And so I did.
I chose patience where there was once anger, gentleness where there was fear, and openness where there was silence.
But in those small moments of awareness and grace, you realize healing doesn’t have to be perfect. The fact that you're choosing a different path is more than enough.
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A rose is not a rose without its thorns, the same way that in motherhood (and life, in general), suffering and beauty often grow side by side.
A paradox. One gives meaning to the other. Without the thorns, we might never truly appreciate the bloom.
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