Mom needs a moment
BY DR. CASSIDY FREITAS
“What the . . . ,” Dave muttered, eyes widening as he trudged into the baby’s room. My husband pushed his hand through the mussed-up curls, evidence that someone had just woken up from a deep sleep. As our newborn daughter’s poop dripped down her white curtains, resentment pooled in my fists.”
Did you know that poop can fly? If you’re reading this, the answer is probably yes. I don’t really know the science behind it, but I’d guess the equation looks something like this: early-stage milk consistency + a baby’s perfectly angled foothold x (unfortunate timing + velocity) = chaos.
Before my daughter was born, I’d had so many hopes for this stage of motherhood. Conceiving and growing a little human felt like the closest thing we mortals have to miracles and magic. But then she was born and . . . where were the sparks? I didn’t know this little person. I wanted to keep her safe and fed, sure, but she felt alien to me. Nothing came naturally, as if it were “supposed to.”
“How’s it going?!” my friends would text. “Good!” I’d respond from my seat on the toilet, where I was taking a moment to “escape,” feeling like the queen of bullshit on a porcelain throne.”
“How’s it going?!” my friends would text. “Good!” I’d respond from my seat on the toilet, where I was taking a moment to “escape,” feeling like the queen of bullshit on a porcelain throne.
Stealing those moments of respite, I felt like I was cheating. So I often ignored the pull to pause, to feel, to make space for myself. Instead, I stayed focused on everyone else’s needs. I tried to maintain control. To keep everyone happy. To achieve, perform, strive. To need nothing and take up as little space as possible.
“Is there a new mother in your life? Or any caregiver who sees them losing their temper. Or shutting down. Or snapping, spiraling, or second-guessing herself. If there’s one thing I could use more of in moments of overwhelm, it would be space. Physical space. Mental space. Space to pause and breathe. Space to make a mistake and not spiral into shame.”
Motherhood brings a messiness that rarely fits into the space we’ve been taught to allow ourselves. It’s hard to seem okay when the sun is setting, and you don’t know if (or when) you’ll sleep again. It’s hard to need nothing when your body is still healing. It’s hard to be the partner, daughter, friend, or coworker you used to be when you’re responsible for keeping a tiny human alive.
Is there a new mother in your life? Or any caregiver who sees them losing their temper. Or shutting down. Or snapping, spiraling, or second-guessing herself. If there’s one thing I could use more of in moments of overwhelm, it would be space. Physical space. Mental space. Space to pause and breathe. Space to make a mistake and not spiral into shame.
Space to feel what I’m feeling, process what’s happening, and decide how I want to respond.
This kind of space is what I call margins. Margins are the spaces we create, mental, emotional, physical, and relational, that allow us to respond differently. They help us catch ourselves in the moment, regulate our nervous systems, and make more intentional choices. Margins are where we pause, breathe, notice, soften, and shift.
As a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist, I work with mothers and also dads, grandparents, and caregivers who are navigating struggles around motherhood. My new book Mom Needs a Moment is a guide for caregivers to understand and change their reactive patterns, offering practical tools to create “margins” for pausing, regulating their nervous system, and responding more intentionally.
