The reality of parenthood: a positive refresh

or, in David Foster Wallace speak, what the hell is joy?

Welcome to Getting Better. My name is Miriam, and I share weekly personal essays to offer moments of pause and reflection.  My pieces touch on motherhood, loss, chronic illness, and questions of human nature. I share all my work freely right now. Subscribe for free, or upgrade for the price of an oat milk latte — my favorite / unequivocally the best drink out there 🥰  Sign up here:

Central Park, 2018, Miriam Cruz

There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says “Morning, boys. How’s the water?” And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes “What the hell is water?”

— David Foster Wallace, “This is Water”

Water is to fish as joy is to humans.

It’s easy to forget, what with the 24-hour news cycle of doom and gloom or the 24-hour Instagram cycle of all the beautiful places I’ll never visit and expensive things I’ll never own.

But I really believe this. And it’s easier to remember with friends.

I’m 8 months pregnant and I tell my friend over dinner that we know parenthood is hard, but my husband and I still cannot wait. I’m waiting for her to pick up on the sacrificial undertones (we are here to serve this baby, no matter the personal cost!) and tell me what an amazing mother I already am to this little soul for all I’ve endured through my pregnancy. Instead, she says, “No, it’s not hard. It’s joyful.”

There are a lot of reasons this response might trigger parents (and rightfully so). It triggers me, with my babe still in my belly! I’m dealing with lightning crotch, swollen ankles, charley horses waking me up cursing at night — and it only gets harder from here!

I’ve worked hard for my Martyr Mother badge; I wear it all day. I’m coy if someone notices it and resentful when they don’t. I’ve never been told to take it off. Who is she to suggest such a thing — to dismiss all this work? Unfortunately for me, my friend is a mother with a fully grown, well-adjusted adult baby. So while I feel offended at her snatching away my false humility, my offense has no strong leg to stand on.

What does this leave me with? I’m about to do the hardest thing ever. Tell me how strong I am and how inspiring I am and how capable I am and how I’m the most incredible mother in the world because I’m choosing to mother through all these struggles of living. If you’re telling me I’m wrong, then what’s the point of my doing it all?

In my world (and dare I guess, in yours too?) I over-emphasize the negatives and downplay or else entirely ignore the positives. Dr. Rick Hanson’s comparison of the mind as teflon for positive experiences and velcro for negative ones resonates.

Not only do I snatch up these negatives and wear them on a sign around my neck (the sign rests just beside my Martyr Mother badge), I squeeze as many negatives out of my positive experiences as I can, too. This proves I’m worthy — that I’m doing something meaningful in life, with all this overcoming.

I had the most beautiful walk in our favorite park today. The sun was shining and the birds were singing — it was the perfect Spring day! But my back was spasming on and off, so that was actually really hard. It wasn’t as good as it looked. All in all, I had a rough day. I could use a break. My mind always plays this trick on me. Why?

Life sometimes feels like a competition to see who can withstand more negative experiences. I pick my juiciest hardship du jour, and when the world (i.e. my husband) understands the gravity of my situation and all eyes are on me, then — and only then — I humbly overcome my challenge. It’s an uninspired, slow and steady float to the bottom. (Or is this really just me? Send help.)

I consider myself a joyful person, and still I can’t help but compete to lose. Even on my good days, when confronted with someone who complains of a hardship, I find it tempting to join them. I, too, have suffered today.

With this approach to life, I’m constantly carving small wins out of the big fat Loss of Life, and I wake up each day exhausted from all this work! (This is great, though, because then I can tell people how exhausted I am.)

But this isn’t right at all, is it?

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What if I’m wrong?

There is, of course, a much bigger point to all I’m doing. I’m not mothering because I heard it’s hard and I need a fresh challenge to overcome.

I’m mothering because joy beckoned me toward parenthood in the first place.

If I’m wrong, I might dare to reconnect with that joy and notice that it’s always there, holding me through life, patiently inviting me to open my eyes. This is the very same joy that I long — have always longed — to share wholeheartedly with my child. My boy is 9 months old now, and I get to do that! — if only I’m willing to acknowledge the joy exists. How can I authentically share a joy with him that I refuse to acknowledge for myself?

Just considering the possibility of joy as the air I breathe makes me feel more joyful.

I used to search for the joys through the challenges, and I now choose to see it the other way around, no matter how bleak a day (or a month or a year). Maybe these challenges all exist within the greater field of joy. Maybe we’re swimming around in bliss, our small minds fixated on the one rough and tumble wave tossing us around right now.

I tend to spend my social energy on making others feel comfortable. But it’s not really comfort we crave, is it? What’s more life-giving than being with someone who speaks the truth that your soul craves? I’m grateful that my friend told me “no” when the polite thing would have been “yes.” Her commitment to truth over comfort helped me see the water and reconnect with joy. This allows me to feel Joy wrapping its arms around me and my little one, even through our sleepless nights and weepy days.

Every parenthood journey is unique. I know there isn’t a single one without its challenges. Let’s agree on this and dare to try this reframe. Thinking of the journey as innately joyful rather than challenging has transformed my family’s days.

Next time you’re with someone — parent or not — and the complaint spiral starts to spin, you might play with a little discomfort in the name of reconnecting with joy.

What if we’re wrong? Find a way to ask this that works for you, and play with it.

If you’re at all like me, there’s only life to gain.