AUTHOR + ONLINE EDUCATOR

I’m a new mom.

I have approximately three weeks of experience changing wet diapers, rocking a baby to sleep, prepping bottles, and rising out of bed at weird hours to check that the baby is breathing properly. 

All that to say— I am not an expert and I deserve no trophies. My experience should be taken with the grainiest grain of salt. But I want to share something valuable I’ve learned over the last few years, something that prepared me for motherhood more than a parenting book ever could. 

For a long time, I wasn’t so sure I even wanted to become a mother. I knew we would try. I knew I would take on the challenge if God cleared the path. But I felt insecure and unsure about becoming a mother because of the way some voices in our culture talk about motherhood.

I thought motherhood would mean the end of my life. 

I thought motherhood would mean I could never work again. 

I thought motherhood would be a thankless position I assumed. 

I no longer believe any of this is true but, for too long, I listened to voices that wanted to convince me that motherhood was more burden than a blessing.

I was tired of hearing stories about how miserable motherhood was. I was confused by the number of people who made comments towards us when Lane and I first became pregnant, like, “Get your sleep while you can” or “Get ready for that kid to steal all your money” or “Enjoy your freedom before it is gone.”

Now, this isn’t everyone (there are plenty of positive parenting voices out there). And I won’t deny that parenthood does involve less sleep. But I first grew aware of this chorus of negative voices years before I became pregnant. 

When Lane and I first stepped into marriage, I realized there was a similar crowd of people who only wanted to complain about their spouses. They wanted to drudge on and on about marriage as if life ended when you walked down the aisle.

For a long time, I actually thought I had to listen to these people and take their words to heart. 

My friend messaged me the other day and told me she was so tired of the way people made marriage and children seem so miserable. 

I get that. I’ve been in that boat before. 

My response to her was simple (although it took me years to practice it for myself): You have to tune out those voices. Turn the volume down.

Trust me when I tell you: the chorus of voices doesn’t stop with marriage or parenthood. 

People will always want to give you their opinions. About absolutely everything. From the way you cook your veggies to the way you handle your mask and gloves during Quarantine. Especially with social media being our main form of connection these days, people are eager to show off their insight. Their advice. Their “I wish I had done ___________” moments. And just because they place these things in your feed, or your comment thread, or your inbox, does not mean you have to pick the advice up. It certainly does not mean you have to apply it to your own life. You are allowed to tune it out. You are allowed to turn the volume down low. You are allowed to forge your own path and build your own perspective, glorious brick by glorious brick. 

Building your own perspective is certainly the harder option but it’s possible. You are more than capable when it comes to turning down the volume and noise. I used to think it was my responsibility to take everyone else’s opinions to heart and, truthfully, that role was exhausting. It was not sustainable. It was a clear path to burn out. 

When I stopped my ears from perking up at the first sign of advice from anyone, I figured out how to find my own rhythms and forge my own path. I learned how to do what was right for me. I figured out that the noise was only keeping me from hearing the voice of God in my everyday life. I was missing out on the gift of being fully partnered and present with him because I was placing too many other competing voices on their own respective pedestals.

If I have learned anything over the last 9 months of pregnancy, it’s that people have opinions. LOTS of opinions. We treat motherhood like a sliding scale but everyone has a different interpretation of what being a “good mother” is like. I knew I couldn’t survive this motherhood arena if I listened to what every person told me. I had to forge ahead, keep my circle of voices close to my chest, and set out into this adventure already telling myself the kind of truth that is hard to believe, “I am a good mother already. Without x, y, or z— I am a great mother showing up to love to the best of my ability. Where I fall short, God shows up to fill the cracks of my humanity.” 

I’m learning it’s a mindset shift every single day. 

When someone wants to say it’s miserable, I have to choose my own truth: there are going to be hard moments, hard hours, and hard days and God will show up for all of them.

When someone wants to say it’s mundane, I have to choose my own truth: miracles are rooted in the mundane.

When someone wants to say it’s a thankless job, I have to choose my own truth: I don’t need to be thanked when I am positioned to offer thanksgiving to God. 

It’s a mindset shift every single day to turn down the noise of the world and tune into what God is really trying to tell us through the good, the hard, and the mundane of this present moment.