Author: Caitlin Dennehy
Like all new mothers, I spent a lot of time in my first pregnancy anticipating what life would be like after having my baby. I mostly envisioned the sweet times, but I also tried to imagine what would be most difficult: sleep deprivation, crying jags, the loss of spontaneity in my day to day. And while it turned out that all of those things were certainly hard, there was something looming even larger that was by far the most challenging part of becoming a mother: the isolation that came with it.
I love spending time with friends and family, but I am also an introvert at heart. I crave time to myself and enjoy the particular sense of calm that comes with solitude. Maybe this is why I didn’t see how deeply I would be affected throughout my maternity leave by my lack of regular and consistent adult interaction. In my post-partum period I was very lucky to have a smooth physical recovery and no symptoms of post-partum depression. I was also privileged to have a wonderful husband as well as family and friends nearby to support me. And yet, day-to-day, as I navigated this new path with my infant son, I often felt quite alone. Worse, I had no idea how to ask for what I needed—or even that it was ok to ask for what I needed.
There seems to be a pervasive attitude in our society that it is somehow superior to achieve things alone, whether as the independent go-getter at work or the parent who can do it all without a baby-sitter. Self-sufficiency and independence are regarded as highly desirable traits that we should all aspire to. And while I agree with their necessity and importance, I wonder if they’ve also pushed us too far away from another concept that is equally important: community.
The truth is, self-sufficiency and independence can lead to isolation if they come at the cost of community. Historically, people simply could not survive completely on their own. Community was not just a bonus or an afterthought, but an actual matter of life or death. Humans evolved to be better in groups, no matter what their individual capabilities. Asking for help or feeling lonely is not a sign of weakness; it is a sign of humanity. And too often we quell the impulse to seek out others for fear of seeming needy or incapable. But people need other people to thrive. Not always every minute of every day, but certainly more than we’ve let ourselves believe.
Becoming a mother has made me more mindful of the gratitude I have for my community and the fact that accessing them makes me better than I would be alone. I am learning to ask for help before I become desperate and resentful and to offer support to others who may find themselves locked in their own patterns of isolation. A community doesn’t have to be large to be powerful, it simply has to be available. Though it’s been repeated to the point of cliché, the notion that “it takes a village” doesn’t only apply to raising children, but to living in general.
Like many aspects of life, motherhood comes with no guarantees and forces us to come to terms with the fact that so much of what happens to us is out of our control. Mindfulness has taught me to accept that I can only control the way I respond to things. I have the choice to go forward alone, and sometimes that will feel right. But other times it is better for me to look to my community to help me and teach me along the way; for them, I am grateful.
