Nothing can prepare you for the first time you hold your child in your arms. Even if you’ve had three children before you can’t prepare for the particular bond you will have with that fourth child. The relationship is exquisitely unique, dependent upon each mother and child as well as the time and place where they are ‘born’ together. Whether you’ve held your child in the womb or become their mother after their birth, meeting that new little person as their mother is a huge experience.
We are told that when our child is born, we’ll fall instantly in love with them. We imagine that we’ll hold them for the first time and feel that profound connection. Unfortunately, that is not universally the case nor is it realistic.
The fact of the relationship may be instantaneous: you are a mother, this is your child, there are certain basic needs that must be met and you’re responsible for them. However, the quality of that relationship for mothers is not immediately or necessarily one of love. It can encompass a whole range of emotions including fear, confusion, adoration, awe and shock as well as emotional shut down. A growing body of research points to the ways in which the mother/child bond is developed, over days and weeks, as the mother gets to know her child. It’s not always an instant fit.
I’ve met many new mothers who have experienced feelings they were confused about or ashamed of: a sense of nothingness, confusion, ambivalence, overwhelm and anger. It’s so important to know that love is not present for all mothers straight away, and an enduring, weather beaten mother/child relationship take more time than giving birth provides. This kind of love has time to evolve and has ample room for moments when less positive feelings are at play.
The new relationship between mother and child is unlike any other relationship you’ve had because your experience of who you are expands into something more than just you, and it does this in a very particular way. This expansion into an ‘us’ may feel more like those bonds you share with your own mother or primary caregiver although in those cases, you are the child. It’s a whole different ballgame being the mother in a relationship. At minimum you are responsible for your child’s survival for at least 18 years and sometimes longer. This is a huge undertaking associated with incredible pressures that are always in flux – one day it’s making sure your baby gets rid of their gas, the next day you’re trying to stop them from falling down the stairs.
The expansion of self that comes with motherhood is not necessarily a willing expansion; how could it be when you’ve not known that particular bond before? Unlike relationships that emerge over time, the mother/child relationship is instant. What you get in those first few days and months is a smack to the heart. It's a full frontal, unavoidable expansion into an ‘us’, a state of being where you are no longer just yourself but more, whether you want this or not. That expansion is not love, it is more primitive than that, it is a profound connection that you may struggle to understand or even desire.
For me, that expansion made it difficult to breathe, eat or sleep. There was wonder but also tears, a kind of astounded love but also a crushing sense of responsibility and a gaping unknown. I was my infant’s mother; this tiny baby was my son, and I had no idea what to do.
The person I was before could rely on others but also made her own way in the world, now someone relied on me wholeheartedly for his continued existence. Even though I imagined that the magnitude and gravity of this responsibility would diminish over time right here, right now, he needed me in order to survive. My heart was stretched in a way almost impossible to describe in its newness and significance.
There was comfort to be found in the unavoidable routines of a new baby – feeding, soothing, cleaning, sleeping; even when those routines refused to abide by any kind of formal structure. I spent my days breastfeeding, expressing milk as well as preparing formula, sterilising bottles, carrying my baby, burping him, massaging, bicycling his legs, carrying him from here to there and easing him to sleep. It honestly doesn’t sound like a lot to someone who’s had a solid night sleep but to a new mother who has gone through the drama of childbirth or meeting their new child, these routines are consuming and exhausting. They did however give me the time I needed to get to know my son and myself in this new, strange and life changing relationship; they gave me time to get used to this new space of us.
There were early mornings and long stretches of afternoon where I was completely unable to sense the ‘us’, to feel the strength of the bond between us. I only felt my own pain, anxiety and then guilt at my self-absorption. Sometimes I felt so unworthy of my beautiful son. Sitting by the front window of our house and looking out onto the street, I felt desperately alone, I wondered why I just couldn’t get it right – have him sleep through the night, successfully breastfeed without supplementing with formula, not stress about everything every second of the day or look as ‘together’ as other mothers seemed to. In all that hurt, worry and confusion I was often unaware of the ways in which my son and I were together, an ‘us’ that continued on no matter how I felt.
Then there were times when he’d fall asleep peacefully in my arms, when he’d widen his eyes with curiosity as a I showed him a soft toy or he’d respond to my smile with one of his own; moments where our bond hit me over the head hard enough that I remembered we were in this together, learning together, he didn’t just need me, I needed him. In those moments I caught glimpses of the ‘us’.
It would have helped so much to understand that we were both growing, that as mother and child we made a unique and bigger ‘self’. When I did notice those ‘us’ experiences, I realised I wasn’t just holding and caring for my child, I received care from him as well; we were in it together.
What a difference it would have made if I’d been sitting by that window, feeling useless and alone, and someone showed me our shared heart. Imagine if we could turn this living relationship around in our hands? We might see the different colours and textures of it, the sparkles and the shadows, the spiky bits and the velvety warmth of our 'us'. A heart that's present when we're together and when we think about one another.
This vibrant heart is the mother/child relationship. It holds the reality of the bond, our belief in it and our fear of its possible loss. This heart is the ‘usness’ that is always present, as a relationship that grows and changes over time.
The heart we are born with multiplies when we become a mother. The shock of that new unknown heart, a heart that isn’t ours alone and yet fits within us, is mind-blowing and full of possibility. How we shape and nurture that heart depends on both mother and child, though in different ways, at different times.
Knowing that my son and I have created our relationship together has given us so much more space to breathe, grow, trust and be human. This heart of 'us' exists. It might start with a shock, but it develops when we notice it, nurture it and love it in all of its complexity.
This post is written by Dr Ariel Moy. She is passionate about developing mother/child relationships, she has a private practice as a creative arts therapist, is a Professional member of ANZACATA and is an academic teacher at The MIECAT Institute in Melbourne, Australia.
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