Becoming a mom is beautiful-but also messy, emotional, exhausting, and honestly, pretty lonely at times. I remember scrolling through picture-perfect baby announcements and glowing postpartum updates, wondering how everyone else was thriving while I was sitting there wondering, “Why does this feel so hard?”
This post isn’t sugar-coated. It’s not curated. It’s just the raw, uncomfortable, and emotional truths about motherhood that we don’t talk about enough. The thoughts we keep to ourselves because we’re afraid they make us a “bad mom.” The guilt, the disconnection, the identity shifts… the stuff I didn’t expect to feel, and definitely didn’t know was normal.
If you’re a new mom, or just a mom who’s been silently asking “am I the only one feeling like this?”-I want you to know you’re not alone. These are the things I wish someone had told me when I was deep in it.
“What Have I Done?” – The Early Days No One Talks About
I remember sitting there in the first few days after bringing my baby home, completely overwhelmed. I had just done this huge, life-altering thing – grown and birthed a whole human – and yet I found myself spiraling into a wave of panic I hadn’t expected.
I loved my baby because I knew I was supposed to – but if I’m being honest, she felt like a stranger. I was feeding and rocking and changing this tiny human, but it felt like I was taking care of someone else’s baby. I was sleep-deprived, in pain from a c-section, bleeding, swollen, emotional, and expected to be glowing and overjoyed… meanwhile I looked like hell and had no idea what I was doing.
And then came the guilt. Because how could I possible feel regret – or fear – when I had this beautiful, healthy baby that I prayed for in my arms?
But the truth is: those “what have I done?” thoughts are more common than we admit. You’re suddenly responsible for this tiny human 24/7. Your body’s recovering. You’re emotionally raw. It’s a lot.
And it doesn’t make you a bad mom. It makes you human.
When You DOn’t Feel That Instant Bond
There’s this idea that the moment your baby is placed on your chest, you’re supposed to be flooded with love – like this magical, movie-worthy connection just snaps into place. And maybe that happens for some moms… but it didn’t happen for me.
I remember looking at my daughter and thinking, “This is it? This is what I’ve been waiting for?” I didn’t feel that overwhelming rush of love. I didn’t feel bonded. I felt tired. I felt numb. I felt completely disconnected. And then, of course, I felt guilt for not feeling the way I was “supposed to.”
Even though I had the undying support of my loving husband, I felt too ashamed to even tell him how I was feeling. He had so much instant love for our daughter – it radiated from him. And there I was, sitting beside him, feeling like I was failing some invisible test. I thought I was going to take that feeling to the grave. I didn’t talk about it. I just kept showing up, hoping no one noticed how disconnected I felt. I didn’t start to feel like a mother out of magic – I got there through pure shame.
What no one tells you is that sometimes the bond takes time. Sometimes it builds slowly – in the quiet 3 a.m. feedings, the moments where they finally look into your eyes, or the first time they grab your finger and won’t let go. It doesn’t make you a bad mom. It makes you a real one.
The Weight Of Mom Guilt
Mom guilt is wild. You feel it when you’re doing too much, not enough, or just existing with a crumb of peace to yourself. It’s like this constant inner monologue whispering, “You should be more patient. You should be soaking up every moment. You should’ve made organic broccoli puree instead of handing over the applesauce pouch again.”
It started early for me – when I didn’t feel that instant bond, when I felt disconnected, when I cried more than my baby some days. I felt like I was failing at something everyone else made look so natural. I felt guilty for not being filled with joy every second, for wanting space, for being exhausted, for missing my old life, for not knowing what I was doing. It felt like no matter what I did, there was always a voice saying, “This isn’t enough.”
And the thing is? I was doing plenty. I was healing from major surgery. I was keeping a tiny human alive. I was functioning on almost no sleep. I was doing all the things – and still feeling like it wasn’t enough because I wasn’t “loving every minute.”
No one tells you that mom guilt is just part of the emotional terrain of motherhood. And it doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means you care deeply. Probably too deeply. It means you’re showing up even when it feels like your tank is running on fumes. And that matters more than all the Pinterest-perfect moments combined.
Feeling Touched Out, But Still Needed Constantly
I was never a super touchy-feely person to begin with. I liked my space, I wasn’t big on constant physical contact, and I definitely wasn’t the type to be clung to 24/7. So when I became a mom, the level of physical closeness caught me off guard. I mean, obviously I knew I’d be holding my baby, feeding her, rocking her… but I didn’t realize I’d be someone’s literal mattress, pacifier, and all-day skin-to-skin partner for weeks on end.
And at first, part of me loved it. That tiny little body curled up on my chest felt like home. But after a while, the exhaustion crept in – and so did this weird, hard-to-admit frustration. I didn’t want to be touched anymore. Not by anyone. Not even by the people I love.
But here’s the kicker: even when you’re feeling completely touched out, your baby still needs you. Your toddler still wants to climb on your lap. Your partner still wants affection. And you’re just sitting there trying not to scream, “Can everyone please stop touching me for five minutes?”
It’s this impossible emotional mix – feeling so needed and drained at the same time. You feel guilty for cringing at the thought of one more hug. You feel selfish for needing space. But here’s the truth: needing a break from constant physical closeness doesn’t mean you’re a bad mom. It means you’re human. A human who deserves boundaries, breathers, and a little room to exist in your own body again.
Missing The “Old You” (And Wondering If She’s Gone)
Before I became a mom, I thought I knew I’d change. I expected my priorities to shift, my routines to look different, my sleep schedule to disappear. But what I didn’t expect was how much I’d miss the version of me that existed before motherhood.
I missed the freedom to leave the house without planning it like a military operation. I missed having time that was actually mine. I missed being able to shower without a crying baby in a bouncer staring at me, to sit in silence, to exist without someone needing something from me every second.
But for me, it wasn’t just missing the old me – it was like she disappeared completely. I struggled hard with postpartum depression. My husband would come home from work, and I’d go straight to bed. Every single day. He did everything. At one point, I had to call my mom to come clean my house while he was out of town, because I physically and mentally couldn’t keep up. I only existed to take care of my daughter. Outside of that, I shut down.
I started antidepressants, but they were the wrong ones, and they made everything worse. People started getting worried about leaving me alone. Eventually, I got on the right medication – and even then, it took months and months before I started to feel functional again. I missed a huge chunk of my daughter’s second year. And that’s something I’ll always carry.
Eventually, I started to piece together a new version of myself – someone softer in some ways, tougher in others. Someone still figuring it out. And while I may never get the “old me” back completely, I’ve learned to make space for this new identity, even when it still feels a little unfamiliar.
The Invisible Load Of Being The Default Parent
There’s the stuff everyone sees – diaper changes, feedings, packing the diaper bag. But then there’s the stuff that no one talks about: remembering the pediatrician appointment, buying the next size up in clothes, restocking diapers, researching what that rash might be, tracking sleep, feedings, milestones, development, and somehow knowing where every single item in the house is at all times.
That’s the invisible load. And more often than not, it falls on moms – especially if you’re the one home most of the time. Even with a supportive parter (and I’m lucky to have one), the mental tabs running in the background are exhausting. It’s not just what you’re doing – it’s what you’re managing, tracking, and holding in your brain all day, every day.
It’s walking into a room and automatically cleaning up. It’s remembering to switch the laundry, reheat the same coffee three times, and pick up the birthday gift for your kid’s classmate that you mentally noted a week ago. It’s being the one who plans the meals, knows the nap schedule, and remembers which pacifier is the favorite.
And the hardest part? No one sees it – because you’re doing it all so well. Until you can’t. Until you’re burnt out, overstimulated, and wondering why you feel like you’re drowning in motherhood when everything looks fine on the outside.
Being the default parent doesn’t mean your partner doesn’t help. It just means that even when you’re off-duty, your brain isn’t. And that mental weight? It adds up.
Not Loving Every Moment – and Why That’s Okay
We’ve all heard it: “Soak it all in!” “They grow so fast!” “Cherish every moment!” or my personal (least) favorite “You asked for this!” And yes, time flies. But let’s be real – not every moment is worth cherishing.
No one tells you that some moments are actually pretty miserable. Like trying to soothe a baby who won’t stop screaming when you’re running on two hours of sleep and still recovering from surgery. Or the 3 a.m. feedings that leave you so exhausted you forget what day it is. Even later on, like the first time you lay your child down without their pacifier.
I didn’t love every moment. Some moments I downright hated. And then I felt guilty for not enjoying the experience everyone else said I should be treasuring.
But here’s the truth: You can love your child more than anything in the world and still not enjoy every part of parenting. That doesn’t make you ungrateful. That doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means you’re in the trenches of real motherhood – and you’re allowed to feel everything that comes with it.
You don’t have to cherish every second. You just have to keep showing up. And you’re doing that.
The Scary Feelings We Don’t Talk About
I’m gonna be real with you. I questioned even putting this section in this blog post. The shame that comes with honesty – especially around motherhood – is real. But I promised transparency, and here it is.
There are some feelings in motherhood that are so dark and uncomfortable, we don’t even want to admit them to ourselves – let alone say them out loud. But they exist. And if you’ve felt them, you’re not broken. You’re not dangerous. You’re not alone.
When my daughter was about a month and a half old, she had undiagnosed reflux. She cried constantly – especially when I put her down. As my first baby, I thought it was just normal baby behavior. I didn’t realize something was wrong. My husband had gone back to work and was often doing overnights in the Navy, so I was on my own most nights. I was exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally spent. And one night, I snapped.
I was holding her while she screamed for literal hours, and something inside me cracked. I wasn’t scared – I was angry. I looked at my one-month-old baby and yelled, “WHAT DO YOU WANT?” And in that moment, I scared myself. For a split second, I understood how a mom could lose control. How someone could cross a line in a storm of sleep deprivation, sadness, isolation, and desperation.
The second the words left my mouth, I broke. I gently laid her in her bassinet, even though she was still crying. I walked away, sank to the floor, and sobbed. I felt like a monster. I felt like I shouldn’t be a mom. I reached into the bassinet and held her hand while she cried. Eventually, I managed to fall asleep next to her for 15 minutes – just 15 minutes – but enough to bring me back down from that dark, scary place.
That moment haunted me. But it also forced me to acknowledge that something wasn’t right – and that I needed help. I needed rest. I needed support. I needed someone to say, “You’re not crazy. You’re just drowning.“
If you’ve ever felt that surge of rage, that moment of “I can’t do this,” please know you’re not a bad mom. You’re a tired, overwhelmed, overstimulated human being who deserves help, not judgement. You are not alone.
Conclusion: You’re Not Failing, You’re Just Carrying Too Much
If you made it this far, first of all – thank you. Thank you for reading my truth. Thank you for holding space for the messy, complicated parts of motherhood that we usually keep tucked away behind forced smiles and curated social media moments.
If any part of this post hit you in the gut… if you’ve felt disconnected, overwhelmed, ashamed, angry, broken, or just done – you are not a bad mom. You are not failing. You are just carrying too much. And you’re doing the best you can with what you have.
Motherhood is beautiful, yes. But it’s also brutal. It will bring you to your knees and make you question everything you thought you knew about yourself. It will stretch your heart and your patience in ways you didn’t think were possible.
This post isn’t meant to scare new moms or dwell in the dark stuff – it’s meant to remind you that you’re not alone in it. That if you’ve had the thoughts you’re too ashamed to say out loud, someone else has had them too. I’ve had them.
You are allowed to love your children deeply and still struggle. You are allowed to not love every moment. You are allowed to ask for help. And most importantly – you are allowed to be human.
Leave a Reply