Little ones playing
As someone raised to be strongly feminist, becoming a mother was a bit disorienting for me. In my mind, a good mother was a working mother. The intense feelings of joy, love and attachment that swept over me within moments of Baby W’s birth caught me completely off-guard. Here was not a burden or an inconvenience to deal with and get through so that I could go back to doing important, grown-up things like making money. Here was a tiny, blessed creature that knew nothing other than to trust me to support and care for him. This miniature angel belongs more to God than he does to me. He was not a task to be struck from a to-do list; he is a gift to embrace and welcome. (Not saying that working moms feel babies as burdens—it’s just how I thought I would feel. Even when I was pregnant, I thought to myself “Gee, I hope I like my baby”).
So totally against everything I had said and felt before, I quit my job. Though I loved my son, this was painfully ambivalent for me. I had viewed my value through the lens of my career and education; now those stopped (though education, in a way, always continues). It was a type of identity crisis.
Of course, it was my own hang up not to respect child-rearing as equally valuable to vocations outside the home. Though I was Catholic and gave lip-service to the value of motherhood, my heart lagged behind and in some ways still does. Occasionally, I have trouble respecting myself when I compare myself with other women. This is a problem and a struggle. (I know comparing is deeply harmful; and I know that true feminism, which simply affirms the value of women, does not disparage the choice to stay home).
Enter natural parenting. For me, it’s a philosophy that helps me give identity to my new role. Continue reading
Stephanie Pacheco 