Right now, I’m a mother of a five-year-old. And my mind is blown by the sheer amount of personal growth I’ve achieved during that rather short time, compared to the rest of the rich and rewarding life I’ve had before I became a mum.
Maybe you think it sounds weird to juxtapose motherhood and personal growth? How on earth are we supposed to do this in between sleepless nights, projectile vomits, temper tantrums, drop offs, pickups, and wrestling nits?
Watch: The things mums never hear. Post continues after video.
Let me rewind the tape a little: I’m sitting at my desk in a corporate office in Sydney, feeling empty and sad. I’m 32 years old and I’ve been trying to fall pregnant for nearly two years by then. All sorts of thoughts are crossing my mind:
"What’s wrong with me?"
"Will I ever be a mother?"
"I’m not a real woman if I can’t have a child."
The stress and resentment are building up and overall, I’m feeling pretty lonely. There’s no way I’m going to let anyone know how ashamed and inadequate I feel.
Finally, after a lot of tears and a crash course in surrender, at 33 years old, I give birth to my daughter.