Five months into my second pregnancy I feel as though I am already as big as I was at eight months pregnant with my daughter. A few weeks ago, I pulled on my jeans one morning only to find that I could no longer fasten the zipper. So, that weekend, my husband, daughter and I piled into the car and headed into the nearby city.
This year we are trying to buy “nothing new in ‘22.” We’ve been consciously trying to buy less stuff for a while, partly to reduce our impact on the environment, partly to save money, and partly to prevent our house (the first we’ve ever owned) from filling up with things we then need to buy more stuff for in order to store it. The nice thing about “nothing new” is that it actually doesn’t mean you can’t buy anything. Of course, there are obvious exceptions such as groceries and medical supplies, as well as items like socks and underwear. I also have personally made an exception for some gifts, though I’ve tried to support local businesses instead of Amazon where possible. But there’s also no limit on how many used items you can buy.
So, when I realised I need to upgrade to stretchy-waisted pants, we headed to Value Village. I personally love Value Village. My husband is less keen because it’s a for-profit company and he prefers to buy from charity-run stores. But Value Village is a big box store containing rows and rows of racks and shelves filled with just about every household and wardrobe item you could need.
On entering the store my daughter made for the toy section and was happily entertained for our entire shop, playing with toys and pulling stuffies off shelves (it took a lot of will power to resist her pleas of “Can we bring it home with us?”). I found the maternity clothing section. It wasn’t huge but I was able to find two pairs of jeans and a dress. As I was riffling through the hangers I came across a stretchy grey t-shirt with the words “Moms Don’t Quit” emblazoned across the front in cursive script. Annoyed by the message on the shirt, I stuffed it back into the rack. But those words played over in my head for the rest of the day.
Why had they annoyed me so much? After all, there must be mums out there who are proud enough of their ability to persevere through difficult situations to buy this shirt. And I don’t wish to knock anyone in that camp. But I still found the message troubling because I think we live in a culture that is all too ready to belittled people who quit. And that can be very dangerous. Sometimes quitting can be the hardest, bravest thing to do. Sometimes “quitting” or “giving up” is the best path to take.
If anything, I think motherhood has forced me to be better about quitting. For most of my teenage years and adult life I have embraced the culture of never giving up. Even when I was spinning far too many plates, I refused to let any of them drop — and it often led me to burnout. I believed that everything on my to-do list was very important and that I couldn’t possibly allow my standards to slip, even just a little bit.
After pushing myself and working incredibly hard throughout high school, I arrived at university feeling demotivated. I couldn’t understand why I found it difficult to muster the same motivation to read and study at all hours. I called myself lazy and a procrastinator. I can see now that I was burned out and needed to allow myself to loosen my standards a little. After all, I only needed to pass, I didn’t need to get stellar grades just yet. I had also had a difficult few years of battling with depression. I’m not surprised I needed to have some fun, even if that sometimes meant drinking a little too much.
The over-achiever perfectionist in me showed up again when I finally got my foot on the career ladder. After completing a master’s degree in nature writing and then moving to the Netherlands, I finally got a job doing communications for a non-profit. I was part of a very small team, with just two other colleagues in the office. This meant that my responsibilities often expanded during busy periods, like when we were organizing workshops or applying for grants. In order to do my job and take on the extra work that needed to be done, I found myself staying in the office late and working at the weekend.
During one particularly busy period, I found myself suddenly unable to sleep. I would lie awake for hours, my heart pounding and my breathing ragged. I’d often get up and read or write in my journal. I remember writing that I couldn’t understand what was wrong with me in one sentence and then immediately detailing all the things I was stressed about — hmmm. I’d get annoyed when my husband told me to leave work on time. I can’t, I’d say, there’s too much to do, I can’t just leave. In the end, when my contract was up for renewal and I had another job offer from a larger organization, I did decide to leave. I burned out and I left.
Since my daughter was born, I have tried to spin the plates of caring for my baby/toddler full time (with the expectation that I would be the perfect mother), taking courses towards a professional qualification, and looking for and taking on paid work — not to mention the ongoing life admin and cleaning that never seems to cease. As a result, I ended up studying and working during nap times and in the evening, and sometimes late into the small hours of the morning. I didn’t get enough sleep. I didn’t have time to do the things that restore me, like curling up with a cup of tea and a good book. Once again, my husband was telling me to get to bed earlier and I was complaining that I can’t, I have too much to do.
I felt as though I was trying to do everything and doing none of it well — least of all motherhood. After five hours of sleep, I lacked the energy to engage with my daughter in the way I wanted to. When deadlines loomed, I turned to Disney+ to buy myself some time. I sometimes had to cut corners in my studies as well, not doing all the readings or engaging with the online class discussions as thoroughly as I wanted to. In my work, I tried to pretend that I didn’t have a toddler I was looking after full time because I worried it would look unprofessional. A lot of the time, I felt as though I was failing at everything.
It seems completely inevitable to me now, looking back, that I would eventually burn out. What shouldn’t have been inevitable is that it took several rounds of burning out before I finally finally saw that I needed to drop some of those plates. During one period of burnout, in the fall of last year, when I was still looking after my daughter full time, studying, and doing freelance work, and had taken on a short-term part-time job, I had to accept that I couldn’t do it all. And believe me, I tried — I have the Gantt charts to prove it.
In the end, we found a day care spot for my daughter. I’d been reluctant to even start looking for day care spots. Partly because they’re very hard to come by where we live, especially for under threes, so it felt like a pointless exercise to even try. I was also concerned about COVID-19 and increasing our exposure after having been fairly isolated as a family up until that point. But I think more than anything, I felt that it would mean I was a “bad” mother. It would mean that I was giving up, quitting. I should be able to do it all. I should be able to look after my daughter. How could I possibly hand her over to a stranger? What sort of mother does that? Ironically, I would never dream of judging another mother so harshly for putting their child in day care.
Luckily my daughter took to day care straightaway and she still loves it. They do a lot of crafts at day care. I am not at all crafty. I think I’ve done about three crafts with her in her entire life. So, I can see how day care is filling a gap in my parenting. She also loves being around other children and I’m starting to take the hint that perhaps spending all day everyday with me isn’t ideal for her. So, as long as she’s enjoying it and I have the time I need to tick off some of the many items on my to-do list, I know day care has been the right decision for our family.
At the same time, I also took the decision to quit the course I was enrolled in. I was already behind and I had an assignment deadline looming that was making my brain feel completely frazzled. I cried as I told my husband I couldn’t do it anymore and that I was going to have to quit. It was an incredibly difficult decision to make but one that made me feel so much lighter once I made it.
Things didn’t immediately improve. I still didn’t have enough time to do all my paid work during day care hours (we only had her in two days per week) and there were still a few evenings when I was awake until midnight doing work. In the new year, I also took on the task of co-producing another issue of the literary magazine I helped found, Stonecrop Review. My tutor on the course I’d decided to quit had also offered me the option of an “incomplete.” It would show up on my academic transcript but I’d have an additional three months to complete the course. But the pressure of working on my literary magazine and trying to finish up the last assignments for my course started to get to me again. I could feel myself getting increasingly overwhelmed and frazzled, which often shows up as me being irritable with everyone around me.
In the end, I didn’t exactly quit, but I did take a step back. For the literary magazine, I completed my edits and trusted that the proofreader would spot any last typos and grammatical errors, rather than spending the time to do my own proofread as well. I released some of the pressure on myself and you know what, it was okay. I didn’t have scores of people pointing out errors in the magazine. I didn’t make a laughing stock of myself.
For the course, I took the pressure off myself to submit the perfect assignment. I trusted that the ideas I had were all I had and that no amount of hand wringing was going to make new ideas suddenly appear. I also trusted that this was an opportunity to learn. It’s what I had gone back to school for in the first place, to learn how to be an editor. So my assignment might not be perfect, but I would learn from my mistakes — gasp! I’m allowed to make mistakes! And you know, it was okay. I got an A in that course instead of the A+ I’d gotten in all my previous courses. My GPA dipped below 4. But so what? The world didn’t end.
After I’d finished the latest issue of the literary magazine and wrapped up my course, I finally put a moratorium on saying “yes” to any new opportunities. It was something I had been trying to do for the last year, but somehow there was always one more opportunity that was too good to say no to, or one more hoop I had to jump through. Instead, I had to learn how to say “no.” I had to learn to give up, to be a quitter. I’m still not sure if I’ll finish the professional qualification I’ve been working towards for the last four years. I still have another two years to finish it. But I’ve already learned so much and I know I’ll be happy with what I’ve achieved even if I don’t get the piece of paper to prove it, even if I quit. There is, in fact, something quite delicious about realizing that it is really okay, that the world won’t end.
It was also around this time that I found out I was pregnant and the extreme fatigue and nausea I’d experienced with my first pregnancy reared its head. It forced me to slow down even more. On days when I was looking after my daughter, it felt like an immense struggle just to get through the day and I had to be okay with simply surviving. Her nap times became my nap times, and most evenings I found myself nodding off as I tried to read or watch television. I couldn’t even muster the energy for short walks and had to accept that I needed to drive to the pharmacy or up to the school for playgroup. I hated having to do this, I hated no longer being the active (and therefore morally superior) mum who walks and cycles everywhere. But my body was forcing me to slow down.
Of course, my brain had been trying to force me to slow down for a long time too, but somehow that physical manifestation of my limitations was easier to swallow. Now, though, I’m starting to see how important my mental health is. Without it, I can’t enjoy the things I truly value. So, I’m trying to get more sleep, trying to make sure there is space in my day for things that relax me or that make me feel cared for, like hot showers and flossing my teeth, like journaling or reading a few chapters of a book in bed before turning in for an early night. I seek out comfort and coziness and ease wherever I can. And I am learning to be completely okay with the idea of letting plates drop.
This mum quits and I hope I can raise children who know it is okay to be a quitter too.
This is really interesting. I agree so much with you that we should not valorise people working themselves into a state of burnout. The 'never give up' discourse also reminds me of Barbara Ehrenreich's writing in her book 'Smile or Die' about the culture surrounding cancer, and how the typical terms we use like 'battling' and 'fighting' leave people who can't survive with this terrible feeling that they didn't try hard enough or fight heard enough, and left them feeling isolated -ironically - from support groups.