On sleep, rage, and f-bombs in motherhood

I’m finally becoming the mom I thought I already was

Not quite how I’m waking up these days but I’m getting there. Photo by bruce mars on Unsplash

It’s been 6 years since I’ve slept properly.

Six years.

First because my ex-husband worked overnights, the comings-and-goings an interruption. Then because I was pregnant. Then I was a new mom, a new mom whose husband still worked the night-shift, and then a toddler mom whose son wouldn’t sleep through the night, and then a single mom whose son still wouldn’t sleep through the night and so we ended up co-sleeping and fighting over the same pillow just so I could get some zzz’s.

But a solid night’s sleep? A full seven or eight hours? It’s been years.

Sure, I get a few nights here and there when my son is with his dad, but at some point my body started waking itself up whether or not I wanted it to, and so here I am.

To be fair, I can usually caffeinate my way out of it, but even I know that when I’m too tired, I get cranky enough that even coffee can’t save me. I have a shorter fuse, I’m more easily annoyed, and I’m louder. And because I don’t want my son to bear the brunt of that, I internalize it (mostly) and then release that frustration in random moments where my reaction does not match the situation.

I can vividly remember the vitriolic words I hurled at my then-husband in my most exhausted moments, moments when he was working overnights while I was home with an infant who didn’t sleep and wouldn’t stop crying, all while multitasking a job that was stressful, a single mom before I was a single mom. It was always at 2 am, near the end of his shift, when the anger came. So close to a reprieve but also well-aware that I wouldn’t get one. Not really.

The days were better, more joyful. The anger swept away by the promise of a fresh start.

For his part, he took it in stride, never used it against me, never said the hurtful things I know so many men say to their wives when motherhood is harder than they thought, heaping the blame onto them and driving them even further into themselves and their thoughts.

Instead, he stood nearby, providing words of comfort as I sobbed uncontrollably on the bathroom floor, unable to pick myself up, both physically and emotionally. It felt like I was at the bottom of a pit and the ladder to crawl out was right in front of me, just inches away, yet I couldn’t move a single muscle in my body, couldn’t get myself on that first rung.

For these moments of grace, I’m grateful, and I’m not proud of the words that came out of my mouth, but I understand it and I forgive myself. But in the end, the division of labor didn’t change, his sleep still prioritized over mine, and I remained exhausted, angry, and resentful. I thought this was normal, that it was just part of transitioning into motherhood, that it was just how my brain worked. It didn’t occur to me that it didn’t have to be that way.

Plus, it was 2020, and on top of being a brand new mom, I was also leading discussions on policing in Aurora, navigating a pandemic, and trying to hold it all together on my own, hyperaware of the fact that if I made one misstep, the comments would roll in again about how women shouldn’t be in elected office, how I should shut my mouth and stay home with my baby, which is a real thing someone said. And so I stuffed my own emotions down and did the work as best I could, for better or for worse.

I was, after all, a ‘public figure’ and public figures don’t get to complain, and certainly not women who choose to become a mother. The world was at a standstill, filled with so much awfulness that it seemed self-indulgent to ask for help when others were struggling so much more, and so the guilt and shame and fear of being a burden won out and I continued to say I was fine.

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In hindsight, it’s hard to suss out what was hormonal and what was situational. The reality is that it was probably a combination of both, but regardless, I know that my lack of sleep exacerbated it, that because my job didn’t require it in the same way as my spouse’s, I was left toughing it, my complaints dismissible because my job didn’t pay the bills.

I know I’m not alone in this, that moms around the world are exhausted, their time dismissed, striving to keep their emotions in check for the kids only to lose it on a spouse.

But of course I no longer have a spouse and I try really hard not to lose it on my ex-husband the way I did when we were married (lucky him), so now I’m the sweary mom who sometimes goes through yelling phases (although I’ve always been a bit cussy, too, so that’s not new).

In my defense, research has shown that swearing is actually good for you. A long time ago I listened to a book on profanity and I seem to remember it discussing how satisfying it is to use a four-letter word that ends in a hard consonant. Other studies have demonstrated that swearing can increase your pain tolerance by 33%, which is probably why screaming any number of profanities feels so good when you step on a Lego.

So even though my son has picked up some of my less school-appropriate language, I can point to all this and rightfully (and righteously) claim that it’s better than the alternative. Plus, he always uses the words in context and knows it’s not a school word (he has actually told the teacher when other kids use “mommy words”, so there’s that). And as for the yelling phases? They directly coincide with my 4th night of horrible sleep (and the bar is low), so I’ve learned how to get ahead of it. Mostly.

But lately? I’m sleeping!

Not only am I sleeping but he’s going to bed - in his own room! - at a decent hour. Sure, he still wakes up and crawls in with me at 3 am most nights, but he’s also figured out that it’s fine so long as he tries not to wake me up and, more importantly, sleeps on his own pillow. (Please tell me I’m not the only mom fighting for space on her own pillow when there are other options available?)

And let me tell you, this whole new sleeping situation is going to be a game-changer. Because it turns out, when I’m a mom who sleeps, I make more fun breakfasts and arrange them in little designs. I explore more with what I cook. I have more dance parties because I want to, not because I need to shake anything off. I am more engaged when playing one-on-one, rather than sitting nearby and nodding and murmuring, mhmm that’s cool through my Loop earbuds.

Fun food is Dino-approved.

Plus, I get more time to myself to do things like read and write and make healthier meals, all things I draw immense joy from but that is hard to make time for (okay maybe I do not love the cooking part, but I enjoy the benefits of it).

And all of this makes everything more fun from the get-go. Because while I do find motherhood to be fun a good bit of the time, I also have a vast majority of physical custody, so those sleepless nights and weeks and years take a toll. (This seems like a good time to point out that it’s still easier and better than when I was married….).

But now? I feel like I’m finally becoming the mom I thought I was, only better. Turns out, I can be even more present and fun if I actually sleep.

Like every other mom on the planet, I know that motherhood isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, so there are times when I wish I was able to experience the joy he felt while simultaneously wondering if he’s picking up on my faking it, if his joy is diminished by my inauthenticity, both of us pretending. I hope not, but I do wonder.

For his part, my son is also more attuned to my need for sleep these days. He’s old enough to appreciate that when his mom sleeps, it’s fun breakfasts, and when she doesn’t, it’s hit-the-snooze-button and a Paw Patrol yogurt smoothie in the car.

And as a kid who loves his drum set, he also knows that a mom who sleeps is far more likely to play air guitar alongside his whacking on the cymbal as loudly as he can during his nightly Benson Boone concerts. (Again, thank you Loop earbuds!).

Which is all to say, we are finally on the same page about sleep. And yes, it’s a work-in-progress. And yes, it will be a while before this is consistent. But for now, I’m allowing myself to see the light at the end of the tunnel and relish the mom I get to be.

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Want more? Here are some other relevant reads that you may want to check out:

• My Kid is Sweary AF by Shelly Mazzanoble

• Do Momfluencers Owe Us the Truth? by Naomi Gottlieb-Miller

• Holding your sh*t together when you can't get a break by

  Allison Hiltz
  (that’s me!)

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