Mom Support

The value of sharing experiences with other moms and remembering that we are not alone

By Kathy Fitzgerald

“Why aren’t more moms alcoholics?”
A mom-friend posed this question to me recently, half in jest, but the more we talked, the more I thought it was a pretty fair question.

Watching our children play in the park that afternoon, we commiserated about the struggles, frustrations and, at times, downright agony of being a mom. The more we shared with each other, the more I realized we had much more in common than I ever could have hoped.

We laughed at how packing up the kids and hauling them along for a five-minute errand can take as much as an hour or how complicated a meal can be when trying to accommodate both adult and child preferences as well as general fussiness, or even how coordinating playdates around nap schedules can require the scheduling prowess of high-powered Executive Assistant. And then we admitted how much it can aggravate us. I was reminded of how the resentment can build and bring on those shameful feelings of guilt for missing the freedom of my previous life.

We both expressed shock and awe at the unpredictable timing and nature of a preschooler’s temper tantrum. How could such sweet little girls suddenly lose all control and become so unrecognizable? How can such an event turn an otherwise blissful day on its head and make you want to start counting down the minutes until bedtime? We laughed at our “most embarrassing public displays” and swapped tips on handling the public humiliation.

My worst confession was the horrifying discovery of how close one can get to wanting to spank your child out of sheer frustration, when you always swore you would never let yourself get to that point. That you would never be “that mom.” We comforted each other with mutual understandings of these emotions and applauded each other for never going past that awful point.

As I thought about all this, I was reminded again of how utterly unprepared I felt for this job. No matter that I had been doing it for five years, by the time I mastered the skills required to care for an infant, she turned into a toddler, making my baby skills obsolete. When I got a grip on toddler management, she suddenly became a preschooler. Every time I felt I was finally getting the hang of it, she entered another stage and seemed to change completely. I could not help but wonder how so many other women before me had done it. How did they survive? How did they handle the worry, the stress, the anxiety? How did they deal with the feelings of guilt and incompetence without hating themselves?

Or did they?
As we talked I almost felt as if, with the telling of each story, we were giving each other permission to reveal another secret “bad mommy” story. What a relief to hear another mom’s confessions and to have her understand mine. What a comfort to really feel like I was not the only one I knew who struggled. I could have talked and listened to her all day.

As our time together came to an end, we called our kids in, said our goodbyes and began going our separate ways. Walking to the car with my daughter I started thinking about what to make for dinner and if I needed to stop at the store on the way home. Interrupting my mental meal planning, my friend called out to me:

“Hey Kathy, you know why more moms aren’t alcoholics?”

I turned to look at her.

She smiled at me and said, “Because they talk to other moms.”

I smiled back. Indeed.