In my first pregnancy, I was terrified that I wasn’t going to be a nurturing mom. I was a type A personality bustling around, getting things done. There were times I needed to remind myself to stop and hug and make eye contact with my husband who just walked in the door, rather than continuing the “management” of my evening. I was never interested in playing with baby dolls. I had never been terribly interested in holding and caring for babies. So, how, I questioned, was I going to give my baby the attention, care, and nurturing that she needed?
I didn’t know for a while. I was probably convinced that I’d never quite have enough, that I’d fall short, that I’d spend the rest of my life trying to eek out more patience and gentle caring out of myself. I carried this doubt with me for quite some time. I stopped, in many ways, consciously thinking about it. My lack of ability to nurture seemed like a given, a fact, something I could do nothing about. Then, in a moment, I had an experience that opened my eyes to what I provided for my daughter.
My daughter was about six months old and we were getting on an old fashioned steam engine train with her cousin. Her cousin was older and he was confident. He was jumping up and down and pointing things out to her. He wanted to take her under his wing. My husband reached out to hold her. She had a lot of offers of support. What my daughter did was settle in my lap and lean back against my chest taking everything in from there. And, in that moment, I got it. I was and am her grounding. When things were new and intriguing, yet also possibly disconcerting or overwhelming, she leaned on me. I released the feeling that I wasn’t a nurturing mom.
When I told my husband what I learned from that experience: that I must be doing adequate nurturing, he was appalled. He couldn’t believe I was still harboring that feeling of lack. Looking back, I learned two important lessons. One, to not make an assumption about a short-coming and accept it as an “always and forever” fact. Keep looking. Be in search of evidence to the contrary. And, two, to ask trusted friends and family about my feelings of insufficiency. Now, it wouldn’t be useful to continually ask my husband, “Am I nurturing enough? Am I nurturing enough now?” Yet, instead share that it’s a real concern of mine and ask for examples of behaviors that I exhibit that are (and are not) nurturing.
Where do you assume that you fall short as a mom? How can you question that assumption?
