Why Moms Lose Their Minds, and How We Find Our Way Back: A Motherhood Manifesto.

My second son was born with a cleft lip and palate. Since I nursed his older brother, I wanted him to also have my milk. We lived in a two story house then, and I can still remember putting him in his bouncy seat, carrying him downstairs, placing him in my lap, and pumping while he screamed. Once I got that first dump, I would quickly pour it into the bottle, then feed him that while I finished the pump. Then, I’d give him the top off and feed him some formula until he fell back to sleep. I did this every two hours through the night. Until after the 7 am feeding, and then I would wake his dad up at 9, send him downstairs with the baby so I could crash for a couple of hours, knowing someone else was on alert. I still remember the delicious feeling of knowing my nervous system could rest for a couple of hours. 

I can remember when my first son, now eleven, was two-and-a-half and couldn’t go to preschool anymore because he was so incredibly anxious. I shut my practice down and spent every moment of every day with him. I had to get up at five and go for a run, before his dad went to work, just so I would have enough oxygen to make it through the day playing with a child who didn’t want to go outside. I almost lost my mind. I gave, and gave. And gave some more. And then collapsed into bed at night completely exhausted. Just to wake up and do it again. That planted a seed in me. I knew I couldn’t be the only one. We were meant to raise children collectively. Not isolated in a house, without a community to support us, carrying the load all alone.

This is why so many mothers are sinking. And the nervous system of the mother is the nervous system of the children. Mothers are the backbones of any society. Without mothers, we don’t have a society. There is no future. No one is coming to save us. So we need to save each other. We need to put our judgement of other women down and pick each other up. So that no more mothers face broken hearts, broken minds, or broken spirits. Too many mothers are reaching breakdown. It’s time for us to build each other back up. After all, maternal mental health matters most of all.

Last month, I did a podcast interview about why people marry their trauma and how to break the pattern. One woman, a mother of two, told me she prayed for a sign that it was time to leave her relationship, and then my newsletter landed in her inbox. She recognized herself in the pattern and realized that to set herself free, she had to let him go. A few days later, she ended the relationship. I asked how it felt in her body. “Peaceful,” she said. She’s the breadwinner for her family. And therein lies the rub: money is power, especially in family systems. 

Last fall an article in The Cut went viral: “The Women Quietly Quitting Their Husbands.” Journalist Monica Corcoran Harel reported on women in midlife who have emotionally detached from their marriages but stay: not because things have improved, but because leaving costs too much. Mothers, especially those who are in relationships where they aren’t respected, or worse, coercively controlled or abused, have it hardest of all. Even without these destabilizing relationships, the average mother is carrying most of the load: either working full time, then coming home to the second shift. Or staying home and giving her body, brains, and nervous system over to her children all day long, which is a whole other level of exhaustion. I’ve done both.

So who has the power to change this? We do. The mothers. We need to raise our boys better. They need to be taught emotional intelligence. Instead of “You’re okay,” it’s “Are you okay?” They need to do chores, take turns, be respectful, and understand the load women carry, so they can help carry it too. And, more than anything, they need screen time limits. When they have limits, screens can be used as an “if/then” tool to get them to do their chores, as in “if you take out the trash, you can have your hour.” This may feel like more on top of everything we’re already carrying. But it’s where our power lies. When the boy leaves his clothes on the floor, it’s “Before you pick up that video game controller, pick up your clothes.” It’s “I am the Queen, and you are the princes.” Not “You are the King, and I am your maid.” 

But it’s not enough to raise our sons differently. We have to treat each other better, raising each other up, supporting each other when one of us is sinking. Our ancestors saw children as a collective responsibility. The mothers didn’t judge each other, but rather held space for one another and held each others’ babies. Needing help didn’t mean personal failing. It meant a collective call to help carry the load. Because whether that baby survived depended on whether that mother thrived. And that’s how we all thrive: When we rise together.