As mothers, there’s always something that grips us. There’s always something more we could be doing. It’s a vice of motherhood. The worry. The planning. The attempting to control what we can because there is so much in life with children that is out of our control. The burnout.

For me, I was sucked into all of it. I desperately tried to stay on top of my life, which really meant taking care of everyone else. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, raising two young daughters tribeless – I disappeared into all of it. I forgot who I was, who I used to be.

At one time in my life I was so many things. I used to work full time in the public relations department at a university. I volunteered at a hospital leading writing therapy groups. I exercised regularly, went on hikes. I wrote, I journaled, I traveled with my husband, I went out with friends, I filled my life with all of these activities and things that made me rounded and whole.

I lost it all when I had children. I let it all go. I stopped working because it was cheaper than spending money on childcare and I wanted to be with my daughters while they were young. I stopped volunteering. Stopped exercising. Stopped writing. Stopped traveling. I fell into a world that only included my three year old and newborn. My world became so narrow. And eventually so dark as I fell into the steely grip of postpartum depression.

I thought was my fault. I never asked for what I needed. I was never raised to feel okay about wanting time for myself. I was unmoored to anything besides being a mother. Unbalanced. Exhausted.

I found myself in such a deep, cold well that I started seeking help from a therapist and psychiatrist. It took them telling me it was okay for me to do things for myself in order for me to finally start believing it. I wish someone had told me this sooner. I wish I had the confidence to ask for what I needed.

I had to just stop. And start giving myself permission to choose me.

I began to regain balance in my life as I realized that I was more than a mother. I started exercising. I forced myself to get up twice a week at 5:30am to work out because it’s the only time I had. Even if nights were long with two children crying, I did my best. I found a program full of mothers who also wanted to eat healthy, exercise, and find time for themselves without children.

I started writing again. I journaled, sometimes worked on articles, sometimes a memoir, sometimes a novel. It didn’t matter as long as my hands were typing out words close to my heart. I joined a book club. I embarked on a spiritual journey unique to me, one full of caring, inspiring, confident women. And I just booked a trip to Santa Barbara for the four of us, so now I can say we travel as a family.

The days of motherhood are long and I try my best to take care of myself. Even if I have to schedule it in. A half hour here, twenty minutes there. I ask more from my husband now and I am so very grateful he understands. He sees how it adds to my happiness, how it makes me a better person and therefore a better mother. I ask more from my daughters. I tell them I can’t play with them at times when inspiration hits and I want to write down a few lines to work on later. I’m sometimes not there when they wake up and sometimes not there when they go to bed. All of it is okay.

If no one ever told you, it is okay to take care of yourself first. It is okay to have passions other than being a mother and work. It is okay to make yourself a priority, even at the cost of spending time with your children or significant other. It’s okay to want time for yourself, to see a therapist, to play with your own friends, to hole yourself up in your room just to be alone. Give yourself permission to do the things that you need to do in order to stay sane.

Give yourself permission to be more than a mother.

About the author

Kelly Niebergall when you give yourself permission blog post

Kelly Niebergall has a masters in creative writing from San Francisco State University. She finds solace and strength in writing about the motherhood experience, and her work has appeared in Motherly, Mothers Always Write, The Mighty, and elsewhere. She lives in Thousand Oaks, California, with her husband and two wild daughters. When not writing about their shenanigans, she has been working on her first novel.