There are two warring emotions colonizing my body. The first emotion is a popular one that I was prepared and excited to feel: the wave of unconditional love that hits and settles in a new parent’s heart. The second emotion is one that is often felt and then placed in the back closet of our minds, tucked away covered by a white sheet, and hidden from the loved ones we invite to our house: sadness. We love aloud and we mourn in secret.

Prior to becoming a parent, everyone projects their experiences and opinions on you. They tell you to breastfeed the baby because breast milk is the healthiest option. They talk about how quickly you will fall in love. They remind you to sleep when the baby sleeps. If they really care, they might even make dinner for you or come over and help you clean the house. We believe that all of the advice we hear and research we do will prepare us for the duality of being a new parent. We walk through the door of parenthood knowing that we will do anything for our babies and will stay exhausted while making everything happen.

We thought we would walk through the door of parenthood, close it, and not think about what we left behind because we would be too busy focusing on what was standing before us. However, many of us are caught off guard when a thought we weren’t prepared for kisses us quietly. We didn’t consent to this kiss, and yet we still feel the warmth of it. Then, for some, shame follows. The foundation we lay to make our lives as new parents organized and structured does not prepare us for the ache that sets in as we grieve a life that won’t be lived again.

 I loved being able to provide milk to feed my baby, but as the breast pump latched and drained me dry, I coveted a time when my body felt like it was my own. I enjoy the cuddles my toddler gives me when he wakes up at 7am. They are a sign of his enduring love and his feelings of safety and security in my arms. I also yearn for the years prior to parenting when I took sleep for granted.

Parenthood is oxymoronic. Give yourself grace as you enter the perfect storm. The love our babies give is perfect, but what is required of us as new parents might make life feel daunting. Before parenthood, we were only truly responsible for ourselves. Even if we didn’t take advantage of the years where it was reasonable and appropriate to be selfish, the path was always open to us. It was always accessible.

Parenthood is realizing how shielded and protected you felt standing in the doorway of your old home after you have already chosen to move into a bigger, newer house. The memories you will make in your new house will be beautiful, but, every now and then, your mind will still wander back to the familiarity of the creaky floor boards in your old house. You might find yourself longing for the old as you live in the new.

My son is almost three and I know I will feel a new version of this grief with each year that passes. I will mourn the younger version of him. The version that needed Mama near. The version that sighed deeply in serenity at the sight of my face or the sound of my voice. I will also mourn the 29 years I lived prior to becoming his Mama: the ease, the autonomy, and the peace of living for myself only.

I won’t shame myself or think these thoughts quietly any longer. When I think them and then pack them away in the trunk of things to be hidden or discarded, I’m not cleaning house and making room for better thoughts or ideas, I am only clearing the room for shame to become my roommate and adding to an environment where shame will become the squatter in the house of the person that asks me for advice on becoming a new parent. I won’t let anyone else shame me either. The next time someone asks me how motherhood is treating me, I open up about how hard parenting is, and they respond by asking me if I love my baby, I will stop them. Mourning doesn’t cancel out love. Struggling with change doesn’t prevent a person from showing affection and care.

I am learning that the two emotions don’t have to be at war. A battle doesn’t have to play out in my heart and mind. They can live in harmony if I do the work to let them. I live in Harlem. I only have two bedrooms and four closets. There isn’t any space for shame in this apartment. Excuse me while I take my shame outside. It is trash day today.