Can we grieve and be joyful at the same time?
I'm certainly trying.
If you’ve been following along here for a while, it’s likely you’ve been able to discern the many ups and downs of my life of late. But put simply, it’s been a rollercoaster.
Week to week my state of mind, priorities and ability to cope can shift exponentially—sometimes it’s like I’m gliding through my life with barely a hair ruffled and yet at other times, it quite frankly feels like I’m pushing shit uphill whilst barefoot and blindfolded.
As a mother with two young kids keeping me on my toes—and in a constant and ever-evolving state of exhaustion—I’m used to the extreme dichotomies that come with motherhood. The highs and lows can span weeks, days or mere moments. But what I’ve been pondering of late is how in my life more broadly, I can be feeling both heartwarming joy and heavy, crushing grief in the same breath.
While much has been written about the mundanity of motherhood and there are literally mountains of articles, essays, books and podcasts that speak to the ‘realities’ and hardships of parenting—often I feel we are guilty of ignoring the gifts of parenthood as a result of our bone-aching fatigue. I certainly am. Most of what I share on this platform is the former, rather than the latter, and I can appreciate that this sort of commentary is not for everyone. I’m guilty of using this platform predominantly as a sort of whinge-outlet, to share the falsehoods and fantasies of parenting in order to provide some sort of relief to others. And help maintain my sanity.
But I also want to shine a light on the immense colour and the tiny joys that I find myself witnessing on a daily basis. If I’m honest, I don’t think I’m always the most patient person in the world (although close friends might kindly say otherwise) and sometimes the frustration of asking my kids to complete even the most basic of tasks can seriously overwhelm me—sometimes, to the point of tears. But recently, I’ve found myself surfing great waves of happiness, which is immensely comforting.
It’s difficult to articulate, but there have been moments where it’s as if I’m being shaken awake by forces beyond my control. I can be standing in my kitchen with three pots overflowing on the stove, my son screaming at me to turn up the TV whilst Elmo songs blare in the background—and yet I will suddenly feel this intense, all-consuming calm. I’m floating above the chaos and instead of feeling broken by the madness, I feel pure joy. If anything, I find myself wanting to freeze the moment, all of a sudden appreciating how fleeting it all really is.
In part, perhaps this is just because I’m becoming a more seasoned parent and can appreciate that all the terrible clichés we’re told are true: this too shall pass etc etc. But if I’m honest, I think this joy is also my body’s way of protecting me from falling into the great pool of grief that feels ready to swallow me up. Because while I’m reaching new peaks of happiness in my role as a mother—I’m reaching new depths of sadness in my role as a daughter.
As I watch my own mum battle cancer, again, I am paralysed by the grief of knowing how this story will end. It all feels too much to carry and yet I’m determined to stare into the face of this sadness with courage and clarity. I want more than anything to be there for her at every step of the way. To hold her hand when she needs me to. And to give her my presence as much as I possibly can.
I’ve no doubt that the challenges that have come our way over the last few years are all teaching us something. And if nothing else, I can honestly say my resilience is now infallible. But for just a few moments, it would be nice not to have it tested. And I suppose that’s why I’m experiencing the tiny joys that come with motherhood more deeply than ever before. Focusing on these small moments feels more sustainable than trying to process the big life-changing milestones that pepper our path. And if that means I have to listen to a few more Elmo songs yet, I guess that’s okay too.
Holding you in these polarising feelings lovely one. What a brave and beautiful being you are for being able to witness it all and write about it here. The polarising feelings can seem so strange I think and while I cannot imagine your personal experience right now, I do often feel this conflict within when I experience the little joys of my life alongside grief and sadness, and while those around me have had their lives pulled apart. Thank you for your sharing. Xx
I feel you on this! The joy comes in tiny strange moments, it’s almost as if in the mundane I appreciate even more that these kids are mine! That I get to be their mum!
It’s magic and utterly exhausting. Last night at dinner I was hit with a dread that I’d never feel vibrant again. But an hour later while stroking my son’s head as he fell asleep on my body I felt so calm and complete. Motherhood really is such a paradox!