Unless you’ve been living under a rock (or perhaps just too knee-deep in parenting to look at your phone), you’ve most likely seen the clips of singer Chappell Roan and her commentary on motherhood this week. The internet has been losing its shit ever since her recent interview for the ‘Call Her Daddy’ podcast dropped, and her brutal honesty has been met with applause, outrage and everything in between. In case you missed it, she candidly says, “All my friends who have kids are in hell. I actually don’t know anyone who’s like happy and has children at this age. I have literally not met anyone who is happy, anyone who has light in their eyes, anyone who has slept.” 

While many are offended by the comments, I get it. Roan’s opinion is understandable because how can you possibly explain to someone how parenthood – and motherhood in particular – can somehow fill your cup to the point it’s overflowing and yet completely drain it at the same time? The truth is that parenthood is the ultimate paradox. And it doesn’t make any sense, even to those in it, so how could you expect it to make sense to those who aren’t? Who would look at someone sleep deprived, drained of colour, covered in milk, sick, poo, and tears and think, ‘Wow, that looks like the job for me’ when they haven’t felt the intensity of the love and newfound purpose that makes every single part of it worth it? There are staggering statistics of women saying motherhood leaves them feeling worse about themselves physically and mentally, but over 90% say they would still do it again. Why? 

Because motherhood breaks your heart and heals it at the same time. 

Whether they plan to start a family or not, those looking in must find it easy to see the lows, listen to the complaints, and witness the tiredness across our faces. To take it all at face value, without considering the pieces of parenthood you can’t see, because these moments happen within our own four walls and mostly live unspoken in our hearts. Often, they are moments so small and maybe insignificant to others that we wouldn’t recall them to a friend because they wouldn’t understand their tremendous tug on our hearts. I believe there’s yet to be a word in the English dictionary to explain the priceless feelings that come with this precious title. The ones that can take you from sobbing with sadness to crying with joy in the same breath.

How do you describe how you’d endure 40 hours of excruciating pain in childbirth again if it meant going back to the moment you meet your baby for the first time? How do you explain how sleep deprivation comes with tight grips from tiny hands around your fingers and your heart? How full-body tiredness from endless explanations sits alongside mispronounced words you wish would remain etched on your brain forever. How rolled eyes are seen upon a series of changing faces – from babyhood and beyond, each as beautiful as the last, and how you miss them all – even though you can’t remember the last time you saw them. How hour-long bedtime battles are worth enduring for the moment your toddler whispers ‘I lud you’ for the first time as you both lie staring up at glow-in-the-dark stars. How the weight of the motherload feels just too heavy to bear, but their wide eyes and dropped jaws as they see Christmas lights, zoo animals, and sandy beaches leave you piling more on your plate as you plan your next adventure. How clearing up food off the floor and plates they barely touch every day is a price you’d pay to witness those scrunched-up faces and whole body shudders at the first taste of bitter lemon or tongue wiggles and open mouths at the first lick of ice cream. 

How do you explain that being kicked in the back all night long feels worth it when you wake up with a little hand on your cheek and feel a shallow breath that smells like milk tickling your face? How waving them goodbye as they step into school feels like a punch in the gut and swelling of your heart all at once, and how you learn to cry with pain and pride simultaneously. How you wish for each stage to be over but pray it never finishes, all on the same day. How a tiny person can push you to your absolute limit, more than anyone ever has before, yet can bring you more bliss than you’ve ever experienced as they wrap their little limbs around you. How you count down the hours until bedtime, only to miss them as soon as you shut the bedroom door. How you long for alone time but can’t wait to get back to them because they are your home. 

How sometimes, on the hardest days, the ones that leave you on your knees, you might miss your old life for a second, and yet you don’t, not even at all, because you can’t remember a life without them.