Shared Stories, Shared Strength: Motherhood in Community
by Faith McGown for On Motherhood books
More than two decades later, I can still feel the complete and utter overwhelm. Rushing into the conference room, feeling and likely looking disheveled, 20 minutes late for a 9am real estate closing, embarrassed, stressed and already exhausted by the day. My three-year-old daughter—not a fan of getting dressed and ready in the morning—had resisted my best calm and compassionate efforts, then desperate pleas, and finally my panicked frustration to get us out the door. By the time we were buckled into the car, she was crying and I was a distraught mess. Had I not been in such a rush, I too would have broken down in tears. It was 2004, the peak of the real estate bubble. My business was thriving; I was not.
Embarrassed and apologizing profusely, I explained to those around the table that my toddler and I had a rough morning. Without missing a beat, the woman across from me, another real estate agent and mother, reached across the table and kindly placed her hand on mine. “I’ve been there,” she said. “There were days my child and I were both in tears by the time we left the house.” Stunned by her admission, and comforted by her compassion and honesty, my shoulders dropped and my tension released, deeply relieved to know I wasn’t alone.
As much as I love being a mother and have adored my daughter at (almost) every stage, balancing the demands of raising a child mostly on my own while also running a business and a household frequently felt impossible. In those early days, I was consistently late, operating on too little sleep and too much Diet Coke, overwhelmed and far from my best self. This was not the version of motherhood I had envisioned for myself and my family.
Throughout my childhood, my mother worked far more than any of the other moms I knew. She was also the youngest mom I knew. Married and a mother before her 17th birthday, then later a divorced single mom, she juggled long hours at multiple jobs with the demands of raising two daughters. Our family struggled—in nearly every sense. As a child, the version of motherhood I observed and experienced seemed grueling and undesirable. I wanted something different.
As the saying goes, “it takes a village.” Thankfully, we had one. Grandparents, neighbors, and classmates’ parents filled in gaps. None of them worked as much as my parents, and their support helped keep us afloat. I saw in them and their families another kind of motherhood—one that was gentler and softer, one that seemed easier. I wanted that and promised myself I’d do things differently.
And I did. I became a mother at 31—nearly double my mom’s age when she had me—with both a high school diploma and a college degree. I had prepared and I was ready. Or so I thought. Though the privilege of age and education afforded me better paying jobs and more time at home, technology, my own ambition and fear of failure, and the Great Recession often kept me working nonetheless. I did it differently and still managed to make many of the same mistakes. Along with plenty of new ones.
Motherhood has brought me my proudest and most joyful moments. It also consistently humbles me.
None of us has it all figured out. Just when life seems stable, something shifts. What works well for one child, doesn’t for another. Most of us have regrets, things we would do differently if somehow magically given the chance. Even the best prepared and most well-intentioned among us sometimes feel we’re falling short. I am forever grateful to the mother across that conference table for her caring compassion. For validating my struggles and affirming my experience.
Although it is not always easy, sharing our honest stories—especially our struggles and the parts that don’t make us proud—can soften self-judgment and create space for others to do the same. The villages celebrated for supporting and raising children, support mothers too. My hope is that On Motherhood books will be one of those villages. Like the mother across the table from me so many years ago, providing a safe community and a forum for honesty, reflection, vulnerability and mutual support.
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