When my son was a baby, I wanted answers.
This new little red-faced infant wanted to nurse every twenty minutes. Max was up six times a night. The ‘quiet alert’ phase that we heard about—the one we imagined where our peaceful, silk-cheeked baby would silently gaze at us—was non-existent.
Long days dripped by in a haze of milk and tears—both of ours. Our pediatrician said that he didn’t have colic because he could be soothed by nursing. And Max didn’t save his sadness for just the witching hour—any hour of the day or night was fair game. In my attempts to ‘fix’ my son, I lugged him to osteopaths and homeopaths. I went on an elimination diet consisting of brown rice and carrots. I spent hours with him hooked to my breasts while I surfed the internet for solutions. For a way to make him happier. To make us both happier.
I came across an article by Dr. Sears, a leading proponent of attachment parenting. In the article, Dr. Sears described ‘High Needs Babies.’ These intense babies tended to sleep poorly and required constant holding and attention. Max fit ten out of twelve of the criteria. The article suggested that it was possible that my son’s temperament was just who he was, who he was born to be. Not something to fix. I was a bit devastated by this theory; if I couldn’t fix it, the tears and sleepless nights would continue. We were already utilizing many of Dr. Sears’ suggestions for calming the ‘High Needs Baby’—co-sleeping was the only way for any of us to get any rest. I carried him in the Ergo so often that I felt like the straps were melding with my skin. I nursed on demand—and the demand was high.
The only thing that really helped was time. Ever so slowly, our nursing sessions stretched out. After about sixteen months, Max finally started piecing together four or six hour stretches of sleep.
Max is four and a half now. He’s been weaned for a few years now, and he usually sleeps through the night. But he is still intense. When he’s happy, he’s down-to-the-toes effervescent. And when he’s not—which is often— he’s shrieking, writhing puddle on the ground miserable.
We have a daughter now, too. She smiles and laughs easily and often. Loud sounds don’t phase her, and she weaned with little effort. At 21-months, she still requires a lot of care. But her whole being vibrates with ease, with lightness. I sense that life is much easier for her than it is for my son.
Than it is for me.
You see, I’m a High Needs Mother.
Before my kids were born, I practiced extreme self-care. I went to yoga and dance classes. I attended twelve-step meetings and therapy. I took long walks and joined a Unitarian church. I signed up for retreats and workshops. I did all of this to help me simply feel normal, which has always seemed much easier for most people than it did for me. Maybe it’s because I’m an introvert. Maybe it’s because I struggle with anxiety and depression. Maybe it’s because I’m what Dr. Elaine Aron describes as a ‘Highly Sensitive Person.’ Or maybe I’m just in touch with myself, and aware that humans weren’t really designed to withstand the fast-paced, over-booked life that much of the western world thrives on.
My husband and I vowed that when we had children, I would keep up my rigorous program. We promised we would support each other in doing the things we loved and the things that kept us sane and happy.
And then my son arrived.
And I was the only one who could sooth him.
I fantasized that my husband could induce lactation so my nipples could get a break. I pumped milk during the three minutes a day that my son wasn’t nursing. After a few months, I went to a yoga class by myself. As I backed the car out of the driveway, I felt half giddy to be on my own, and half naked, because my constant companion wasn’t strapped into the empty car seat in the back.
At the class, I breathed. I tried to root my body on my yoga mat, to let the ground cradle me like I so often cradled my son. In between surrendering to gravity, my mind wondered how my son was. If he was screaming. If he would take the bottle. If he would nap. During the closing shavasana, I felt the sharp zing of my milk letting down. In those days, I rarely went an hour without nursing.
I kept attending yoga classes, though I’d often return home afterwards to a sobbing child and a frustrated husband. The classes were a small burst of freedom, but it wasn’t enough. I fantasized about the day Max would start kindergarten, the day’s hours stretching ahead, all mine. But kindergarten was still years away. Between working so hard to meet my son’s high needs, and my inability to take care of my own, I felt withered.
When my son was twenty months old, we discovered that my husband’s work would subsidize part-time child care. We enrolled Max two days a week in a nearby daycare. The guilt I felt was expansive. I had wanted children, badly. So why did I so need to be away from my son? And how dare I ask other people to care for him two days a week when I wasn’t going to be filling all of that time with paid work? When I might use some of it to go to a yoga class or do laundry or lug my laptop to a coffee shop and write?
My guilt was huge, but my need for a break was bigger. When I dropped my son off that first day, I came home, melted onto the couch and cried. When I finally peeled myself off the couch, I wrote Max a letter. In my home, alone, all I could hear was the hum of electricity. For the next several hours, my body was all mine. I felt guilty and blissful, free and lost.
With time, the guilt shrunk.
I hate that as a mother, I felt like I had to choose between caring for my child and caring for myself. Because really, I can choose both. I can teach my kids—by example, which is perhaps the most potent way of teaching—that they are worthy of listening to their own needs. To the quiet, still voice that might tell them they need a break. That they need to lie on a yoga mat and sink deep into their own body and breath. To wander through a cemetery, alone, slow enough to read the names on the gravestones. To sit down and write about how they’re feeling, or to surrender to sweet sleep for an hour.
Maybe you don’t need to hear this. Maybe you are a working mother who longs to be home with her kids but needs the paycheck. Or a stay-at-home mother dreading your child’s first day of kindergarten. Or a home schooling mom who finds that the daily tasks of child-rearing light you up from the inside out. I honor you. We are, like all humans, all mothers, the same but different.
When I take good care of myself, I am more present for my babies. I can play air guitar with my son and orchestrate dance parties to Footloose. And when I don’t take care of myself, I’m a stringy, soggy, limp wash rag of a mother. Slowly, over the years, I have been able to add more and more self-care back into my life. To come back to myself and meet my own needs.
Over time, I learned that there was nothing wrong with my son. He just happens to be a lot like me.
Oh this is just such a powerful and beautiful post!! Your words will ring true for so many many mothers!!!
My first was like that- and I was desperate for answers. Her’s was severe reflux and untreatable asthma- and and and… the list goes on and on.
It was a long and desperate journey to get her well. 8 years to be exact. But now I feel liberated and renewed and it feels OH so good to take care of ME!!! 🙂
Thank you Chris! I hope so.
Sorry your first was a challenge. My son seems to be just fine now– I think he was just a sensitive baby who possibly had some tummy issues at first.
Glad you’re taking good care of you now!
I absolutely love the line “I hate that as a mother, I felt like I had to choose between caring for my child and caring for myself.” That is precisely the conflict that dominated my thoughts for the first two years of my daughter’s life. In the past six months, I finally accepted that, like you, I’m better for her when I take care of me. Zings of guilt still strike me now and again, but it’s good to hear the in-depth experience of someone in the same boat – it’ll help to keep the “zings” at bay!
Thanks Rebecca! I’m so glad you’re making the shift. It’s often uphill for me. But knowing I’m not alone helps so tremendously. I also find it interesting that, at least among my friends and their families, fathers find it soooo much easier to ask for what they need as far as time away to do things that restore them.
I love this post, Lynn, and relate to SO MUCH OF IT. (This is Chris from the Hive, btw.) Ruby was also a “high-needs” baby, and I’m one of Dr. Aron’s textbook HSPs. It’s a parent-child balance that’s tough to handle sometimes, being at once so similar to each other and all the while trying to keep my own (extensive…) neuroses from clouding how I parent my kid. Thanks for sharing your experience…I wish all of us much luck. 🙂
Hi Chris! Thanks for reading this. Yes, I’m a textbook HSP, too, and I believe my son is as well. At least we know we’re not alone! I find a lot of comfort in knowing that.
Wow. As a high demand mom with a high demand son I needed this!
Oh, thank you! Best wishes to you and your son. Hard, hard stuff.
You touched on the issue that plagues me every day: if I wanted to have kids so very badly, and traveled a long road to get them, why am I now sending them to daycare? I do work, but at home, so why can’t I keep them here with me? What is wrong with me that I finally got what I wanted, and now I’m sending it away? I hope to find peace with this one day. Thanks for the encouragement!
I think we are so hard on ourselves. Too hard. Hope we both can find peace with it! Take good care.
Well said. Thanks for writing this! I had a sense you were an HSP when I read your letter to your post-partum self. I’m a textbook hsp, too, but my new son seems to not be quite as affected. Time will tell, but for now I think life might be easier for him. However, I am struggling to understand my needs for (and juggling) self care, for needing time to work, and time to nurture my son whom I love more than anything in the world. The guilt for needing the previous two is immense. I questions those needs daily, especially the need to work, but I move forward, praying for guidance and light, because I know how important my needs are. Thanks again
Hi Kay! Thank you for your comment. Yes, I can so relate to the second guessing, and being torn between your needs and your commitment to your son. I think that by modeling good self care for our children, we do them an enormous favor, even if it means less time with us. Best wishes for you.
Lynn, I couldn’t agree with you more. I think more and more women need to read your posts to remind themselves to take extreme care of themselves. I started “Mother Nurture Day Retreat” just to offer downtime for moms of small children. It’s essential! And kids need to see that mom has a life and takes care of her needs! Like Iyanla Vanzant said, “My cup runneth over — what’s in the cup is mine…what comes out of the cup is for y’all.” Thanks for inspiring moms to fill their cups! – Laurie
Oh, thank you Laurie! I LOVE your comment. I will check out your website~ thanks for doing such great work!
Nicely written! Very, very relatable — right up to the point that you tried out daycare for your son and he liked it! My highly sensitive guy can’t handle the noise of groups, the stress of new caregivers and substitutes… we couldn’t even do parent-child with him happy. We went straight from all day nursing, night wakings… weaned at 4.5 and on to homeschooling. No yoga yet for *this* mama.