For the first two years of being home, I had a rule I never wrote down but felt to my core: I could sit down once the kitchen and living room were “closed” for the night. And that meant literally everything away for a while… because somewhere in a late-night YouTube loop of homesteading moms doing their nightly close-down shift, I’d convinced myself a sparkling main living area was the thing my brain needed, and that it was also important for my daughter when she would wake up the next morning.
Most nights I’d stay up a little too late after my daughter went to sleep, restacking stepping stones, putting back stuffed animals and stomping around in my loud, heavy-footed way half-raging but also telling myself it didn’t count because I had a podcast on. My husband would ask me to sit for five minutes; we’d get to the rest tomorrow because it honestly wasn’t even a mess (we only have one child). I couldn’t, not for four months after watching these YouTube moms. By the end of most nights I was somewhere between resentment and tears, knowing he was right and still unwilling to let that be enough.
That invisible rule that rest had to come after everything was the first thread I pulled. Once I started pulling, a lot came loose. Here’s what I’ve had to unlearn, since becoming a mother almost three years ago:
That productivity equals worth. This goes first because it’s the root of most of the others. I spent years being productive for someone else’s company; walking away meant rebuilding my worth from nothing. The book Essentialism named it for me very clearly the other week: not everything on a list is essential. I am not more valuable on the days I get more done. Journal prompt: What would you do today if you believed your worth wasn’t attached to your output?
That rest has to be earned. For two years I waited until the last thirty minutes of the day to sit down, for no reason other than deciding I’d finally earned it. I woke up at 5 a.m. to walk the treadmill before my daughter got up, and it honestly just spiked my cortisol for the months I did it. Now I read in the morning instead, and I’m calmer all day. Rest was never a reward. Journal prompt: Where in your day could rest come first instead of last — even for ten minutes?
That every minute should be optimized. Still hard for me. I used to keep a podcast running constantly, trying to learn something in every spare second to not fall behind. Lately I find more in the pause itself, the extra thirty seconds of stillness before I reach for a podcast, a book, or my phone.
That slowing down means falling behind. I can confirm this one now. Slowing down these past few months in all areas of my life and specifically here writing in tiny pockets instead of waiting for a big open block, has actually helped me move faster and has allowed me to clear my mind properly. Sometimes slowness is the plan working correctly.
That a successful day has to look impressive. My best days rarely photograph well, because most are quiet in a way no one would notice but my daughter and me, the only two home. This morning we stayed in our pajamas and mopped the main level (her idea, because she loves it), listening to a 90’s mom playlist then read our books side by side as a break.
That asking for help is weakness. Asking for help helps — more so when you’re clear about what kind you need, which I wasn’t good at for a veryyy long time, and tbh I am still working on. I recently asked moms here what they found most helpful in those early days of motherhood/motherhood in general. Journal prompt: What’s one specific kind of help you actually need right now — not just “help” in general?
That ambition only belongs in careers. I walked away from a career I spent ten years building and have never felt more ambitious in my life. It just looks different now because it’s aimed somewhere new. I wrote more about it in What Happens to Ambition When You Stop Measuring It in a Paycheck or a Title. Journal prompt: If ambition wasn’t measured in a paycheck or a title, what would it look like for you right now?
That my body only exists to be looked at. It grew a whole human, and it’s very different than it was before motherhood. I also learned that “bouncing back” is about far more than just your body — I wrote about that here.
That boredom is something to eliminate. Boredom isn’t a problem to solve. Sometimes it’s just the space before the next idea and that space is becoming what makes a life feel rich. Nobody warned me I’d want this was the first essay I wrote exploring our “boring” ordinary days, and it’s a topic I find so fascinating I can’t stop coming back to it.
That childhood should be scheduled. A little funny to admit. In her first two years we did it all — music, gymnastics, dance. Eight months ago she told me she didn’t want to go to any activities anymore because “we did too much.” She still says that now, probably repeating me, but it landed. Where did that pressure even come from? Likely me, thinking I needed to “socialize” her since she wasn’t in daycare like her peers. But you know what actually works for your family. Journal prompt: Is there a routine or “should” in your family’s life right now that came from comparison rather than what you actually need?
That being present is easy. Oh, it is not. It might be the hardest thing I do most days. I wrote about it here and here — the aesthetic of presence is the easy part; actually being there is a lot harder. Journal prompt: When were you present today without trying to be and what made that moment different?
That joy has to be exciting. The small, ordinary joys carry just as much weight sometimes more, because there are so many more of them. Nobody told me it’s the regular Tuesday I’d end up wanting.
That every season needs a plan. I do love having goals, and I still set them, just more realistically now, because the last three years took so many turns that half of what I planned for never happened. I got a little woo-woo and checked my birth chart, and it confirmed what I already knew: my current season is for resting, not planning.
That I need to have all the answers. I don’t, and pretending otherwise was exhausting. Not knowing yet is allowed, and spending time thinking about it is okay too.
That home is “just” a house. I’ve spent the last while turning ours into an actual sanctuary. It’s changed how I feel — lighting a candle each morning, running the diffuser before bed, building small systems to actually live by that contue past the first week. Your home is your safe space; make it somewhere you love spending time in. Journal prompt: What’s one small thing you could change about your space this week that would make it feel more like yours?
That ordinary days don’t matter. My ordinary days are actually my favorites. I’ve loved reading other writers here talk about finding richness in the everyday and romanticizing your own life, cliché as that sounds, because it’s true.
That motherhood is only about raising children. It’s also about who I’m becoming while I do it — which might be the bigger part. More on that in The Matrescence Map.
That I’ll remember everything without writing it down. Maybe the most personal one. I won’t remember these things unless I write them down — the way she mispronounces a word, some small good thing from the day. I keep a running record, close to a gratitude list. You can write this in a “happy list” format too. Just take note, you will be glad you did. Journal prompt: What’s one small moment from this week you’d want to remember a year from now and have you written it down yet?
That life begins again after this season. It’s already begun. This is it, not the waiting room before it. Right now, I’m being rewritten in real time. The word matrescence changed my life — more on why I stopped trying to fit into who I used to be.
That the little things are actually little. It’s the five-second pause where she runs over, hugs my leg, says “I love you,” and keeps going. So small. But it’s what carries me through the week. Journal prompt: What’s one “little thing” from today that, looking back, actually wasn’t little at all?
I don’t think I unlearned any of this on purpose, these things simply showed after I stopped expecting anything to change me and let go of the idea of bouncing back. But I am learning lately that’s usually how it goes… you look up one day and realize you don’t believe what you used to believe.
If you’re in the middle of unlearning something right now, you’re not behind. You’re just paying attention and becoming at the same time.
I would love to hear from you.
What's one thing motherhood (or this season of your life) has made you unlearn? I'd love to make a running list from all of yours and help the mamas in the seasons to come.
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