I’m not scared in this moment, which surprises me. There’s this strange, dare I say, confidence webbing deep within me. Some feelings are too hard to describe in just one word so I’ve settled on two: quiet capability. I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never been the most confident person in any room, and I’m more likely to read a dozen parenting articles I’ve discovered on Google at 1 am than to go with my gut. But I can’t deny this small, knowing voice that tells me, “You have what you need. You’re going to be okay.”
The Silent Mode of Motherhood
The Noise of Motherhood
As a new mother, I felt confident and capable. I sat in the hospital bed, basking in my first big accomplishment since giving birth: taking a shower. My hair was pulled back in a wet bun, and my face felt fresh. I wore a robe I packed from home, patterned with black dahlias and deep-red roses. My daughter lay in front of me, wearing a tiny felt shirt from the hospital and a diaper that fit in the palm of my hand. As she moved her arms and legs, exploring mobility for the first time earthside, I caught myself staring at her tiny body—so fragile and new—and thinking to myself, “It’s us now, girl. It’s you and me. We’re going to figure this thing out together, aren’t we?” But this confidence was short-lived.
The Unplugging
When my daughter was fourteen months old, I unplug for the first time. It starts with turning my phone off on my birthday and leaving it off for nearly the entire day. I feel more myself in that one day than I have felt for ages. The unplugging comes at a good time, at a juncture where she is starting to notice me being on my phone. I realize that every time I pick up the phone, I’m telling her a story about what’s valuable to me. I’m showing her that there is something really special and important about this shiny little device in my mind, that it has the power to take me away from her at any moment.
The Importance of Unplugging
I start tracking the hours—one unplugged hour at a time. It’s a metric I can go by. It’s not daunting or unrealistic. Just one hour here or another hour there—for a meal or naptime or a walk to the park. I’m building a better life for myself without my phone in hand. I’m more aware. I’m more at peace. There seems to be more breathing space in this place. Every time I turn off my phone, it’s as if I am learning to put my hand up to all the noise I allowed in for the first year of her life—the noise that told me I needed to do more and be more to be a better mother.
The Critical Voice Within
But I think I know why my intuition frayed at the edges. I’ve been letting so much noise in. Noise about motherhood. Noise about milestones. Noise about how I need to show up for her. I’m sucked down rabbit holes of reels that tell me I only have eighteen summers left with her, so I better make the days count. I pin unrealistic ideas for a first birthday party that seems like its sole purpose might be to rival my own wedding. I create sensory bins full of pipe cleaners and cotton balls, and I watch as those bins get dumped out all over the kitchen floor—left for dead for some shinier object.
The Voice of Experience
As I look back, I realize that I was trying to measure up to unrealistic standards. I was trying to be the perfect mother, the perfect wife, the perfect friend. I was trying to be everything to everyone, and in doing so, I was losing myself. I was losing my identity, my voice, my quiet capability. But in that moment of unplugging, I found it again. I found my voice, my confidence, my quiet capability.
The Silent Mode of Motherhood
The silent mode of motherhood is not about being silent; it’s about being present. It’s about being aware of the noise around you and choosing to tune it out. It’s about finding your own voice, your own confidence, your own quiet capability. It’s about being a mother, not a consumer of information, not a reactor to external stimuli, but a creator of your own life, your own reality.
The Importance of Self-Care
Self-care is not a luxury; it’s a necessity. It’s not something you do when you have time; it’s something you do when you need it most. It’s not about pampering yourself; it’s about taking care of yourself. It’s about putting your own oxygen mask on before helping others. It’s about being present for yourself, for your daughter, for your loved ones.
The Verdict
The silent mode of motherhood is not a destination; it’s a journey. It’s a journey of self-discovery, of self-care, of quiet capability. It’s a journey of finding your own voice, your own confidence, your own identity. It’s a journey of being present, of being aware, of being alive. And it’s a journey that I invite you to join me on.
Conclusion
The silent mode of motherhood is a call to action, a call to be present, to be aware, to be alive. It’s a call to let go of the noise, to let go of the expectations, to let go of the external validation. It’s a call to find your own voice, your own confidence, your own quiet capability. It’s a call to be a mother, not a consumer of information, not a reactor to external stimuli, but a creator of your own life, your own reality.
