Image Source: Courtesy of Peanut [1]
Michelle Kennedy is a mom to 4-year-old Finlay and the founder and CEO of Peanut [2], a social-networking app for mothers to connect and learn from like-minded women.
Michelle, the Mother. I was fine with that. I'd bought everything on my baby list [3], I'd read a few parenting books, I'd attended some prenatal classes [4] to really make sure I had it all covered. I was professionally at the top of my game, running an extremely successful dating platform. I had lovely friends and a great family life (my husband and I had been together for five years), so motherhood . . . well, that seemed like just another step in my life, the next chapter in my book.
I was scared; everything was changing and it was out of my control.
When my son Finlay arrived, I felt naive. I hadn't appreciated how different everything would be [5]. He was incredible, beautiful, fragile. I couldn't believe I'd had any part in something so perfect (all 9 pounds of him), but I was scared, like everything was changing and it was out of my control.
I'd gone from working a million miles an hour and being around people constantly to all of a sudden being at home all day on my own [6] with this little dude. It was a difficult adjustment.
My husband would go to work every day and "leave" me at home. It sounds ridiculous to phrase it like that, but that's how I saw it at the time. I wasn't really sure who Michelle, the Mother, was. I'd lost my identity [7]. I didn't know who I was anymore, and the usually very-together me felt dangerously close to falling apart.
I wanted to connect with other women going through what I was going through, but I found it really difficult to relate to the portrayal of motherhood [8] I was seeing on social media and in parenting forums. I didn't recognize the tone of voice being used to address me as a mom — it was infantilizing. Searching for advice at 2 a.m. led me into a world of mystifying abbreviations [9] (DH? OH?), and no real way to communicate and meet other mothers like me. There was a lot of judgment [10] flying around in forums, and I became so terrified of being criticized, I was tongue-tied. I became a lurker, wishing that another mother would ask the question I had, and then ducking when I felt the inevitable judgment coming. I was lonely [11].
I was lonely. It was a really difficult realization. It was a dirty secret that I couldn't verbalize.
It was a really difficult realization. I certainly didn't feel comfortable with it. It was a dirty secret [12] that I couldn't verbalize. I mean, I had friends! I even had one who had a child. She was wonderful, but her baby was older than mine, and I felt often like I was burdening her. She really had this motherhood thing down and was so in control of her identity as a mother. Why didn't I have that?
Everything and nothing could reduce me to tears at that time. I was extremely sensitive, and as any new mother will tell you, there is nothing quite like motherhood to make strangers feel emboldened to share their opinions [13] with you. "He looks hungry!" said an older lady in the queue at Starbucks one morning, "I think Mommy needs to give him a little feed." I burst into tears, because how did she know my son better than me, because she was most likely right, because I really, really wanted to have a coffee. At that very low, vulnerable moment, I was more lonely than I could ever have thought possible.
I tried to meet other mothers, but, of course, not all moms are the same [14]. Coming together because "you're a mom, and I'm a mom" can be awkward and forced, and make you feel lonely anyway. At times, I was faking it, pretending to be someone I wasn't, just to not be on my own. That didn't make me feel better. What I really needed was to find someone like-minded, someone I could be myself with so I could reclaim that part of my identity. Often, I'd see groups of mothers and thought I was back at school [15], constantly assessing the situation to see if I might "fit in" with them.
It's not socially acceptable for a new mother to say "it's really tough, and it's not exactly what I thought it would be."
Admitting my feelings toward motherhood didn't feel like something I could do. It's not socially acceptable for a new mother to say "it's really tough [16], and it's not exactly what I thought it would be." I would share snippets with my friends and husband, but I didn't really know how to articulate that I was lonely. I was acting as a competent, together mother, and I didn't see anyone who seemed to be feeling the same way I was.
Image Source: Courtesy of Peanut [17]
The turning point came six months in. I started to get in a flow and regained my confidence. I've now heard people describe that tough period ending as a fog lifting and, yes, that's what it was. I returned to work and was more connected to the Michelle I understood, and I made two wonderful friends who were mothers [18]. I started seeing motherhood as a chapter in my book — not the only one, but for sure the most exciting.
Sometimes motherhood is challenging, confusing, and even scary, but it's amazing. It becomes a lot less daunting [19] when you can feel like yourself, and share your journey with other women [20] who love and respect the woman you are. I needed that support and I knew other women did, too.
I had been running a tech company that focused on dating apps, and all of a sudden it seemed obvious that I could use the knowledge I had to create a product that would help women, new mothers, connect, so they didn't have to struggle like I did. I started Peanut [21], an app to reflect modern motherhood, which offers a smart, mobile solution for mothers to chat, meet up, and learn from one another [22]. It assumes not all moms are the same, and gives them the opportunity to come together, judgment free. It's the answer I wished I had as a new mom, because motherhood doesn't have to be lonely.