There is a niche, but brilliant little book called ‘The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows’ by John Koening. It defines new words for emotions that we feel but don’t have the language to express, take for example:
Tarrion: n. an odd interval of blankness you feel after something big happens to you but before you feel the resulting emotional reaction; or
Momophobia: n. the fear if speaking off the cuff or from the heart; the terror of saying the wrong thing and having to watch someone’s smile fade as they realise you’re not who they thought you were.
Having language to describe something is important, it creates and validates certain emotions. Maya Angelou said:
‘Words are things. You must be careful…They get on the walls. They get in your wallpaper. They get in your rugs, in your upholstery, and your clothes, and finally into you.’
If that is true then I am seriously considering starting a petition to rebrand the phrase ‘mom-guilt’ that is bandied around so frequently. ‘Guilt’ is the word I use to describe how I feel when I’ve missed a workout or showed up late to meet a friend for coffee (*see footnote).
Compare that to the feeling of leaving my son at nursery: peeling his little gripping hands away and handing him over to a stranger because society has decided maternity leave is finished. The dichotomy of wanting (of needing!) a break but not being able to think of anything but him when I get one. The gut-wrenching pang in my stomach when he fell and cut his lip. When I’ve spent the day with him but not given my undivided attention.
That my friends, is not the same feeling as missing yoga. It comes from a different place, the depths of my being. I cannot rationalise the feeling away, it brings home the heart-wrenching vulnerability that accompanies responsibility, it is a primal force. To ‘mom-guilt’ it away is to trivialise this new feeling. Which is just one of many new feelings that comes with motherhood, yet to have a name. Perhaps if it was acknowledged for what it was it would begin to feel a little less heavy. So let me start by giving it a name – the first step in rebranding:
Despangorra: the gut-wrenching, unwavering guilt that exists under a new mother’s skin, ready to appear and take hold of her at any given time.
* Pre-baby, that is. Post-baby I am late almost always and only have to nod in his direction for a silent but full explanation, with zero guilt, just adoration for anyone who makes it out of the house with a baby.
