Why is it that when I have declared that I hate being a parent, my internal organs suddenly looked good being served with a side of fava beans and a chilled bottle of Chianti? Why this reaction of immense horror and tight lips from the listener? Is it really that bad to state how much you hate being a parent? From my experience, it is probably one of the worst things you can say to another person, especially when they have children. You can see the colour drain from their face, their speech becomes stuttered and the large vein on their forehead begins to pulsate furiously. But their reaction does not change the truth, and I am sure that at some point in every parents’ lives, they have hated parenthood too. Parenthood is chaotic, parasitic, draining, terrifying, tiring, traumatising and the most honest mirror to your soul that you shall ever possess. And if your soul has scars like mine, parenthood reflects those scars like I could never have imagined.

Hating parenthood is not synonymous with hating your children, or I certainly don’t hate mine. I have one son, and I love him more than life itself. If he were to suddenly be removed from my world, I would fall on my face and never get back up again. I am often astounded and experience great humility, when I witness parents who recover somewhat from the loss of a child. What strength and resilience they must possess, for I cannot even imagine it. The feelings I have for my son leave me breathless at times in awe at his creation, and I am tortured with the idea that I had anything to do with his beauty, majesty and rapturous youth. Compared to him, I am a pathetic and tired excuse of a vehicle of human potential, although I do contain good genes. It is easy to forget that once, I was also filled with vibrance and youth, because looking at him, I cannot even imagine it.

There is a dark side to the love I have for my son, as there always must be. Dark cannot exist without light, and the darkness is called “Parenthood”. It is great that I have this healthy, turbulent, stubborn, humourous, turdy, kind and intelligent human being for a son, but I have absolutely no idea on how to be a parent. Parenthood has brought all my demons of self-loathing and guilt to the surface. For 16 years I have battled my own dark side in order to be a better parent. But one cannot be a better parent and set good examples when they have no knowledge of what is around the corner in their own personal and emotional development, or I have not found a way to live with the uncertainty.

I have stumbled and cried through this nightmare. I have held fear for my child and suffered such anxiety for him, that I have often wondered if he would one day find me on the bathroom floor, a dried and withered husk of what I once was. I have often looked at him and wondered “Can I do this without damaging him for life?”. In other words, what kind of parent am I if I cannot even get my mind around the idea of being one? Yep, 16 years after his birth, I am still startled by the fact that he is my son and I am his mother.

Now, I do not worry about the horrific looks I get from people when I say that I hate parenthood. I do not feel guilt for it does not change how I feel about my son as a person. I will still apply all the rules and the morality, not because I want to raise a good son, but because I want to raise a healthy and joyful human being who understands respect, self-love, the idea of delayed gratification and that nothing comes for free. I will be the consequence to his action, and love him the same. I will discipline and challenge, I will protect and serve, I will be the safety net for his danger and I will stand my ground even if it means all out war.

All the while I will tremble in fear, wallow in indecision and occasionally pray for divine intervention in my darkest moments. As I glance in my boy’s direction for the thousandth time today, I will love and hate, die and live, suffer and be euphoric. He is my universe, my gatekeeper and my reason for living, after all.

Michah