Being Mad About Being a Parent

I come back!

I disappeared for a few reasons. First, I’ve been having the worst migraine episodes. This time of year isn’t great for me, and it’s only about to get worse. Can you imagine? Second, anxiety has been kicking my ass! I don’t really know why, but a few days ago, I hit a low point—I literally couldn’t get out of bed because of an overwhelming sense of impending doom. Today, I had an anxiety attack over something I needed to do, and I ended up crying on my way home. So yeah, things haven’t been looking good for me in the mental health or physical health department.

But I’m momentarily back to give my two cents on a longstanding internet debate that has never made sense to me.

Earlier today, I came across a video of a woman responding to the common phrase, “After a long day, I can’t imagine coming home to children.” She said it was odd for people to comment on a life they’re not living. She explained that after a long day, she can’t wait to get home to her kids. Someone stitched her video, saying, “I’m still not looking forward to coming home to kids after work. I’m 25,” etc. Of course, the comments were full of agreement, with people saying things like “Fuck them kids,”* “Same here,”and the ever-popular take: “Parents are just mad about being parents.”

I scrolled after that.

Listen…

I’ve never looked at someone who doesn’t want kids and felt the need to interrogate them about their choice. We all want different things from life, for different reasons. Before my… let’s call it an urge, I wasn’t always focused on having kids. One day, when I was 23, I woke up wanting to get married and start a family. These were things I’d always wanted, but they’d felt far off, like something in the distant future. That day, though, it felt immediate—like it was staring me in the face. Eye to eye. Chest to chest. Nose to nose.

And you know what? No one around me grilled me about why. Granted, I think I’m surrounded by people who understand that everyone has their own path. When I muse about wanting a sibling for my daughter (no, not right now), my friends don’t question or debate my feelings. Similarly, when they post about being glad they don’t have kids or coming home to an empty house, I don’t get offended.

Why should they? And why should I?

I don’t understand why we’ve entered this era where people feel entitled to comment on each other’s life choices when no one is walking the exact same path—even if the destination is similar.
And yes, it’s true. I’ve seen, with my own eyes, people who hate being parents. People who want others to suffer simply because they’re suffering. I noticed when I was pregnant that some people couldn’t wait to throw jabs about the hardships of parenting. But here’s the thing: your mindset is your own. You’re not me, and I’m definitely not you. If you’re having a miserable time as a parent, sit with yourself and ask why that is. And if you don’t have kids but have a negative attitude toward parents, assuming everyone is unhappy… maybe ask yourself why you feel that way too.

Parenthood isn’t a monolithic experience. Not everyone is miserable. Some people want it, and some people are genuinely enjoying it.

That said, parents are allowed to complain. Everyone complains about things they’ve wanted and achieved—it doesn’t mean they regret them. Singular moments of frustration don’t define the entire experience.

Personally, before I became a parent, I loved coming home to my bed, to solitude, to being alone with my thoughts. And absolutely nothing has changed—except that my daughter is now part of what makes my home feel complete.

Right now, my postpartum anxiety is at the forefront of everything I do, so separation anxiety is very real for me. I cried hard when I missed my baby during a moot competition. When I got home, her entire face lit up, her body language changed, and she practically threw herself into my arms. It was clumsy, of course—she’s only six months old and can’t walk—but I can’t explain what that did to me. It felt like my heart could explode with pure joy.

I miss her even when she’s asleep. So naturally, when I’m away from her, I don’t feel whole. I rush home just as quickly as I used to when I was only rushing toward my bed.

Even before becoming a mother, I was a godmother, and I used to envy my cousin for the pure joy she must’ve felt having her daughter. My goddaughter’s spirit is beautiful—she’s a happy girl. When we lived together, every time I came home, I felt that joy for the first time all over again because we were so close.

Essentially, I love coming home to what’s mine. My daughter is her own person—she has an innate sense of independence—but the kisses, the contact naps, the cuddles, the smiles, the squeals of laughter (which are finally becoming less stingy!), the babbling, and even her little hand on my face before she decides to get mischievous… those are mine.

When I was asked about the joys of parenthood, I didn’t have much to say because right now, she’s just developing. We can’t have conversations yet, but those moments encapsulate my joy. And yes, my joys might be selfish right now—but they’re real.
Back to the debate: I like my baby. That mother probably likes her kids too. Not everyone knows what that feels like, and that’s okay. But I don’t think it’s necessary to generalize or project negative assumptions onto parents. She said she likes coming home to her kids, and people called her angry for being a parent? The irony is, if she had said the opposite, they would’ve criticized her for that too.

In a world where no one seems satisfied with how others live their lives, why not keep unsolicited comments to yourself?