Tylar

1. How do you define “mothering” in your own life—and has that definition changed over time?
The definition of motherhood has changed since I became a mom. I have spent many years re-mothering myself and healing my own mother wound—giving myself grace, inner safety, and unconditional love that I didn’t feel I received growing up as a young girl. Since becoming a mom, I have realized that I am a mother to more than my own child. I find myself nurturing animals and other people, regardless of age or gender. I have the capacity to love and care for others, and I’ve learned in motherhood that a part of my journey is to give that energy to myself first and then to others. Mothering, to me, comes with the energy of nurturing, care, guidance, protection, and sacrifice. There is a fine balance of nurturing and caring for yourself and others as we grow through life. I see other women and mothers in a different light now. The call to motherhood doesn’t look the same for everyone, but there is a commitment to another person's flourishing that is universal.

2. What has mothering revealed to you about who you are, beyond the roles you play?
Mothering has revealed deeper layers of myself to me. I am far more powerful than I ever imagined. I have a massive capacity to create—biologically, energetically, and spiritually. As a woman, I am anchored here and on the other side; the veil is thin for me. My intuition and creativity are extremely necessary for me to thrive in this life, and I must keep myself balanced to have access to them. I am much bigger than the roles I play or the hats I wear. I am a divine feminine being, entrusted with creating life, nurturing life, and mothering beings far beyond my own child—while still creating a life I can enjoy outside my roles. I am brave and willing to stand on my choices, even when others do not agree or support those choices. The greatest realization I have had about myself is my ability to transmute my pain into care—showing up for myself and my baby regardless of how much things hurt physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I’ve learned to take care of myself, intentionally and wholly, so I can be the highest version of myself to show up for myself and others.

3. What parts of your journey feel unseen, misunderstood, or unspoken—and deserve to be named out loud?
The immense amount of sacrifice and personal growth that comes with motherhood. The hard decisions that a mother makes on behalf of her child and herself. The sacrifice begins long before a baby is born and extends well beyond childhood. There is constant emotional labor that starts the moment a baby is born. Being everything to someone is a large task that leaves me feeling alone. Who takes care of momma after she’s given her all to her children—physically, emotionally, spiritually? I often see mothers taking care of themselves too, even when there is nothing left in the tank. I think about this often as I grow in my own journey, thinking of future generations and how they might feel. Motherhood is an intergenerational role, forever evolving as a woman grows through time and space. There is a delicate juggle of dedication to self-growth, self-preservation, and emotional regulation happening daily. For me to show up as a present, loving mother, I have learned the importance of showing up for myself in those ways first. I think my commitment to the betterment of myself—for the sake of myself and my child—should be said out loud. I make a conscious choice to be better, to think better, to forgive, and to grow. I show up every day, regardless of how I feel—for me, and for my baby. A choice that I plan to continue to make for the rest of my life.

4. How has your experience of mothering been shaped by your lineage, your culture, or the community around you?
I was raised by wonderful women who made choices that were best for them at the time with the information they were given. I listened to their stories and saw them differently—incredibly strong, resilient, and full of love. I also saw the pain and trauma they carried. Many women I’ve seen before me were surviving most of their lives instead of thriving. I noticed how they seemed to carry it all with little rest or appreciation. I often saw women working hard, inside the house and out, hardly taking time for themselves. There wasn’t much time for leisure or relaxation unless work was done first. I was aware of the sacrifices made by the older women in my life, even at a young age. When I asked about their birth stories, they shared experiences of miseducation and a lack of choices. I felt deep compassion for their experiences, even more so after going through childbirth myself. My birthing experience was different from the stories I heard from the women in my family. Having an unmedicated water birth, assisted by a doula, breastfeeding for months, and going into birth educated and confident was something new. Being a stay-at-home mom is also refreshing for my family to see. My mom told me she wished she had the opportunity to stay home with me when I was young, rather than sending me to daycare at six weeks. I’m overjoyed that the women who raised me were able to witness me bring my baby into the world the way I wanted to and raise him in a way that feels safe and comfortable to me.

5. What was your postpartum experience like—emotionally, physically, and spiritually? What kind of support (or lack of it) did you receive during that time?
Postpartum was very difficult for me during the first year. My mother did not attend the birth of my baby because of a conflict we had at my baby shower. Her absence was heartbreaking, and I chose to protect myself and my new family afterwards. She was not a part of our lives during my son’s first year of life. Becoming a mom while in conflict with my mom was tough. I didn’t have guidance on what to do, how to breastfeed, or how to transition into this new role. I didn’t know who to call when I needed my mom. I felt like I was winging it and was extremely vulnerable. I leaned into my spirituality heavily; prayer and grounding outside became my healing space. I made mommy friends, joined mom groups, and hosted a mommy-and-me event in my backyard to connect with other moms. My partner Travis, friends, and some family held me close when times were rough. I felt deep feelings of loneliness that stuck to me like tar. I lost myself for a bit during the worst times and was terrified that my mental and emotional state would negatively impact my baby. I needed help. I needed community. I desperately needed a comforting, listening ear. Once I stopped breastfeeding, I struggled to eat and felt overwhelmed with emotions most days. There were extremely dark days paired with beautiful, everlasting moments with my baby. I struggled to find balance in this new role, thinking someone else would come and help me. My memories of postpartum are filled with hot and cold moments and a camera roll full of baby pictures. It took me a while to realize who I was searching for was me. I needed to show up for myself, pick up my own pieces, and figure out how to carry on as a mother. My baby needed me. I’m genuinely grateful for my support system. There are people who have shown up for me in ways I never imagined, and it brings me to tears to know they see me and have loved me through such a vulnerable time in my life.

6. If you could design the ideal postpartum care system, what would it look and feel like?
The ideal postpartum care system would involve individual and group counseling options with licensed therapists, meal plans or grocery delivery, baby-friendly group workouts/yoga, and information about mom groups/local play dates. Access to different types of daycare/babysitting networks would also benefit mothers, especially those with smaller support systems. Mothers would not feel alone, isolated, or misunderstood as often. Our experiences wouldn’t feel scary. I think it’s important for mothers to have a safe space to commune with other women and have organic, raw conversations about womanhood. There is safety in community when we share our stories. It helps us feel seen, less alone, and understood.

7. Can you share a moment of deep joy in your mothering journey—one that lives in your body?
A moment of deep joy in my mothering journey that lives in my body is the very first time Nasir latched onto my breast, drank his fill, and peacefully fell asleep in my arms. He had been in the NICU for seven days, and I was nervous he wouldn’t latch or properly bond with me because of the distance. I was also terrified because this was my first time doing any of this, and I wanted to do it well. When we successfully breastfed for the first time, I felt complete. I had created this life with my body, pushed him out of my body into the world, and was now feeding him with that same body—soothing him to sleep simply with my heartbeat. At that moment I knew I could do it. I knew I could be his mom, and a good one. I sensed how safe he felt in my arms, and he has had me wrapped around his finger since.

8. What grief, loss, or transformation has shaped the way you show up as a mother?
I had to grieve parts of my relationship with my mother when I became a mom. There has been a pattern of forgiveness that began when I had my son. Harboring anger, hate, and holding grudges was not serving me or my baby. I went through the process of seeing my mom for the woman she is beyond her role as my mother—a human who makes mistakes and is experiencing life for the first time, too. My expectations of her did not match reality, and while it was difficult to accept, I had to start doing the work of letting go. Once I let go of my anger and heartbreak, I was able to show up joyfully and without resentment.

I also grieved the life I had prior to becoming a mother. The freedom and self-centered life I once lived was changing, and I had to accept that. I was watching my partner continue on in life in a way that I simply couldn’t. It didn’t feel fair to me—it wasn’t fair. Comparison wasn’t serving me, though. I had to accept how important my role as Mom is to the welfare of my baby. My baby needed me—the best version of me.

I had the realization that caring for my baby will never end, but it will change as we both grow older, and I want to be present for it all. When I was a child, I made a promise to myself that whenever I became a mom, I would be present, nurturing, and intentional. I had to heal deep wounds within myself so I could show up for him in this way. He deserves a mom willing to do the work to be her best self.

9. How do you access healing—emotionally, spiritually, or ancestrally?
I access healing through solitude, crying, and prayer. Alone time is very healing for me. I’m able to connect with myself deeply and gain understanding. Usually, I will journal my feelings and cry to release emotions I harbor. Crying is extremely healing for me; I refuse to hold back tears.

Connecting with my ancestors is important to me. I talk to my late grandparents often and find peace in knowing they’re watching over me. Herbal healing has also been a large part of my healing. I keep many herbs in the house to use to connect with myself and keep my body in balance.

I find that connecting with nature is deeply healing for me and is a daily nonnegotiable. I need to be outside in the sun, but preferably by water. Water is the element I feel the deepest connection with. I enjoy immersing myself in large bodies of water and allowing the water to hold me—this is the most healing space for me. I still use these practices in motherhood to access healing. I simply find ways to include my baby.

10. Are there any rituals, practices, or traditions that keep you grounded?
I practice prayer daily to keep myself grounded and intentional. When I’m feeling overwhelmed with emotions or negative feelings, I write them all down—pen to paper—and burn the paper away to release the feelings. I frequent practices that allow me to release internal discomfort and reframe situations.

I write down intentions and affirmations for myself to read back, reminding myself to stay present and move forward positively. Gardening and painting are activities I use to keep myself grounded when creativity is calling.

Now that I’m a mom, I’m able to start traditions of my own. Nasir and I like to have dance parties when tensions arise. I encourage him to move his body and shake things out, feel the music. Music and dance have become a part of our daily routine for us to reset. It’s important to me that he learns healthy ways to transmute energy.

11. What does community care mean to you—and how do you invite others into your mothering journey to help bridge gaps of support, understanding, or visibility?
To me, community care means having a safe environment to connect, share, and support others. Programs are in place to assist mothers with whatever they need, whether it be diapers, breastfeeding support, emotional support, or physical support. It’s a group initiative supporting mothers in a way that helps them return back to themselves and be the best mothers they can be.

I invite others into my mothering journey by opening my home to other mothers and sharing my journey. I hosted a mommy-and-me breathwork event with my mommy friend a few months ago. It was put on with the intention of gathering women to share, connect, and breathe. We shared stories of pregnancy, birth, motherhood, womanhood, and relationships. I think we all left feeling lighter and seen for the journey we were all on together.

I want to have more events to bring together women to share and support each other. I think it’s important for us to hold space and time for each other—to authentically be—especially during tough seasons of life.

12. To mother within systems that weren’t made for you is an act of resistance. How do you navigate, push against, or reimagine those systems in your everyday world?
I choose to live freely, and I make choices for myself and my family that I think are best, regardless of outside opinions. I knew when I became pregnant that I wanted to stay home with my baby for at least a year. I wanted to create a strong bond and safety for my baby; I have valued this highly since I was a child. My partner agreed and has been immensely supportive.

I find that society pushes mothers to disconnect from our children early on, causing anxiety in both mom and baby that can have a lasting impact on children. I have been intentional since I learned I was pregnant; I knew I wanted to do things my way—different from what I have seen in my life. I made choices during pregnancy, birth, and postpartum that are considered against the “norm.”

I move at my own pace, remaining present with slow mornings and long evening walks. We do not operate within society’s norms. We don’t sleep train, don’t believe in “cry it out,” and sometimes we co-sleep. My baby has never been in daycare, and we have only ever been apart for a few days at a time. When you see me, you will see my baby. I bring him everywhere, and he is a part of my daily life and adventures. Babies are a part of society, and I’m intentional about bringing him into spaces for him to experience the world.

13. What do you want the world to understand about mothers like you?
We are multifaceted. Becoming a mother doesn’t mean parts of you die or that you have to lose yourself. A new version of you is born when a woman births a child, but the parts of her from before are still there. Mothers are not “one size fits all.” Every woman decides how they choose to show up. That choice doesn’t mean you have to leave parts of yourself in the closet to be a good mother.

I choose to show up as my whole self for my child to witness; I don’t hide from him. I’m open and honest about everything, even though he’s only 14 months old right now. I’m deeply intentional about the way I show up for my baby and choose to be present with him every day. He will grow up knowing his mother as a whole person.

I am a mother willing to do what it takes to protect my child and make hard choices that are in our favor. I’m willing to stand in the rain so my baby won’t get wet. I am not willing to sacrifice my goals and aspirations as a person for my role as mother. I believe women can be fulfilled, goal-driven, whole people and be great mothers.

14. What do you hope your child—or future generations—inherit from your story?
I hope my child inherits the feelings of peace, hope, and safety—the skills to be a whole, full person capable of growing, loving freely, and making the best choices for himself. I want him to know that it’s okay to bet on yourself, to take a chance, to fall and get back up again.

I hope he learns the importance of slowing down, taking his time, and genuinely enjoying life. I hope to pass down values and skills that will be useful in the next generations. He and future generations will have the ability to live a life they want to live, not one they have to live. I want them to know their power, the sacrifices that were made for them, and the many choices that lie ahead of them.

There is no one way of life, one route, one journey. Everyone’s life is theirs to live, and I want my child and every child after him to know that and stand proud of who they are—to know that healing is possible, thriving is a birthright, and it’s safe to be whole and authentic.