Giving up my martyr cape

When my daughter was younger (she is almost 20… how?!) I had a weekly Sunday evening ritual:

We’d put her to bed, I would do a few hours of work, and then I would do a cooking marathon to prepare fresh meals for the week.

Mia still ate pretty early and I couldn’t get home in time to make dinner, so I made them ahead.

So there I was, late on a Sunday evening, exhausted to the bone (weekends with a young kiddo aren’t really…. restful), cooking up elaborate meals in our kitchen.

It was a source of pride for me, like a badge of honor that said: “Look how I am suffering so that my daughter never has to eat a meal that’s not home cooked!”

Being a martyr mom came easily to me because it’s how I thought I should be.

When I was pregnant with Mia, I called my grandma to share the news. She cried for like half an hour and then told me that now that I was going to be a mom, of course I understood that the child and her needs and wants would always come first.

A good mom puts her child’s needs first and hers last was the story I adopted from my family with passionate dedication. 

It wasn’t just the cooking. At one point I decided to take a Zumba class on Saturdays — I was a dancer when I was younger and I loved Zumba! My husband, my daughter and I would drive into the city, I would go to class and they would walk around and get a fun treat.

Sounds great, right? It would have been if I didn’t spend the entire class feeling a ball of guilt swell up in my gut for not being with my daughter.

It’s not even that I thought she needed me. She loved and still loves hanging out with her papa. 

No, I felt guilty because I was straying from the martyr mom identity that I was convinced was the right way for me to be. Martyr moms don’t go to Zumba! Doing something for me while I could be with my daughter felt irresponsible and frivolous.

But here’s the thing I didn’t realize until much later. Not until I burned out and lifed-out a few years ago:

I served my daughter all those amazing meals with a side of resentment.

Of course I didn’t resent her!

But I resented my husband, for “letting me” cook myself into exhaustion. (Never mind how many times he told me that nothing terrible would happen if she would eat some gnocchi from Trader Joe’s once in a while.)

I resented not getting back all the effort I was putting in.

Most of all, I resented my life for not having another choice.

Because that was another story I told myself: I didn’t have a choice. The way I was, that was the only way I could be. Nothing could change. This was my exhausted, resentful destiny, at least until my daughter got older.

I give a lot of talks and keynotes and one of the most frequent questions I get after I share my story of burnout/life-out is: “How did you get from there to here?”

By changing the stories I believed about myself.

That’s the most true truth I can tell you.

Yes, I did so many other things. I took better care of myself, I did things that brought me joy and soul nourishment, I learned to love myself.

But none of these things would have been possible or made any difference if I first didn’t unravel the stories that kept me stuck in struggle.

The stories we believe about ourselves guide our actions, choices, and decisions. They are the foundation of our self-concept and they determine how we treat ourselves. Our stories are the building blocks of our lives.

If you want to build a life that is full of joy, aliveness, and deep alignment with what’s true to you, you need to first unravel the stories that keep you stuck in struggle. 

This is hard work. 

And it’s not work you can do alone.

Because your brain will do all it can to keep you wrapped up in the old stories and your old self-concept. It will fight tooth and nail. It will tell you, like mine told me, that you’re betraying your family or your roots or that you will lose love and respect if you dare rebel against what you’ve always done. 

I had a mentor who was my guide for doing this work. Her name is Janet and I am forever grateful for her wisdom and patience. Because oh, did she need patience with my stubborn attachment to my stories!

If you’re done with struggle and are ready to unravel the stories that keep you stuck, I want to be your mentor. I want to help you do this work.

Use this link to book a 30-minute discovery call with me.

It’s time for you, don’t you think?

With joy, 

Nataly

P.S. I always want to keep it real with you so I want to tell you that I still cook elaborate meals for my family — it’s my love language! But I don’t do it all the time and I don’t do it when I’m exhausted. 

In fact, we just came back from having pizza at one of our favorite spots because I knew this would be a full week for me so we made a plan for a mid-week chill evening. 

Most importantly, I don’t do as a sacrifice of myself. I do it from love, without taking love away from myself.

Oh, and my daughter fell in love with Trader Joe’s gnocchi once I stopped seeing giving it to her as a mom crime. She still loves it!