I Paid $497 for This Priceless Motherhood Advice
In the throes of parenting-induced anxiety, I desperately sought a reset. What I received was a priceless piece of motherhood advice that I want to gift to you.
Source: Bethany Beck for Unsplash
Dressed in black leggings and a cozy long-sleeve gray top, I reclined on the floor and obeyed the soothing voice emanating from my laptop. “Getting as comfortable as you can, take a big, deep breath in. And let it out.” It’s a mid-November morning, and after dropping my five-year-old off at school, I do what I always do: hustle home to my office. But instead of sitting down at my desk to edit an article, I rolled out a yoga mat and launched Zoom for an energy-alignment with Alisha Wielfaert, a spiritual healer and founder of Yoke and Abundance.
Like many moms, I intellectually understand the concept and importance of self-care. But it’s challenging to practice. That’s why it felt like such a radical act of self-love to pay $497—nearly three weeks’ worth of groceries—for a two-hour clarity coaching session, without asking for permission from my husband or checking credit card statements. On a designated workday with early school dismissal, besides. But my churning guts urged me forward, begging me to resolve the stress bearing down on me.
The mental gymnastics required to transition from work-from-home-writer to full-time-mom left me with prickling anxiety and an ever-shortening fuse. As a part-time freelance food writer, I was drowning in a sea of year-end deadlines. As a mom and wife, I was spinning in a whirl of bill-paying, clothes-folding, lunch-packing, and dinner-making. All of this left me little-to-no-time to make good on my so-called priorities to exercise and meditate, let alone work on my passion project, a memoir. On my worst days, I felt invisible, and my resentment was building. When I lay back on my mat that morning, I desperately sought a reset. What I received was a priceless piece of motherhood advice that I want to gift to you.
After the reiki-infused meditation and tarot card spread, Alisha asked, “What do you most want to get out of today’s coaching session?”
How do I ensure that my needs are met when there seems to be constant competition for my attention, energy, and time?
“I’m looking for clarity on the best way to proceed,” I said vaguely, explaining my pattern of getting caught up in overwhelm and then blaming myself for creating it. I remembered that during the tarot card reading, Alisha had pulled The Vessel, which represents a body, container, or cup. I shared that the idea of the vessel as a cup spoke to me as the perfect metaphor for the demands that seem to continually drain me, with little left for myself. I reframed my question: “How do I ensure that my needs are met, including carving out the space and intention to write my memoir, when there seems to be constant competition for my attention, energy, and time?” For good measure, I added, “I know I have to refill my cup before I can pour out for others.”
The whole “refilling one’s cup” thing gave Alisha pause. She gently challenged me with a guided thinking exercise.
“Imagine that there are mountains, and a glacier that melts into a lake. You’re that lake,” she began. “In order for the lake to nourish everything around it—the grass, the animals that live inside and around the lake—the water level has to stay at a certain place, right?
I nodded. I may have held my breath.
“Anytime you do something, it’s draining a little bit of that water,” Alisha continued. “And if you get to a certain level in that watershed, all bets are off. You can’t nourish anybody any longer because there’s not enough for you. You won’t exist anymore.”
Woah, I thought. So true.
“And so, it’s beyond just refilling the cup. How are we going to make sure that the water keeps coming in, so that you can put what you need to out in the world?” Alisha finished, pausing.
Ohhhh, my shoulders sighed. Aha! I scrambled to jot down my epiphany.
“What just came to you?” Alisha asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I need a steady flow of water to keep my cup filled, not depleting it and then refilling it,” I said.
Alisha nodded, then continued: “They always say that you can’t pour from an empty cup. But the full cup is for you. It’s the excess that others should be getting.”
They always say that you can’t pour from an empty cup. But the full cup is for you. It’s the excess that others should be getting.
The full cup is for you I repeated silently. Suddenly, the clarity I sought crystallized. I jokingly call myself the “leftover martyr,” partly since I’m the only one who diligently eats dinner leftovers, but because I settle for scraps of time in the day. Society often judges and defines mothers by their selflessness and sacrifice. No wonder the “the full cup is for you” notion struck me as so novel and counterculture. To rewrite my narrative, I needed to practice pouring out for myself first. And I had to cultivate a steady source of replenishment as the demands of working motherhood and life routinely drew from it.
I was put to the test a couple weeks later, when my daughter stayed home sick from school for three days, on the heels of a five-day holiday weekend. My rehabbed full cup mindset enabled me to ask my husband for support to meet my work deadlines and me-time to refill. I met a friend for coffee, and we had one of those spontaneous, soul-satisfying conversations. I carved out time to do yoga (on a night I insisted we eat leftovers). And I read a book just for fun, rediscovering how much that fills me up.
I was tested again when my kindergartener’s two-week winter break hit. I was not prepared for all that time together at home, set against the anxiety-inducing backdrop of an emerging COVID-19 variant. But once I realized that we didn’t need to stick to a schedule or work on sight words, I leaned into screen time, big time. When two hours of morning cartoons crept to three, I shut out the mom guilt and reminded myself that I needed this time to recharge, too, to read, to journal, or to idly scroll Instagram. Then, I found I could be so much more present when my daughter and I colored together, did a puzzle, or went for a walk. In the afternoons, I found ways to micro-dose self-care to buoy my cup levels. I took twenty-minute solo walks. I ran errands alone so I could get out of the house and listen to Glennon Doyle’s podcast “We Can Do Hard Things” in peace. I baked a banana cake just because.
My full-cup mantra will continue to be tested, but I’m trying to view it as a growth opportunity to assert my needs. Although I forked over nearly $500 to gain this insight (and I recognize the privilege to do so), if I hadn’t, it could’ve cost my mental health and well-being so much more. May you always remember: The full cup is for you.
Read More:
I’m a Better Mom When I’m Working—Here’s How I Found Acceptance
Editor’s note: This article was first published in 2021. It has been updated for timeliness.
