In this personal essay, guest contributor, Samiat Salami, shares her perspective on the complexities of motherhood.
Society treats parenthood — especially motherhood — as a spiritual awakening. “Nothing else matters anymore, you’ll see!” The joys of motherhood, the magnanimous, life-affirming bliss everyone promises will hit you after giving birth. The bond, the love, and declarations like “I looked at her tiny fingers and knew I’d give my life for her.” It reminds me of how we talk about falling in love. The simplistic version of love that exists in early aughts Nollywood rom-coms.
You know the plot: the wealthy son falls for the domestic worker l, stands up to his elitist parents, they get married, and he saves her from poverty. But real-life love is messier. It’s pepper-in-your-eye messy. It’s dating apps’ messy. And if we’re willing to admit that love isn’t actually like a Jim Iyke/Rita Dominic rom-com, maybe we can also admit that the fruit born of that love — parenthood — deserves less poetic language too. Maybe we can say the quiet part out loud: What if parenthood just isn’t that enjoyable, and kids aren’t particularly likeable?
Motherhood: from the outside looking in
These days, it feels like everyone around me is becoming a parent. Even for those of us in the child-free camp, it looks chaotic. It’s hard to see the “glow” people keep talking about.
Several people, my mother included (especially her), reassure me: “Don’t worry, when it happens, you’ll feel different.” It’s a promise and a threat and it makes me more sceptical.
Having a child isn’t like trying matcha, or exploring a raving phase at Element House. This is a full-time roommate who will one day demand school fees, textbooks, clothing, even hospital bills, and eat all your food without ever paying rent. And that’s when they’re practical. As toddlers? They’re feral. Loud, sticky, expensive little people who lose shoes, eat sand when unsupervised, and require millions of naira in medical bills to be birthed.
Just so you know, Ohio State University found that 57% of parents admit they’re facing burnout, suffering under the weight of “perfect parent” expectations.
How social media glamourises motherhood
On my timeline, there’s an entire spectrum of motherhood on display:
The trad-wife mummy influencers, eternally pregnant, baking sourdough on cattle ranches with their ten children. However, that’s entirely outside my cultural sphere, so I leave them in peace.
The contour-to-carpool influencers — once highlighter specialists, now chronicling 18-hour flights with toddlers, and yes, everybody ends up having big feelings.
The brave souls sharing birthing stories — bless them — but after words like “birth canal,” “torn stitches,” and “hours of labor,” I’m already queasy.
The real tea from friends
Then there are my friends — the ones who’ve crossed over into motherhood and lived to tell the tale. When I ask how it’s going, they’re honest: “It’s terrible. I wouldn’t recommend it.”
They half-joke about nine months of discomfort, sleepless nights, random gassiness, and stitches they’re still negotiating peace treaties with. But behind the humour, there’s a quiet fatigue in their voices. One friend, who always wanted five kids, had one and told me, “I wouldn’t recommend it. Too much sleeplessness, always being ‘on,’ mentally draining… and don’t get me started on the expenses.” His wife, of course, wants another child.
Another friend — let’s call her Debbie — hit me with something I didn’t expect: “I love my children… but I don’t like motherhood.” She said this while whisper-shouting “Stop it!” at her toddler, who was banging on the bathroom door mid-conversation. A moment later, she sighed: “You know that thing they say about never going to the bathroom alone? It’s true. Sometimes I’m annoyed that my husband is having a better experience than me. He loves bedtime stories and playtime, while I just want five minutes to breathe.”
And honestly? She’s right to feel that way. He isn’t the one whose stitches tore, whose hormones spiralled or who wrestled with guilt after returning to work three months postpartum.
This is the part we rarely say out loud: mothers often carry the invisible labour, the sleepless nights, mental load, emotional guilt, and the constant expectation to do it all with a smile. Children naturally cling to their mothers, which can feel both sweet and suffocating. That tension — between love and exhaustion — rarely makes it to Instagram captions.
So, where does that leave us?
On one hand are those softly lit infant photos where the kids are always staged like eggs, and the “get ready with me to match with my toddler” videos. On the other is exhaustion whisper-yelling “Stop it!”through a bathroom door.
Maybe it’s time to admit that motherhood isn’t an automatic spiritual awakening. Maybe we can speak about the messiness and contradictions without being labelled ungrateful or cold — because loving your kids but not loving motherhood can coexist. Both things can be true. And maybe saying it out loud is the first step toward giving women space to be honest about what they’re going through. Instead of pretending it’s all tiny toes and endless joy.
lazyload
