04 May A Roll-Model Mum


Meghann Birks asserts her free will by freewheeling… just for a while.

I am playing roller derby, a sport where women from all walks of life strap on rollerskates, dress up in wacky (and sometimes provocative) clothes, create alter egos and battle it out on the skating track. New to the sport, my skill level is low, and I am not yet totally confident on skates, so I have some concerns. Even for seasoned pros, injuries such as torn muscles, dislocations, breaks and concussions are part of the game.

Skating in the roller derby has been an almost lifelong dream of mine, but it has only been recently that I have actually had the opportunity to give it a go. After my first night of training, I drove home with a stupid smile on my face and hobbled into a tub filled with steaming hot water and half a kilo of Epsom salts. As I lay soaking, wondering whether or not I would ever again be able to lift my leg into the car without assistance from my hands, my husband came in and sat on the floor. “Well, honey,” he said, “was it everything you’d hoped it would be?”

I looked at him over the ridge of the tub (which took some effort) and grinned as I nodded and said emphatically, “And then some”. I paused for a moment, deciding whether or not to speak my next thought out loud, and then whispered shyly, “Do you know what the best part was?” He waited until I continued. “For those two hours, I didn’t think about Elliot at all.” Even writing those words now, I feel a twinge of guilt. A little voice whispers, ‘Bad mummy!’ and I fear it is right. What kind of woman feels relief that she has managed to put her son out of her mind for a few hours?

My 10-month-old son, Elliot, is a beautiful, clever, smiling baby boy. He has brought a new dimension to my existence, stretching me in ways I never knew I could grow and challenging my patience on a daily (sometimes hourly) basis. But when I was on that track, there was no room for him in my head. Oh sure, he popped in now and again, but at the forefront of my mind were thoughts of trying not to fall and how silly I might look in my short shorts.

Mothers, especially new mums, are often tricked into believing that our children should be the sole focus of our lives. Falling into this trap, we give up on ourselves, pushing our dreams and goals to the back burner. At the other end of the spectrum are those new mums who are so determined that their lives should be just as they were Before Children that you wonder why they ever had kids in the first place. They run themselves ragged, trying to be who they were and doing everything they did in their child-free life, as well as being a mum.

These two extremes, at times, seem to be the only models we have as mums, and finding a balance between the two can feel downright impossible. Part of the problem is that most women think other women are coping much better, but I can almost guarantee this is not true. A friend of mine recently confessed to me over coffee, “Sometimes I really, really hate my life,” and then tears filled her eyes as she said, “Am I a bad mother?” “No,” I assured her, “you’re human.”

I love my life. I can say that with unequivocal, resounding certainty. Elliot brings a kind of joy to my days that is richer and deeper than anything I have experienced before. That said, I am not immune to moments of second-guessing, most often when I am exhausted. I lie in bed at night and think back over my day – cooking, feeding, cleaning, nappy changes, chores, laundry, more cleaning, reading, playing, more laundry – and feel utterly despondent at the realisation that this is what tomorrow will bring as well. Where did Meghann go? The one who went out with friends, read books, took classes, tried new things, painted her nails and wore makeup? Truth is, as Elliot gets older and I get more sleep, she is slowly returning. But I am always preoccupied with my son.

Except for when I strap on skates and hit the track. Then, my only thoughts are about how to go faster, how much my thighs ache and, mostly, how to avoid falling. Roller derby represents the one activity in my week that is 100 per cent about me, and I love it. It is not just about my having interests outside of mothering. I attend playgroup, library and swimming classes with Elliot, and I am studying to be a Breastfeeding Community Educator. I work from home on a contract basis, something I find challenging and enjoyable. However, when I am doing any of those things, Elliot’s face dances around my head and distracts me.

But am I a bad mother? No, I am not. I am a good mother, and because of those few hours a week when I gleefully shed that persona, I am, in fact, a better mother. Getting out of the mothering zone allows me to go back into it with more energy, a rediscovered sense of humour and a renewed focus on my baby. By taking time out for my needs, I can work on meeting his without a case of ‘the shoulds’ and a sense of resentment.

On another level, roller derby is about me being who I am. I want to encourage my kids to follow their dreams, no matter how scared or intimidated they may be. How can I do that if I give up on it myself? The level of risk involved is something I have heard about a lot since I started skating. People have reminded me how hard it will be to care for a baby if I hurt myself, some even going so far as to insinuate that I’m a bad mum or selfish because I’m not ‘putting my son first’. But if Elliot’s dad decided to play footy, I’m sure he wouldn’t hear half of the cautionary tales.

It seems that people expect mums, in particular, to play it safe once their kids are born. I understand that what I’m doing is risky, and my husband and I discussed it at length before I signed the waiver. The reality is, though, that risk in life is not confined to sports, and I could get hurt just about anywhere. It’s more important to my partner and me to be able to raise our son in a family where some risks are okay. It’s the risks I have taken in life, both emotional and physical, that have reaped the biggest rewards.

I look forward to the day when my son can cheer me on as I pit myself against the other athletes I skate with. Until then, however, derby is a baby-free zone for me, and I intend to enjoy it.

Illustrations by Ron Monnier