Matrescence

I’ll never forget my 6th-grade field trip to Washington, D.C. Even though I’d lived just a few miles from the city my entire life, this was the first trip that my friends and I were given freedom — to explore, to wander, to investigate. My group split off and ran from monument to monument, snapping disposable-camera photos along the way. We bought silly souvenirs with our own allowance money. It was our first taste of independence. It marked, in my mind, the start of adolescence — my transition from childhood to adulthood.

Fast forward 20ish years, I find myself in a new phase of life: matrescence — the transition from adulthood to motherhood. According to The Bump, this term was “originally coined by anthropologist Dana Raphael in the mid-1970s… and Aurélie Athan, PhD, a clinical psychologist and faculty member at Teachers College, Columbia University, revived the term for the modern era.”

Matrescence is a pivotal transition period, filled with many of the same ups, downs, big questions, and even bigger hormonal changes as adolescence, but it hasn’t been studied much or written about until very recently. As it turns out, the process of becoming a mother is anything but linear. But how should I have known?

Motherhood is the most exclusive community. There is only one way to gain membership: a baby. So many resources exist to serve mothers, but very few support those longing to be mothers. The journey to motherhood can be long, and the longer it takes, the lonelier it gets.

One of those resources is a group called Peanut. It is for moms to connect with each other as they navigate motherhood. I clicked “follow” on Instagram the day I found out I was pregnant for the first time. And since then, I have unfollowed and re-followed this group and countless others with each positive pregnancy test.

I recently cleansed my social media of all negativity — any infertility content or motherhood accounts that could put my mind in a sad or stressed state. But Peanut felt different. Like leaving that group behind signaled giving up hope that I would someday soon be a real member of this sacred community.

(Side note: It appears Peanut has added a group for “Fertility Treatments” since I last joined — glad to see it!)

Contrary to what others may perceive, the worst parts of infertility have nothing to do with daily shots, invasive appointments, and expensive treatments. More than anything, I long for the waiting to be over. This feeling of being stuck, of time running out, of life moving too slowly for my type-A-overachiever personality.

This era of matrescence, like adolescence, is meant to last a short period of time. A year, maybe two. And when your timeline does not match what you see all around you, it’s easy to question whether you’ll ever emerge on the other side.

I have never met my best friend’s two children, ages four and two, and now it feels like it’s too late. Like too much of everything has passed between our lives. Four years ago our paths diverged — she, mothering; me, waiting — and there is no going back. Missing out on friendships was not a side effect of waiting I had planned for.

I knew I’d be waiting for tests.

Waiting for appointments.

Waiting for results.

Waiting for news.

But I didn’t expect to be waiting to see friends.

Waiting for vacations left unplanned.

Waiting for life to begin.

I don’t have a resolution. I suppose all I can provide is solace for anyone else in this extended matrescence: I’m right here with you. Like a summer in Texas, it may feel like an eternity, but it is only a season.