As a New Mom, I’m Amazed How Often I’m Asked This Question. My Answer Surprises Everyone.

“She’s beautiful. Oh, but aren’t you absolutely exhausted?” My neighbor lovingly asked as she smiled at my 5-month-old daughter in her stroller.

“Actually, no. I’m great,” I replied. My neighbor shot me an incredulous look like I was lying. “Oh, wow, well look at you!”

It wasn’t the first time I’d experienced this kind of exchange (with a neighbor, acquaintance or even a stranger) since I had my baby. I’d heard this question daily — sometimes asked to me, other times stated as a comment. After we finished exchanging pleasantries, I was left pondering the question, and the disbelief at my seemingly unnatural response.

The depiction of the emotionally and physically exhausted parent — especially the mom — is ubiquitously portrayed in our society in movies, television and across social media. Sometimes me and my husband were together with the baby, but the question of sleep still got directed my way.

This stereotype is steeped in some truth. New parents are often more tired than other humans. But a study in Sage Journals in 2019 found mothers experienced more fatigue and stress than fathers. For the first few months, through newborn night feeding, I can attest to that experience.

While my daughter spent the first month of her life in the NICU, I was back home, pumping around the clock, every three hours, and bringing it back and forth to the hospital. Most nights, I barely stayed awake, to the lights, and sounds of old mystery shows like “Murder, She Wrote” and “Columbo” while I pumped milk for my new daughter.

Once she arrived home, I still pumped almost nonstop, but my husband relieved some of the responsibilities. At 11 p.m. I’d leave him with a supply for the overnight shift. I caught up on sleep till the baby woke up at 6:30 in the morning. Was I the picture of sleep health, or getting the recommended amount per night? Definitely not. But I also wasn’t miserably exhausted to the point of venting to anyone who said hello.

When I first got pregnant naturally at 37 after four months of trying, I couldn’t believe my luck. It ended tragically at 18 weeks, followed by a much earlier miscarriage during the pandemic two years later. In 2021, I finally turned to IVF, thinking it would be an easy answer.

But every cycle failed. An unsuccessful embryo transfer felt like a literal death. I went through nine rounds of IVF until I had my miracle baby at 43.

When my daughter finally arrived, I felt especially committed to parenthood. Joy seemed to supersede the impending stress from nonstop feeds. Even in moments of stress and fatigue, which there were plenty of, I felt completely overcome with gratitude when I looked at my baby daughter. Of course I was tired, and had moments of stress. I was a brand new parent. I also admittedly had a newborn who slept well. Early months of round-the-clock feedings turned into a baby who could mostly get through the night without waking up. But that stereotype of the worn-out, defeated newborn mom I’d seen all over Instagram wasn’t my experience thus far.

Apparently it was my lack of complaining that perplexed everyone. We have new norms of achieving parenthood by methods other than spontaneous conception. Yet, our view of motherhood remains fairly one-dimensional. Our society has centered one image of what being a mother is like — which doesn’t leave much space for other stories.

My experience isn’t uncommon. It’s simply less studied (as of now), and not as widely discussed. Plenty of research has been done on the mental distress of couples who are affected by infertility experience. Yet, studies on the difference in well-being and life satisfaction after successful IVF is, in contrast, sparse.

A study in the Human Fertility Journal found that couples who had babies through IVF were often more positive and happier than those who conceived naturally. Some reasons hypothesized were the extra support that couples who go through IVF receive and a greater level of satisfaction after trying for a long time.

Last fall, the Netflix movie “Joy” told the story of the pioneers of IVF in the 1970s and the first IVF baby, Louise Joy Brown. The film’s creator, Rachel Mason, drew inspiration from her own infertility story. Mason did IVF seven times before having her son, and said in an interview while promoting the movie, “subconsciously, when you’ve fought for it, I think you enjoy it more.”

When I interviewed Robyn Koslowitz, Ph.D., a psychologist and parenting educator, for this story, she explained, “our suffering points us to the preferred life we’d like to have. It ultimately clarifies our values and priorities.” Her upcoming book “Post-Traumatic Parenting: Break the Cycle and Become the Parent You Always Wanted to Be” describes the ways trauma can work as a superpower.

Fertility trauma can build up a tolerance level for early caretaking that others who didn’t have that extra time may not possess. My struggles with fertility prepared me in advance for many of the challenges of parenting. The six years I had to work on myself taught me resilience and instilled a fortitude in me that gave me new confidence. That sense of accomplishment and knowing I could do difficult things would serve as a useful tool while raising my daughter.

“It makes navigating the hard stuff a little easier, because you know you’ve done it once before,” Koslowitz told me. “If what you went through makes you less afraid as a result, that’s a superpower.”

A 2024 Norwegian study — the largest to date comparing trends in parents who conceived through ART (Assisted Reproductive Technology) versus naturally — found that having a baby via IVF was associated with lower levels of anxiety and depression. It illustrates that the negative emotions endured in infertility don’t always continue into pregnancy or parenthood.

An important aspect of these increased feelings of positivity is overwhelming gratitude. That dark period of wanting to be a mom has passed. But deep within me lies the knowledge that this could easily also not have happened. A lot of IVF is simply luck (though influencers may not want people to believe that). That understanding is why I’ll never take my parental status for granted.

Finding joy in even the stressful moments of mothering isn’t about perpetuating toxic positivity, or implying others are ungrateful. It’s about owning my own gratitude and leading with it — even in moments of stress — like baby’s sleep schedules.

Michelle Bias, a trauma expert with a master’s degree in transpersonal psychology, said my grief and gratitude are linked. She defined this as a “deep reverence for the gift of life.”

“Our past fully feeds into our experience as mothers. It’s a life force pushing us forward, and what we learned systematically impacts how we parent.”

Everyone seemed to want me to wear my new title of mother like a badge of honor, as if not admitting to exhaustion meant I wasn’t doing something right. Being overwhelmed was what people understood.

“We fit mothers into familiar roles we see them play, and the societal expectations, like exhaustion — which we put solely on them — perpetuate these cultural narratives,” said Bias. “The world isn’t ready to leave room for different maternal experiences. The reply of your positive experience reframed it in a way people weren’t used to hearing, and left them unsure how to express themselves. We need to realize that motherhood is not one-size-fits-all.”

Now when I’m asked formulaic questions — which I get less with an 11-month-old, but still hear frequently — I’ve learned how to shift the conversation. Koslowitz defined it as a “one-liner response that honors my experience, without pushing myself into the box that’s been presented to me.”

Similarly, Bias suggested asking a question in return. For now, when people ask me if I’m sleeping, I respond with four words: I’m enjoying the journey.