Motherhood Got Too Hard, So I Did Something Wild
Personal Perspective: When life backs you into a corner, the way out is unexpected.
Updated August 26, 2025 | Reviewed by Monica Vilhauer Ph.D.
At 2:00 a.m., I dimmed my phone and read about plasma exchange for post- COVID patients. My son Marty’s diagnoses blurred together—Long COVID , Lyme, Celiac, chronic fatigue.
Suddenly, I was Marty’s chief medical officer, nutritionist, and motivational momma.
“Do your best and a little better!” I said every morning when Marty couldn’t get moving. I packed antibiotics and supplements into a rainbow pill organizer like it was an Olympic event.
I was doing everything to keep him going. But I was falling apart. Then, one night, an email popped up that had nothing to do with lab results or missed school assignments.
“Professor,” wrote Hasan, one of my former journalism students. “I’m getting married! Please come to my wedding in Pakistan.”
I imagined the flight. I could binge-watch Slow Horses and sleep. I reached out to the U.S. Embassy in Islamabad to clarify the Level 3 travel warning for Pakistan.
“There’s terrorist activity along the border,” an employee wrote. “We advise reconsidering travel.”
Also, Israel had just bombed Iran, and I’m Jewish.
“I just won’t mention that Hanukkah is coming up,” I told my husband.
Could I really go? It felt completely irresponsible.
I googled: What to wear to a wedding in Pakistan?
Before I was “mom,” I was a rules-breaker. I snuck into Southern Sudan without a visa to report on war crimes against women. In Israel, when soldiers stopped me at a checkpoint, I found a way around and hitchhiked into the West Bank instead.
I loved being someone who didn’t wait for permission.
But motherhood turned me into someone else. Instead of a life-changing journey, it was a 24/7 job with impossible deadlines, no vacation days, and unforgiving performance reviews.
When Marty got sick , everything got harder. His personality changed, and people assumed it was poor parenting . I stopped trusting myself and apologized a lot. When he couldn’t get to school, I felt like I’d failed, even though there are some problems that even a mom can’t fix.
Psychologist and author Dr. Ellen O’Donnell says it’s a trap many moms fall into. We have this idea of how things should look. And when real life doesn’t match up, it’s easy to think we’re at fault. And then motherhood feels miserable.
“You’re not enjoying the journey. And [depending on your kid’s needs,] you might not be headed in the right direction,” Dr. O’Donnell said.
I got lost following everyone else’s roadmap and needed to course correct.
“I think I should go to Pakistan,” I said to my husband.
He wasn’t convinced. “The region could explode. Isn’t it dangerous?”
“Probably a little,” I said and booked my flight.
On my way to Lahore, I arrived in Abu Dhabi dressed for a yoga class in New York City. In a bathroom stall near my connecting flight I changed into a loose-fitting outfit that Google said was appropriate for the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. I felt like I was stepping into someone else’s story and I loved it.
According to psychologist Dr. Mike Rucker, author of The Fun Habit , doing something that feels bold, even a little risky, can be restorative. Breaking out of a routine gives us back a feeling of control.
“When we’ve habituated our lives, we’ve built a rut,” he told me. “Part of [experiencing] fun is saying, ‘I’m going to spend this time my way.’”
When I arrived in Lahore, I pulled on a pink headscarf and found a man holding a sign: “ Mr. Becky Diamond .”
“That’s me,” I said. “But I’m Ms.”
He seemed concerned. “Where’s Mr.?”
He looked more rattled than I was. “Don’t worry Mrs. You’ll be safe.”
As we pulled away from the airport, I wasn’t sure if I’d made a brave choice or a reckless one. But I knew I was exactly where I needed to be.
I don’t love beach vacations. I need veering-off energy. I want to feel surprised, maybe even a little out of place. And Pakistan delivered.
The country is intense. There’s overwhelming poverty, choking pollution, families of five squeezed onto motorbikes with toddlers wedged between parents and bags of groceries. And yet, people kept going. There was grit. Humor . Presence.
Hasan took a small group of westerners to mosques, markets, and a flag-lowering ceremony at the India-Pakistan border that was part military ritual, and part Dancing With the Stars finale. Military men stomped, saluted, and high-kicked in what I can only describe as a dance-off. Crowds on both sides screamed like it was the World Cup.
The climax? Indian and Pakistani soldiers strutted to the border gate, glared dramatically, and shook hands like frenemies.
“We agree on the dance moves,” one soldier told me. “It’s diplomacy.”
There’s something raw and electric about places under pressure. People show up for life differently. That energy pulled me out of my fog.
Psychologists call it the “awe effect”— that jolt of wonder that stretches time, quiets stress , and reminds you there’s more to life than your to-do list. For burned-out caregivers like me, awe isn’t a luxury. It’s medicine.
At the wedding, I felt small in the best way.
The other women looked like they’d just walked off a Milan runway—glamorous gowns, gold thread through their hair, bangles stacked to their shoulders, henna on hands. A Pakistani rapper got everyone dancing. No alcohol . Just pure, electric joy.
This article is part of the Bringwise Psychology Journal — daily insights on human behavior, mental health, and personal growth.