Why does no one talk about maternal whiplash?
And will our nervous systems ever recover?
Last Tuesday night, my daughter spiked a high fever. Fast forward to Friday and, after two days and three nights of high fever and missed school, I was definitely feeling it. Spending our days on the couch and our nights giving meds and breaking fevers, this illness was taking its toll…and I was out of routine and totally exhausted.
But even worse than that, I had the worst case of motherhood whiplash I’ve had in years.
Friday looked like this:
Complete morning routine in entirely nonsensical order because when she’s home sick, all routine goes out the window. Also, call school and make doctor’s appointment. Whiplash
Immediately shift into work mode and prep for a big group launch. Simultaneously text caregiver for updates in between tasks. She’s doing ok, fever still high. Whiplash
Run initial group launch (goes great, thankfully), then see a client. Notice during client that I’m getting a lot of texts (feel the tics on my watch). Whiplash
The texts are saying her fever is approaching 105. Make last minute decision to late cancel on a client (cue the guilt) and go home. Whiplash
Go home, treat fever, spend 20 minutes caring for her, then immediately go back to the bedroom to hold a work meeting. Whiplash
Immediately after ending meeting, walk out to living room and get ready to head to the doctor. Whiplash
The entire day felt like I was inside a pinball machine, oscillating back and forth between two worlds with no control over the paddles. Just constant pin-balling between work and home; between focus and children’s ibuprofen; between fulfillment and a wet washcloth on a hot forehead.
This is such a unique experience for moms. This feeling of whiplash in motherhood - where we shape shift between roles throughout the day, never holding still for very long - seems to me like it might be the intersection of three core sources of hardship in motherhood:
the mental load, which provides the to do list and tells us where to shift, what role to play and when
the intensive mothering epidemic, which requires that our children receive priority as we shift, so we find ourselves constantly bouncing back to them regardless of what other roles we play, always wondering if we’re doing enough.
the supermom myth, which tells us that we should want to play multiple roles as a mother and if we’re not doing them and doing them well, then something is wrong with us.
It’s like the perfect storm of maternal oppression. And no wonder resentment builds when we observe our husbands shift seamlessly into work mode, where they can stay put for 8 straight hours, then shift into home mode at their own leisurely pace.
Oh, you need time to decompress after work? Sure thing.
This cannot be good for our nervous system, or the formation of our self-identity in motherhood. Moving so rapidly between high-stakes caregiver mode (because what part of caregiving in 2026 isn’t high stakes) and high-functioning performance mode over and over without any time to recover wreaks havoc on our mental and emotional health.
Chronic fight-or-flight means that stress and nervous system activation is our new baseline
Hypervigilance becomes normal and everything becomes an emergency
Survival is prioritized over pleasure, and we experience reduced capacity for rest and joy
No time to be present, mindful, or intentional in rest, so we crash instead. We then operate in only two modes: overwhelm and shutdown
Lack of self-identity - when you never fully inhabit one role for very long, you never figure out how it feels to try it on for size and make it your own. And you never get to enjoy it.
So as with the trio of maternal oppression - the mental load, intensive mothering, and the supermom myth - maternal whiplash steals from us. It steals our ability to be present, to slow down, and to enjoy our motherhood.
A major societal shift needs to occur to change any and all of these but for now, try this.
Name it: notice the whiplash and call it what it is. Anytime you speak something out loud, even to yourself, you’re stripping it of some of its power. It also “others” it, making it less likely you’ll internalize whiplash as your fault and realize it’s something happening to you.
Slow down transitions: take just a few seconds to notice the whiplash and slow it down. See the text notifications come in. Hear the phone ring. Notice the to-do list on the counter. Then slowly count to 5 before you jump into your next role as a mother. Over time, see if you can add seconds, add deep breaths, even add a blast of fresh air from a window. Take control of the transition so it doesn’t control you.
Repair with yourself: we’re not trying to balance your various role here. There are too many, full stop. So until you can decrease the roles you are required to play, you’ll need to do some repair work with yourself. Acknowledge high whiplash days and decrease expectations for yourself. Balance high whiplash days with silence in the car, a book instead of a scroll, an early bedtime.
Lastly, remind yourself that maternal whiplash isn’t a you problem. It’s not a failing or a personal deficit. It’s that perfect storm of maternal overwhelm playing out in every mother’s journey. And we’ll get to work on shifting societal expectations for mothers but until then, you deserve to say this out loud, to call it what it is, and to create change for yourself in any tiny way you can.
I knew exactly what you meant but had never put into words what was happening- Thanks for writing this!
The way you describe maternal whiplash feels so accurate! That constant role-switching under pressure, without recovery, does something real to the nervous system. I also love how clearly you frame this as structural, not personal. Naming it feels like the beginning of restoring capacity, not fixing ourselves. Thank you for this!