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Matrescence: the process of becoming a mother

I was deeply ashamed. “I just want to go back to before,” I said to my husband, burying my face in his shoulder. I’d been so excited for this baby and now that she was here, I’d never felt so lost, so disconnected from who I was, so anxious and miserable. I lay awake at night for hours with my heart pounding, unable to sleep in case my baby needed me. And at the same time, I couldn’t adjust to being needed so deeply and constantly.

“You don’t want to go back,” my husband told me. “I know you don’t. Because I can tell, you’re happy.”

I pulled back and stared at him. “I’m happy?” I was crying all the time, desperate for some stability in the current chaos that was our life.

“Yes,” he said, and the strange thing was, he was right.

Because now, when I go back and look at pictures of that time, of the crazy first few months with a newborn daughter, I see my calm, serene face gazing down at my baby, or smiling into the camera. I was happy to be a mother, and I was also so disconnected from myself that I couldn’t feel that happiness. I didn’t think I felt happy at all.

It might seem a bit cliché to write about motherhood, or maybe a bit presumptuous, so soon after having my first baby. But after having gone through it I found we don’t talk about it enough.

It makes sense in a way, since it’s impossible to put into words before you go through it. And there is an element of not wanting to scare other women. But most of what is written is about the objective, factual motions of having a baby – the sleepless nights, the changes in your body, the lists of supplies the baby will need. There is less written about the experience of having your identity overturned and changed into something else, into something we assume should come naturally but instead often develops in us with time and experience. That big word – motherhood.

How do you go through something hard that’s simultaneously such a blessing? What is it like to go through an experience that strips everything out of you and takes you apart, only to put you back together in a way that feels like you’re more fully yourself?

There’s a word I never heard until recently, a word, matrescence, that means the process of becoming a mother. It’s similar to the word adolescence, which is the process of forming your adult identity, or in other words, an in-between stage between childhood and being a grown-up. When I heard “matrescence,” I loved that there was a word for it, a word that is less a black-and-white before-and-after (once you have a baby you’re suddenly a mother), but rather a word that demonstrates it’s a process and a journey, and you might not be “there” right away. At the same time, it’s about becoming yourself in a new way, not becoming somebody totally different and alien to yourself. I was afraid I had lost touch with who I was but that wasn’t true – I was still myself, but myself in a different way.

I have to note that this piece of writing is one hundred percent my experience. The experience of “becoming” is different for every woman (and I’d imagine fathers would have their own too). I don’t want to say this is what anyone should experience, but I want to share my journey for those who may experience similar things, to know there are others out there that feel like they do. And to share some insight for others who aren’t mothers, into what at least one experience was like. In a culture where motherhood is becoming less and less common, talking about it matters more. Because the mundane realities of sleepless nights don’t express the wonder of the experience, and yet that is what is primarily noticeable from the outside.

So with that said, here are a few aspects of my experience.

“It takes a village”

I felt like an awful mother those first weeks. I felt like this baby who cried constantly could not love me. I felt like my daughter was a stranger I’d expected to know and understand and yet I somehow didn’t. Like I’d never received the mother instinct I was supposed to be born with.

My husband gently contradicted me, batting away each negative thought as they rose up in me. But more than that, he insisted I talk to other mothers. I was sure I was the only woman in the world who felt this way. But he was sure I wasn’t.

I wanted to retreat into the internet, to anonymously compare my feelings to women who posted online, to predict my experience from the challenges they asked questions about. I’ve always been hesitant to be vulnerable. I feel sure that my shortcomings will lead others to judge me, and when it came to motherhood, I was terrified that mothers who seemed to have it all under control would know how I was failing. It felt safer to anonymously browse the internet. But my husband insisted the internet was not reality.

He was sure that other women felt like they were floundering too even if I thought they had it all together. So I spoke the words, face-to-face, to other women that I was having a hard time.

“Thank you for your questions,” one friend told me after I’d bombarded her with queries about her experience in her first weeks after giving birth. “I’d almost forgotten about what that time was like. It’s good to remember how it felt.”

Other women admitted in hushed tones that they had also been anxious, that they also hadn’t known how to cope. For some, our conversation was a space to speak what they’d experienced out loud, to admit to someone else that they hadn’t had it all together way back when. And I could hear that no one had done everything “perfectly,” the way my ideals insisted, shaped by what doctors had told me and what I thought other mothers had done before me.

I had been ashamed to accept help because I thought I was falling short if I couldn’t do it on my own, but to find out others hadn’t done it all by themselves either freed me. I asked for help, and got it.

And when I asked for help, I finally had the time to see my daughter – to really sit and watch her, lying on her blanket in the sun with her legs kicking in the air and her little hands just starting to reach out to what was in front of her. She had felt a bit like a stranger when I’d first met her, though I’d carried her inside me for nine months, a stranger I was oddly and fiercely protective of for some reason. It was strange to be so protective of someone I was still getting to know, to feel so rightly needed by a little being whom I’d barely met. But as I found the time to watch her, I found out who she was. Her personality pushed up through her newborn surface, emerging and proving she was her own person though she seemed so dependent on me. Her eyes widened at the world around her and I began to see how new it must all be to her. I didn’t have to push myself to take her hand and show her everything. I wanted to show the world to my daughter.

As I got to know her, I began to know myself again as well, that I was still myself, yet transformed into the person who was her mother. I saw the world with new eyes. I hadn’t been sure I could be happy as a mother, but little by little I could feel that I was happy.

“It takes a village,” is the cliché about raising children, and so many nowadays are raising children without a village. But in the Church, we have more than a village, we have a body.

“For the body does not consist of one member but of many…. If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.” (1 Cor. 12:14,26).

And yet we so often cannot speak to each other about what we are feeling. We are afraid to let others see under our polished surfaces. And yes, not everyone will respond well when we share. But I will never forget the ladies who came around me from within the Church and reassured me that they had experienced similar feelings. If we never try to share, we will never find those who do.

It’s utterly terrifying to be vulnerable. But my baby, so utterly vulnerable herself, needed me and more than just me. In my own strength I was not enough. I needed others, I needed God, and I needed help to see how to lean on God’s strength. The body of Christ came around me and reassured me that I was not alone. And then I could reach out and help my baby, and through my baby, help others.

Motherhood as a service

When I was pregnant, strangers started talking to me. “Congratulations! How many months?” they said, or, “When are you due?” I’m used to feeling somewhat invisible as I move through the world, but as my belly grew, I no longer faded into the crowd. And since I was excited, I enjoyed the excitement of people around me, even as I marveled that the thought of a birth could make so many people smile like that.

And now that my daughter is here, I am still visible, dragging our stroller and diaper bag and car seat wherever we go. And if I manage to enter a room quietly, my daughter announces herself – I’m here too, look at me! And then a wonderful thing happens – wonderful to me, at least, as a person who was always afraid others were annoyed when she took up too much space or spoke too loudly. People’s faces soften at the sight of a baby, they pause and smile, and somehow their cares are lifted for a moment as her tiny hands reach out to them.

If I’d known before how simple it was to make people happy when you have a baby, that I could just show up with my daughter and make them smile, I would’ve been surprised. Maybe it’s the culture around us that complains about babies crying on airplanes and in restaurants that trained me to expect others to be annoyed with my baby. But almost always, she brings joy just by existing near them. And I wonder, what other small ways of bringing joy to others have I overlooked?

“I really needed this,” more than one person told me, as my daughter snuggled her face into their chest, or held their finger in her hand. Seniors’ eyes tear up with the memory of their own children, once so young. People who had a tough day find a moment of peace, a moment to let out their breath while holding her. Because a baby means hope.

It’s not always easy to get out of the house. There’s a lot more to take. There’s a lot more germs to face. I don’t know how my daughter will react. But so often when I go out, it feels worth it.
I never thought becoming a mother could be a way to serve people I barely knew.

Radical shift

The happiness motherhood brings is impossible to put into words. It’s easier to talk about the complexities of breastfeeding, the difficulties of getting your child to sleep, or how long a single day can feel with a newborn who needs you every moment. No wonder most of our cultural conversation about motherhood revolves around objective realities like this. It’s easier to give advice about what car seat to buy than to explain how full your heart feels even while your eyes are scratchy with tiredness. It’s not something I experienced before I became a mother.

And yet I know I would’ve bristled a bit if a mother had told me I could never understand her love before I’d given birth, as if she were suggesting I was not a fully realized person because I wasn’t a mother. No, it’s not a necessary experience in life. And yet I have to admit, to my single self’s chagrin, that I had no idea. And I have to admit now that I would never have been able to explain my joy to my former self anyway.

I bring this up because the natural disconnect between those who aren’t mothers and aren’t sure what the fuss is all about, and the mothers who insist they love every minute even though they look like they don’t, has been increased in our culture. Young people don’t know why they should have children, and I don’t know how to tell them that it’s a life-changing experience that’s worth it.

It’s worth it. If you’re not sure, I can’t tell you what it’s like or why, despite feeling stretched in ways you’ve never felt before, you will be glad you did it, but I’m trying as best I can to contradict the narrative that life with children is a misery.

God “fills your cup”

There’s a lot of advice out there about filling your cup, or in other words, about taking care of yourself so you can take care of others. And it’s true that some advice to new mothers is so self-sacrificial that it’s unhealthy and unsustainable. It is good as a new mother to do things that bring you joy and comfort – spending time with your husband without the baby, or getting out for a bit with good friends, or just taking an unhurried bubble bath. But you can do these things for yourself and still feel stretched out.

In the beginning, I did take time for myself here and there. But I always knew I had to go back, and I still felt like what I had to do was beyond me. I was terrified at how I wanted these breaks to last forever, and I felt like that must make me a bad mother.

It turns out that filling your own cup can’t help you wrap your mind around who you’re becoming, though it does help you connect to who you are in the moment. To become comfortable with the person you’re becoming, the person you don’t quite know yet, you need to lean on someone who already knows what you can be. You need to lean on God.

I’ve always struggled to fully trust in my relationship with God. I tend to think God gives me hard things that I don’t like to make me grow, and that I need to just endure them. But I forget I can trust He will bring me good, and often this good can even feel good. He is not out to make me miserable, as I tend to mistrustfully be afraid He is.

So it was hard for me to turn to God in my matrescence. He’d blessed me with a daughter and I felt like He’d be angry that I thought it was hard. I felt guilty that I had thoughts that I wanted to go back to before. And the guilt stopped me from bringing all my struggles to God. My mistrust led me to think He wouldn’t help me with them, that I should be doing better and be happier all on my own.

But I did have to rely on God. I’m still learning when it comes to this. But I can pray in the middle of the night for strength to take care of my baby. I can even pray things get easier with her – and things did eventually get easier. I’m not a better Christian, or a better mother, if I suffer more. I can be happy. I can believe God wants me to be happy in the blessings He gives me.

“You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” (Ps. 23: 5-6)

Trust the process

Motherhood keeps changing. One moment I’m dealing with cluster feeding, the next moment I’m figuring out how to feed solids. And I know my daughter will continue to grow and face new challenges and I’ll have to navigate that. By accepting that I’m in the middle of becoming, rather than having attained a goal, I find I adapt to the shifting waves of change better. I don’t know it all. I’m learning, just like my baby is.

After all, my identity is not in being a mother, and it certainly is not in all the things that felt like my identity before I became a mother (whether jobs, interests, abilities, connections or possessions). My identity is in Christ.

“For in [Christ] the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily, and you have been filled in him,” or as the NIV says, “brought to fullness.” It is through Christ that we find ourselves and the full potential of who He truly created us to be. It is through Him that we can even go beyond ourselves and our frail human abilities.

It’s scary to let go of who you thought you were. It’s terrifying to do hard things and feel like you’re bad at them, or failing at them, or that you just don’t have it in you to do them. It’s even worse to do this without relying on the God who knows you, who can tell you that you are not losing yourself because you are centered in Him.

Instead of clinging to what I knew before, I learned to let go and go through the process, to trust God and discover that I was still myself even though I had grown into something I never could have imagined for myself. It was not the stereotype of “good mother” that I’d had before I became one. It was not what the world told me a good mother looks like, or the ideal in my head of what I should be like. Instead, it looks like a vulnerable woman who needs lots of help from her family in Christ and from God, and at the same time, one who connected with the joy she truly had within herself all along. It’s wonderful to become a mother.

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The high cost of fatherhood: being a blessing to your children is hard work

Sociologists and politicians on the right of the political spectrum often tell us that one of the biggest problems facing society is the lack of fathers. Very often they will present the problem merely in terms of sheer numbers and statistics:

  • “The number of households where there is no father present has risen from X to Y in 40 years.”
  • “The number of teens with their parents still married is now just X, compared to Y just 30 years ago.”
  • “Children who grow up in homes with a mom and dad are X times more likely to get better grades than those children who grow up in homes where this is not the case.”

These sorts of things are perfectly true and valid. It’s perfectly true that there has been a massive increase in fatherlessness and that this has had devastating consequences for children, families, and society as a whole. It’s perfectly true that the explosion in the divorce rate over the last half century has sown a vast number of problems which are perhaps only just coming to fruition.

Not simply a matter of more, but better

However, there is a danger with this kind of statistical approach that can lead us to believe that the problem is simply one of a lack of fathers. Or to put it another way, we can come to see the problem of fatherlessness as simply a quantitative problem – lack of fathers – and then tend to see the solutions in the same terms – more fathers needed.

Yet much as the quantitative side of the fatherlessness problem is true, it is not the be-all-and-end-all of the issue and in fact it only really scratches the surface of the fatherhood problem.

In addition to the quantitative issue of fatherhood, there is also a qualitative issue that often seems to pass conservative analysts by. Of course a father is better than no father (unless of course the father in question is actively abusing his children, in which case the child will be better off in a home where he is not present), but there is more to it than this and we ought not to suppose that fatherlessness, per se, is the only problem that needs solving. Rather, there is also a much deeper issue of what fatherhood actually is.

Here’s another way of looking at it. You will no doubt have heard politicians and employers bemoan the fact that there is a skills gap in the workforce. Often, it will be in areas such as engineering, and they will claim that we need X amount of engineers to fix the engineering skills gap. No doubt we do need more engineers, but the question that rarely gets asked is “which type of engineers do we need?” In other words, although there may be a shortage of engineers in the workforce, if we were to train up masses of civil engineers in a region, only to find that the real needs of that regional economy are actually for chemical engineers, we wouldn’t have solved the problem. A similar principle is true in the realm of fatherhood. The problem isn’t just one of a lack of fathers in homes – crucial as this is – rather, it is also about the type of fathers we have.

I think it almost certainly the case that one of the many reasons we now have an epidemic of fatherlessness is that back in the day, when fatherlessness was not the problem it now is, many fathers failed to grasp what fatherhood should really look like. Certainly most men grasped that being a father meant providing for their family and protecting their family – which is well and good – but unfortunately many men didn’t go beyond a superficial interpretation of what this means.

Failing fathers and feminism

While children are the obvious victims of fatherlessness the damage isn’t limited to them. Their children’s mothers, and women in general, are also hurt when men won’t take up their role as family head.

Now, I have no desire whatsoever to defend feminism. It is an unbiblical ideology, “liberating” men from their responsibilities as the heads of their families. Yet it must be recognized that its success did not appear out of a vacuum. It came from somewhere. Where? Many answers might be given, and the role of Government and Big Business – with their promises of a better, more fulfilling life for women via career success – are certainly well worth a study or two in themselves. But behind all this, feminist ideology is at heart basically parasitical, feeding on the discontent of women. Where does this discontent stem from? Unfortunately, much of it grew out of the failure of many – perhaps even most – men to fulfill their roles as husbands and fathers, above and beyond the basics of providing and protecting.

As a general rule – and I do emphasize the word general – a woman who has a self-sacrificial husband who loves, devotes, and really gives himself to their children, is not going to be discontented enough with her lot to want to embrace an ideology that sees marriage and motherhood as a curse. Yes, there might be exceptions, but they will be rare. As I say, none of this is to defend feminism one iota, but it is simply to recognize that it has its origins in something, and that something is to a large extent due to the failure of men.

Don’t look to the government

All this is to say that simply fixing the numbers – upping the number of fathers – if that were possible, won’t work… although of course it would be way better than the train wreck we have now. Nor is there any no point in looking to government solutions to fix fatherlessness either. The State is both parasite and host in all this, feeding off the discontent of women to grow fatter and fatter.

One way the State has done this is by embracing egalitarianism, and aggressively promoting it everywhere. So they talk about a glass ceiling in the workplace. They continually pump out statistics on men getting paid more than women, without ever being honest enough to bring the word “baby” into the conversation. On a more general level, they have legislated for no-fault divorce, the very existence of which is bound to lead to people allowing their discontent to drive them to divorce, rather than seeking to address it.

All these things have helped to create a situation where women are no longer content with raising their own children. They want another life. And when this causes them difficulties or problems, who comes riding in on the white stallion again? Why the State, with it’s promises of free childcare.

I should add that I am in no way blaming the State for everything. The other big culprits are Big Business, Media and Advertising. But it is the State we turn to for solutions, and we need to understand why there will be none coming from that direction. They have no motivation – they sow discontentment among women, and then reap the reward of more taxes and more control of our day-to-day lives.

The high cost

So State is not the solution. The real answer is to be found on the micro level and it involves every father out there striving every day to become a better father. It involves every father out there not contenting himself with being merely provider and protector on some superficial level, but rather having a deep desire to bless his children through his words, his character, and his way of living each and every day. It involves every father out there striving to understand what God – the Father – is like and through His grace striving to reflect this towards his children.

To extend the last point, Doug Wilson has brilliantly argued that all fathers are images or reflections of God the Father to their children. Each and every father is constantly speaking to his children through his words, character and behavior about what fathers are like, and thus are constantly teaching their children about the Father all the time. So, in the way he acts, a father will either be speaking the truth or telling a lie to his children about the Father.

That’s a challenging mirror for those of us who are fathers to look into. Of course we are not going to see perfection, but are we telling the truth about God the Father in our life towards our children, or are we telling a lie? Are we telling the truth about the Father by reflecting His generous, benevolent, loving, forgiving, just, merciful, gracious nature?

Or are we teaching our children a lie about the Father through our harshness, our indifference, our aloofness, our coldness or our absence?

We could put it this way: True Fatherhood is costly. The cost of God’s mercy and love being shown to His children was the death of His only begotten Son at Calvary. If you are a father, how much does fatherhood cost you? Generosity, benevolence, love, forgiveness, mercy and grace are far costlier than harshness, indifference, aloofness, coldness or absence. They require daily prayer and struggle against sin. They require humbling ourselves to say sorry to our children when we’ve wronged them. They require listening patiently to them and taking pleasure in what for us may seem trivial, but what for them are really important. And a whole lot more.

I don’t know about the fathers who are reading this, but I struggle with these things. They are not easy requirements for a sinful and selfish human being. Yet they are part of a struggle that all fathers should delight to be in the midst of, since victory in this struggle means blessing to your children. And if enough fathers engage in the struggle, ultimately it will bring blessing to our society too.

Paul on engaged fathers

The Apostle Paul has the uncanny ability to pack more into one sentence than most of us can pack into several thousand words. How does he instruct fathers to behave towards their children?

Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord (Ephesians 6:4).

Is that it Paul? Is that all you have to say to fathers? Don’t make our kids angry and bring them up in God’s ways? Not really. Paul’s one-liners are like the opening of a treasure cave and we need to dig deep if we are to get to the heart of his teaching and mine the gold.

As he often does, Paul begins with a negative, moves it to a neutral, and then takes the whole thing over to a positive. An example of this is Ephesians 4:28 where he says this:

Let the thief no longer steal, but rather let him labor, doing honest work with his own hands, so that he may have something to share with anyone in need.

Imagine a dial with three markings. On the left hand side is stealing. In the middle is not stealing. And over on the right hand side is laboring to give. Moralistic Christianity only sees the need to turn the dial from the left to the middle. “Don’t do this,” and “Don’t do that.” As if the absence of stealing is all that is required. But Paul says no, that’s not all that’s required. God doesn’t just want “non-stealers”; He wants cheerful givers.

Paul does the same with the father passage. The notch on the left is marked Provoking, Exasperating, Frustrating, Angering your children. And there’s a whole range of different ways that this can be done. Paul says to turn the dial. Where to? To the “no longer provoking, exasperating and angering my children” spot in the middle? No, he says, dial it all the way to the right hand side. So just as the antidote to stealing is not “not-stealing” but rather giving, the antidote to provoking our children is not “not provoking our children,” but rather nurturing and admonishing them (some versions have this as training/discipling and instruction/correction, but the sense is roughly the same).

Berating vs. admonishing

What might sound odd here is that having turned the dial from the negative notch – provoking to wrath – to the positive notch, we find Paul speaking of admonition (or correction). But isn’t admonishing (or correcting) a negative action?

Of course it can be, and I’m sure we can all think of examples of ways fathers can rebuke their children in a wholly negative manner (if you’re anything like me, you will have done this yourself). And if such a way of rebuking becomes the norm, then it can clearly lead to exactly what Paul tells us to avoid – exasperating and provoking our children to wrath.

So how can admonition or correction be positive? It’s surely a question of why we do it and how we do it. If our whole wholehearted desire is to see our children corrected and restored, and if we deliver the admonition or correction in a way that reflects that, then it is an undoubtedly positive thing and our children will generally respond positively to it.

What does nurturing look like?

What of nurturing? That has a more positive ring to it than admonition, but what does it mean? Perhaps an illustration might help. At a home education co-op recently, some of my children and their friends did an experiment where they put six different seeds into six different jars, subjecting each seed to different conditions. The first was given air, water, soil, light and warmth, whilst the others had one of these elements missing. Some didn’t grow at all. Others grew a little, but very weak and stunted. No prizes for guessing which one grew properly!

Just as the nurturing of plants needs all the elements in order to grow properly, so too do our children. And just as the seed that is deprived of one or more of the elements will either not grow at all, or perhaps produce stunted growth, so is the case with our children. Although I don’t want to labor the analogy too much, there is a fairly close correspondence to some of the elements that are needed for the seed to grow, and that which we need to be nurturing our children with. For instance, it is possible to give them the light of God’s word, both in the home and at church, and think that this will suffice. But if the environment at home or in the church is frigid, or if we so stifle their characters, gifts and creativity that they feel suffocated, they may well come to despise the teaching. There are countless “testimonies” out there of people who have gone through that.

Nurturing is about making sure our children have all the elements they need to so that they thrive and grow up into men and women who really love God and who have a genuinely loving, servant spirit. So we need to aim not just to teach them from God’s Word, but to do so in an environment that is warm and wholesome. We need to produce a home where Christ is honored, both in teaching and example, but we need to do so making sure that we do not stifle our children or place heavy burdens on them. They need air to thrive, and I’ve seen a good many people reject the faith of their parents chiefly because their parents tried to squeeze them into a particular mold of what they thought Christians ought to look like.

Fathers, can I urge you to strive to get closer to your children? Cuddle them more (especially girls). They need to feel wanted and secure, even the ones that don’t communicate this very well. Talk to them more. Be interested in them and their lives. Speak kindly to them and well of them. Get rid of any hindrances in your life which might be a stumbling block for them, or which might breed resentment and create a distance between you and your children. Strive to teach them from God’s Word, both by words and example. Seek their forgiveness, not just God’s if you have wronged them, or shouted at them, or failed them. Make them know that you would give your life for them. Fill your home with love and with grace.

When we fail…

Having said that, the wind seems to be taken out of my sails somewhat. Thinking of what nurture and admonition ought to look like is one thing, but if your house is anything like mine, the reality is often a far cry. Occasionally I might approximate to some of these things, but there are too many times of miserable failure to recall. What then?

The things I have listed above are hard things which require self-sacrifice, determination and above all the Spirit of God. We are bound to mess up; bound to fail. But this should make us press on, not give up. Christianity is not a religion of beating ourselves up over such failures. Rather, it is a religion which says get down on your knees, seek God’s free and full forgiveness through Jesus, and then ask for his Spirit to enable you to be a better father to your children.

Fatherhood is the most important social issue of our day, and the lack of good fathers is behind so much of what has gone wrong in our society. So if you don’t already, will you join me in making it a regular prayer to pray for fathers? Pray that every child in the land would know their father throughout their childhood. Pray for every child to know the love and the warmth of a good father. Pray for fathers in your church to be enabled to lead their families, and to “nurture and admonish their children in the Lord” with love and grace. Pray for good fathers to become better fathers. Pray for absent or poor fathers to repent and be given God’s grace to succeed where they have previously failed. And above all pray that God would reform our churches, our communities and our society by turning the hearts of the fathers to the children and the hearts of the children to the fathers.

Rob Slane is the author of A Christian and Unbeliever discuss Life, the Universe, and Everything.