As a mental health therapist who works exclusively with mothers and women, I spend my days holding space for stories of transition, identity, and the deep, untidy emotions of motherhood. I am honored to guide women through these pivotal times, often giving words to feelings they’ve been too overwhelmed, or too afraid, to articulate. And yet, watching Nightbitch, I felt something unexpected: I felt seen.
Which sounds strange, right? I’ve been a mother myself almost 30 years. I don’t have babies anymore. I’m not knee deep in this myself, that season has ended for me. And, I live this work. I speak these truths to women every day, reminding them that the darker parts of their motherhood story are just as valid, just as worthy of exploration, as the joyful ones. But something about Nightbitch tapped into a place that conversations alone rarely reach. Maybe it was the unflinching honesty. Maybe it was the rawness, the messiness, and yes…the outright weirdness of it all.
This film isn’t just about motherhood; it’s about the transformation motherhood demands. It’s about the way you can lose yourself in caregiving while simultaneously discovering an untamed, feral version of yourself you never knew existed. It’s about rage and joy, isolation and connection, and the complicated, contradictory, all-consuming nature of being a mother.
I cried. I cried not because the movie told me something I didn’t already know, but because it showed me. It gave visual, visceral form to the feelings I hear echoed in my office week after week: the exhaustion of being literally everything to everyone, the primal instincts that emerge when protecting your child, and the longing to rediscover yourself…and not as a mother, not as someone’s partner, but as a whole and complex individual.
One of the most moving things about Nightbitch is that it most certainly doesn’t sugarcoat. It leans into the surreal, the grotesque, and the wild. At times, it felt almost too weird, too much. And yet, isn’t that exactly how motherhood feels some days? Like you’re living a surreal existence, caught between societal expectations and the untamed instincts that refuse to be silenced?
The movie reminded me of the importance of embracing the parts of ourselves that don’t fit the "perfect mother" mold…the anger, the frustration, the hunger for more. As mothers, we’re often taught to suppress those emotions, to smooth them over for the sake of appearances or harmony. But those feelings have value. They’re trying to tell us something about what we need, about who we are becoming.
As a therapist, I believe that holding space for mothers to explore these emotions without judgment is one of the most radical forms of care. And seeing a piece of art like Nightbitch reinforces that belief. It’s a reminder that we need more stories that validate the complexity of motherhood, not just the cuddles and cuteness, but the raw, animalistic, sometimes uncomfortable truths.
For those who haven’t seen the film, I won’t spoil it, but I will say this: If you’re a mother who has ever felt lost, wild, or unrecognizable to yourself, Nightbitch might just meet you where you are. It’s a little strange, a little unsettling, and utterly cathartic.
And if it makes you cry? Know that you’re not alone. Sometimes we need art to hold up a mirror and show us what we’ve been too busy…or too scared…to see. This movie reminds us of the power of storytelling to connect us, to validate us, and to remind us that we’re not alone in the beautiful, messy, primal (so primal) experience of being a mother.
As I process my own reaction to the film, I’m left with the validation that I have built my work upon: Sometimes the most profound moments of healing come not from finding the perfect words, but from being witnessed—fully, unapologetically, in all our wild, untamed glory.
To all the mothers out there, new or well seasoned (especially mine) I see you. And you are magnificent. I love you.
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