The Myth of the Calm Baby

No one tells you how much of motherhood is unlearning. I thought I'd be calm, wise, always knowing what to do. Then reality arrived—with tears, awakenings, and unexpected growth...

You’ve probably heard it before—from a well-meaning friend, a stranger in the grocery store, maybe even your own mother:

“She’s such a calm baby. You must be doing something right.”

And quietly, the inverse sets in: If your baby isn’t calm—if they cry often, resist sleep, or need constant holding—then something must be wrong. With them. Or worse—with you. Let’s pause right here. Because this belief—that a “good” baby is a calm baby—is not only false… it’s dangerous. It wires mothers for shame, self-doubt, and frantic searching for fixes where no “problem” exists.

Here’s the truth: Your baby is not broken. And you are not failing.

Newborns are not born to self-soothe. They are born with undeveloped nervous systems—raw, open, and dependent on co-regulation. This means they borrow your nervous system to find safety. Crying is not misbehavior. It’s communication. It’s the only tool they have to say: “I’m overwhelmed. I’m hungry. I’m uncomfortable. I need you.” Some babies are biologically more sensitive. Some have more intense sensory needs. Some struggle with digestion, sleep rhythms, or transitions. None of this is a reflection of your worth as a mother.

I often remind myself that my daughter didn’t come into this world prepared for hunger, cold, loneliness, or waiting. She came straight from an all-inclusive hotel—food on demand, warmth guaranteed, no separation. Now she’s navigating a whole new world. And I’m her translator. Her home. So when she cries, I no longer hear it as failure or a test. I hear it as trust. She’s not saying “you’re doing it wrong.” She’s saying, “I need you because I depend on you. And you’re the only one I feel safe enough to cry with.”

And your response? It’s not about getting it perfect. It’s about being there—again and again. And that? That’s success.

Our culture rewards the appearance of control:
Quiet baby = competent mother.
Upset baby = chaotic home.

But what if we flipped that? What if the baby who cries freely is the baby who trusts their caregiver enough to express themselves fully? What if the mother who rocks, sings, sways, and responds—over and over—is the one building emotional attunement and lifelong regulation? What if this visible “mess” is actually deep, invisible work?

The goal isn’t to have a silent baby. The goal is to have a safe baby. And I had to learn that—deeply. Safety doesn’t always look like stillness. It can look like crying that’s met with comfort, not shushed away. It can look like rhythm instead of rigid routine. It can look like me, staying soft in the storm, rather than tightening up in fear of “doing it wrong.”

I remember when Atalanta was very little, she slept soundly through the night. People would say, “You’re so lucky—such a calm baby.” I internalized that. I immediately thought her sleep was a reflection of how well I was doing-although knowing that it can change anytime. And it did. So when her sleep patterns changed—as they naturally do—I was desperate to find out what I would need to change to get back to where we were. I scanned every moment, wondering what I had missed.

It took time (and unlearning) to realize this wasn’t a step backward. It was development. Growth. Evolution. And it was completely normal.

If your baby needs you more than you expected— If your days are loud, and your arms are always full— If calm feels like a myth… You’re not doing it wrong. You’re doing the deepest work there is. Not to change your baby. But to meet them. Over and over. With presence. With breath. And with the radical knowing that you are enough—even when the room is filled with sound.

"If you’re in this space—questioning, doubting, relearning—you’re not doing it wrong. You’re doing it consciously. That’s what this journey is for."