“Are you certain you wouldn’t be happier returning to work?” I tucked a stray hair behind my ear as a single tear trickled down my cheek. His words pierced my already fragile state, and my partner of seven years continued cautiously, “It appears you’re not…content.” He was walking a fine line, attempting to address an issue I hadn’t even voiced. I was overwhelmed in my new role as a mother of two, and the weight of it all was becoming unbearable. My days were consumed by two primary tasks: breastfeeding an infant and potty training a toddler. One was always hungry; the other was frequently constipated – a constant cycle of demands. Picture this: at 9 a.m., 11 a.m., and 3:38 p.m., you’d find me in the bathroom coaxing one child on the potty while the other latched on for nourishment. Add to that an endless pile of dishes and laundry mixed with the sounds of crying children, and I was beginning to feel suffocated in my own life.
Each evening, when my husband returned home, he encountered the same scene: our two-and-a-half-year-old sprawled out on the floor with a stomach ache, our four-month-old wailing, and me teetering on the brink of a breakdown. It had become a routine; he would walk in at 6:02 p.m., and I would promptly hand over the children along with my exhaustive list of grievances before retreating to the bathroom for ten minutes of solitude.
Every night, my supportive partner would take over childcare duties as I recounted the exhausting details of my day. I felt the need for him to understand the challenges I faced, how drained I felt, and how hopeless I became by 5 p.m. My complaints poured out unfiltered, recounting tales of spit-up, failed naps, grocery store tantrums, and crushed Cheerios underfoot. I had morphed into a chronic complainer, the kind of person I had never wanted to become – the victim who whined more than she smiled. It was disheartening; I didn’t even recognize myself some days. Who was this person fixating on the negatives? I wanted to change, yet the rants spilled out uncontrollably.
It’s no surprise that my husband eventually questioned whether returning to a full-time job would make me happier. I’d be dishonest if I claimed I hadn’t pondered that myself. However, his inquiry revealed a deeper issue: the real problem in our home wasn’t the children; it was my perspective. It became evident that my daily narrative was skewed, a 90% negative and 10% positive report.
In a previous era, my husband and I both worked full-time jobs outside the home. We shared similar stressors: deadlines, commutes, and the tedium of conference calls. We enjoyed financial rewards for our efforts, and our evenings were filled with leisurely dinners swapping work stories. Our lives were synchronized beautifully.
Now, my husband continues his full-time role while I’ve transitioned to part-time work at home, caring for our two young children. Since becoming a work-from-home mom, I found myself obsessively trying to convey the daily realities of motherhood to him, as if he needed to fully understand the physical and emotional toll it imposed on me. I felt compelled to remind him of the burdens I carried, from nausea to labor pains, as if he needed to feel my struggles to appreciate my position.
I still recall a particularly revealing moment when I left my partner with both kids for just a morning. Upon returning home, I was met with chaos: toys scattered, spilled yogurt, and, surprisingly, Elmo hanging from the ceiling fan. My husband’s expression conveyed everything, but he added nine simple yet powerful words: “I don’t know how you do this every day.” At that moment, it was as if I heard angels singing. Sunlight streamed through the windows as I kissed him on the lips, responding, “That is the best thing you could ever say to me.”
I craved that validation, the reassurance that caring for two little ones was challenging for both of us. “I don’t know how you do this every day” became a phrase I wanted to emblazon in my mind, a constant reminder of our shared experience.
However, everything came to a head when my husband innocently asked if I would be happier returning to a full-time job. It was a reasonable question given my daily reports, but was I truly unhappy? Certainly, I experienced moments of discontent, but overall, this was the life I had dreamt of. I felt fortunate to be at home watching my children grow while pursuing creative endeavors that also contributed to our family.
In my desperation to feel understood and appreciated, I had inadvertently painted a one-sided picture of my struggles, neglecting the positive aspects of our lives. My husband only knew what I shared with him, and my focus had been overwhelmingly negative. What if I began to shift that balance? For every frustrating moment, there was likely a joyful one following closely behind. By reframing my narrative to highlight the positive, I could transform our evenings and improve my relationships with my husband and children.
As I reflect on my journey through motherhood, I realize that I’ve made many mistakes, but I’ve also done a lot right. One area that demands my attention is how I communicate my experiences. Therefore, I’m committing to a new approach: I will seek out three positive aspects of each day to share, whether it’s a delightful game of peek-a-boo or the adorable sight of my children with matching shampoo mohawks. I want to focus on the moments of joy, reserving my complaints for times when they truly matter.
After all, when my husband arrives home each evening, I want to greet him with positivity rather than a barrage of complaints. A simple code phrase like “Want to pick up Chipotle for dinner?” can convey that it’s been a challenging day without needing to elaborate on every detail. It signifies that at 6:02 p.m., he will walk through the door with burrito bowls in hand, look around at the chaos, and say with a smile, “I don’t know how you do this every day.”
In conclusion, by altering my perspective and focusing on the positives, I can foster a healthier atmosphere in our home, strengthening my relationships and my own sense of fulfillment.
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