It’s a fair observation. My partner can lull our baby to sleep much more effortlessly than I can, and let’s be honest, my daughter is well aware of this. But considering how infrequently he’s around these days, that fact is downright maddening. Reaching out for help (or sympathy) felt pointless since he wouldn’t answer anyway—he was away for work again, this time out of state for the fourth time that month. The weight of my stress and exhaustion had finally become too much to bear. In that moment, I crumbled, something that has become all too easy since welcoming my second child and often finding myself alone.
There’s no sugarcoating it—I was not just feeling like a bad mom that night; I truly was one.
While I usually thrive on alone time, parenting solo brings a unique brand of discomfort. As a mother of two—one still in diapers—I barely find a moment for my basic needs, like showering, using the restroom, or even getting dressed. I know it’s a cliché, but I’m practically a pro at wearing yoga pants while hardly exercising and snacking over the sink. What truly gnaws at me, however, isn’t part of the usual narrative.
Not every day feels like a complete disaster, but the sensation of being overwhelmed has become my new normal. I’ve wrestled with finding time to write, a pursuit that nurtures my spirit and contributes to my family’s financial well-being. I’ve struggled to carve out moments for exercise, to feel comfortable in my own skin, and to be an engaged, energetic, loving mother—at least most of the time.
The past year has undeniably been the most challenging of my life. I say this having navigated a tumultuous adolescence and the consequences of an addictive personality, alongside some pretty questionable romantic choices. Yet, nothing compares to the profound challenges of motherhood.
Perhaps I clung too tightly to the belief that having a second child wouldn’t turn my world upside down, but it did—in every conceivable way. While my first child knocked me flat, I managed to bounce back, stronger and wiser than ever. After my daughter’s surprising and beautiful arrival, I felt like I had it all figured out.
That year was a whirlwind. I lost friends, grappled with anxiety and PTSD after my daughter fell ill, and then celebrated her recovery at just eight weeks old. By the time she turned one, I was healthy, working a few hours a day, sleeping well, and genuinely savoring my family time. In essence, I had revitalized my life, and it felt great.
Fast forward to a year after my second baby’s arrival, and my life is just as chaotic as it was when my son was a newborn. I’m still waiting for the calm to settle in, even though I know I shouldn’t. I’ve advised others with babies not to wait for things to slow down but to embrace the madness and find a new normal. So why can’t I take my own advice?
These days, I struggle to embrace chaos as much as I want because I’m too busy doing rather than simply being. I find it hard to let go, knowing that if I do, everything might just fall apart. Slowing down? If I pause for even a moment, I face inevitable tantrums or meltdowns, and I have to muster my patience to restore order. So, I keep moving out of sheer necessity, trying to hold it all together, and sometimes I’m the one who ends up crumbling.
Honestly, I never aspired to be an overwhelmed mother—who does? It’s not the image I had in mind. When I thought about having a second child, I pictured our family of four relaxing on the front porch, my partner and I strumming our guitars while my daughter danced and the baby crawled around. Sure, I might not have returned to my pre-pregnancy weight, but I envisioned being healthy and taking care of myself. Life felt balanced in that daydream.
In reality, the baby has been crawling for months, while my guitar sits in the corner, untouched and missing strings since his arrival. My ideal picture didn’t include my spirited five-year-old dropping the baby instead of giving him a gentle kiss. Nor did it capture the infamous witching hour when the baby whines from 4:30 p.m. until bedtime, still waking three times a night at a year old. And let’s not forget—I may have actually gained weight instead of losing it since giving birth.
The fantasy wasn’t entirely false; it does exist, but rather as fleeting glimpses instead of a bright spotlight. I don’t need motherhood to be easy; it rarely is. However, I long for the ability to breathe freely and not always be someone’s rock. But love it or hate it, I am deeply invested in every aspect of my motherhood journey, which often leaves little room for emotional freedom.
Sometimes, I wish I weren’t so entrenched. I envy my partner who sleeps soundly in a hotel room, free of tiny limbs wrapped around his body. Yet, despite the chaos, I’m profoundly grateful for my children—even on my worst days. Ironically, that gratitude can amplify the guilt I feel when I think I’m failing them.
I’m far from a perfect mom; I’m more flawed than I ever imagined. I envisioned being strong, but I’m learning where to find strength. My greatest lesson in motherhood is to love myself, flaws and all—my anxiety, my fears—and to teach my children how to navigate failure and growth.
Even if I’m a mom who often struggles, I will always be a mom who refuses to give up. My experience of motherhood may not mirror anyone else’s. It might not always be pretty, but I’m embracing every moment of it, and in my heart, I remain hopeful.
I’m learning that motherhood isn’t a one-size-fits-all experience. I’ve always understood it to be both gritty and beautiful, sometimes in the same breath. For me, parenthood may never be pure bliss, but it will be authentic, uniquely mine, and I believe I will emerge stronger in the end.
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Summary:
In this heartfelt reflection on motherhood, Emma shares her struggles with feeling overwhelmed as a mom of two young children. She navigates the challenges of juggling her needs with the demands of parenting, revealing her journey of self-acceptance and the realities of motherhood. Despite the chaos, she emphasizes gratitude for her children and the lessons she learns along the way, ultimately embracing her imperfect yet authentic motherhood experience.