This morning, I felt like pulling the covers over my head and simply wallowing in self-pity. The urge to cry loomed large, ready to strike at any moment. But then, the alarm rang, and I couldn’t ignore it. The kids had to get to school, and breakfast awaited. So, I took a deep breath, tossed the covers aside, and stepped onto the floor, my body protesting with every movement. Stress and anxiety coursed through me like an electric charge. “Shake it off,” I reminded myself. “Just breathe.”
I gently woke the kids with a playful tickle. As I lifted my youngest from the crib, I inhaled that delightful baby scent, and my heart swelled. I embraced my little one and showered him with kisses, feeling like a decent parent despite the turmoil within. Although I masked my pain, tears still found a way. I snuck away during nap time and allowed myself to cry.
I cried for my parents, both unwell, feeling helpless as Alzheimer’s slowly took my father, while my mother struggled with mobility, longing to play with her grandchildren. They were once my pillars of strength, hiding their struggles, and time—oh, that relentless thief—has made its toll evident. My heart aches daily witnessing this. While my depression may have lingered in the background, I managed to conceal it well today.
I wept because of the insidious mother’s guilt that gnaws at my insides. Are my children truly happy? I know they are, yet I still question myself. I often feel like a failure, believing that giving up my own aspirations has diminished my sense of self. What will my children remember of me? Just “Mom”? I fear the day they no longer need me. It’s a daunting thought.
I hesitated to share these feelings, worried I might come across as ungrateful for the joys of motherhood. Yet, I wouldn’t change a thing. If I could rewind time, I’d choose this path repeatedly.
My thoughts race, fueled by my ADD, spiraling into a chaotic whirlwind. My heart aches with the weight of motherhood, especially when compounded by external worries beyond my control. But my children should never bear the burden of my struggles; they deserve to feel only love.
The love I have for them is profound, yet it can sting at times. I often find myself shouting, “Go to bed!” or “Stop talking!” during those chaotic days. But when the house quiets and I enter their rooms, watching them peacefully sleep, I whisper apologies for my outbursts. Will tomorrow bring sadness because today was overwhelming? No. They will greet me with smiles and unconditional love, despite my imperfections.
Being in this dual role, nurturing the old while caring for the young, leaves me feeling stretched thin. Yet, I am grateful for the trust and reliance placed upon me. My tears, though bittersweet, remind me of the love I hold.
So, today turned out to be a decent day. Yes, there were tears, but amidst the anxiety, I breathed. With each hug, every “I love you,” and even the occasional “Leave me alone!” I reminded myself that it was okay. It’s entirely fine if all I accomplished today was to breathe.
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In summary, motherhood is a journey filled with challenges, emotions, and moments of joy. While we may struggle with guilt and sadness, it’s essential to recognize that simply breathing and being present for our children is a significant achievement.