It’s a valid point. My partner can get our baby to sleep way more easily than I can, and my daughter is well aware of it. But considering how seldom he’s able to help these days, that fact is frustrating enough on its own. Calling for support was pointless because he wouldn’t answer—working out of state for the fourth time this month. The weight of my stress and fatigue was becoming too much to bear. That night, I hit my breaking point, something that’s been happening more often since the arrival of my second child, leaving me feeling isolated most of the time.
Let’s face it—on that night, I was not the mother I aspire to be. I didn’t just feel inadequate; I truly was.
Normally, I enjoy my alone time, but parenting solo is a whole different struggle. As a mom of two, one still in diapers, I barely have time for basic self-care like showering, using the bathroom, and getting dressed. It’s such a cliché, but I’ve become a pro at wearing workout pants without ever working out and grabbing snacks over the sink. Yet, my resentment about this situation isn’t part of the usual narrative.
While not every day is a complete disaster, feeling overwhelmed has become my new norm. I’ve grappled with finding time to write, which is essential for my sanity and our family’s finances. I’ve also struggled to carve out time and energy to exercise, to feel good in my own skin, and to be the engaged, loving mom my kids deserve—at least most of the time.
This past year has been the toughest one yet, and I say this as someone who has been through a tumultuous adolescence, dealt with an addictive personality, and made some rough romantic choices. But nothing compares to the transformative challenges of motherhood.
Perhaps I clung too tightly to the idea that having a second child wouldn’t shake my world as much as it has. The reality is that it has, in every conceivable way. My first child knocked me off my feet, but soon after, I got back up, stronger and wiser. After a year of my daughter’s unexpected and beautiful arrival, I felt like I was on the right track.
That first year was a whirlwind. I lost friends, faced anxiety and PTSD when my daughter became ill, and then recovered when she was just 8 weeks old. By the time she turned 1, I was thriving—I was healthy, working a few hours a day, sleeping well, and genuinely enjoying my family. I had managed to turn my life around, albeit in a positive way.
Fast forward to a year into my second child’s life, and chaos reigns once more, reminiscent of when my son was a newborn. I’m still waiting for the calm to arrive, even though deep down, I know I shouldn’t. I’ve often told others with babies not to wait for things to slow down, but rather to adapt to a new normal and embrace the chaos. I need to take my own advice.
These days, I struggle to find the time to just be because I’m always doing. Letting go feels impossible because when I do, everything crumbles. If I pause for even a moment, a tantrum or meltdown is bound to happen, and I have to muster up my patience to return to neutral. So, I keep going, trying to hold it all together, and sometimes I’m the one who ends up falling apart.
Being an overwhelmed mom was never part of my plan, was it anyone’s? It’s far from what I imagined. When I thought about welcoming my second child, I envisioned our family of four playing music together on the porch while my daughter danced and the baby crawled. In my daydream, I wasn’t at my pre-pregnancy weight, but I was healthy and taking care of myself. Life felt balanced, even if busy.
In reality, the baby has been crawling for months while my guitar sits untouched in the corner, missing strings since his arrival. My ideal image didn’t account for my spirited 5-year-old dropping the baby instead of gently kissing his cheek or the daily struggle during the witching hour when the baby cries from 4:30 p.m. until bedtime, only to wake up three times a night. It didn’t even show that I might have actually gained weight since giving birth.
The vision wasn’t entirely false; it exists in fragments rather than as a shining beacon. I don’t expect motherhood to be easy, but I long for the ability to breathe without the crushing weight of responsibility. However, I am deeply invested in my motherhood journey, which often leaves little room for personal and emotional freedom.
Sometimes, I wish I could step back from it all. There are moments when I envy my partner, who sleeps soundly in a hotel room without a tiny body wrapped around him. Yet, despite it all, I am profoundly grateful for my children, even on my worst days. That gratitude can make the guilt of feeling like I’m failing them even harder to bear.
I’m not a perfect mom by any means. I’m more flawed than I ever imagined I could be. I thought I would be stronger, but I’m learning what true strength is. My biggest lesson in motherhood is to love myself, imperfections and all—my anxiety and fears included—and to show my kids how to embrace failure and grow from it.
Though I may often struggle, I will also never give up. My motherhood experience might not mirror anyone else’s; it might not always be pretty. But I’m owning every moment of it, and deep down, I remain hopeful. I’m learning that motherhood doesn’t look the same for everyone. It’s a blend of grit and beauty, sometimes in the same breath. For me, parenthood might not ever be blissful, but it will be authentic, it will be mine, and I will grow from it.
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In summary, motherhood is a unique journey filled with challenges, gratitude, and personal growth. Each day may bring its struggles, but the experience is real and deeply rewarding.