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Finding My Way Through the Mom Funk
There’s something about this summer that’s just off. Maybe it’s the oppressive heat, or the fact that my youngest is now a hyperactive toddler who seems to be everywhere at once. Or perhaps it’s just the collective restlessness of my kids. Whatever the reason, this summer has felt tougher than any before. My to-do list stretches on forever, but honestly, I just can’t muster the energy to care. Instead, I’ve been procrastinating and losing myself in books.
Meals get cooked, lunches are prepped, kids are shuffled off to their activities—but I’m just going through the motions. I feel like I’m on auto-pilot, with the phrase “fake it till you make it” playing in my head on repeat. After a decade of parenting, I wonder if I’ll ever truly figure this out.
Each day blends into the next. My little one and I often venture to the grocery store just to escape the confines of our home. The playground is too hot, and the beach feels like too much effort. Maybe I’m just being lazy? It’s possible. Some days, like today, I feel trapped in a rut, and it frustrates me. I have everything I need and want, yet I can’t shake the feeling that something is missing—something remarkable that I can’t quite define. That nagging feeling, the funk, has settled in my mind.
During today’s grocery adventure, I grab the essentials, treat my kid to a free cookie, and stand in line to check out. In front of me is another mom with her three kids. It’s like looking into a mirror reflecting my own chaotic life. I admire her adorable children, notice the ice pops in her cart, and see her toddler clutching a red one like it’s the best treasure ever. Her sons are pleading for candy, and she gently brushes them off, just like I would do with my boys.
I appreciate her vibe. She must feel my gaze because we strike up a conversation. Turns out, we have way more in common than just being moms in the same place. She’s friendly and, like me, seems a bit overwhelmed. She’s the first adult I’ve spoken to today and the first in a week who didn’t need something from me—and I really needed that.
The cashier fumbles with her order, messing up a buy-one-get-one offer on bread. She keeps apologizing for the delay, but I don’t have the heart to bring up my funk or mention how this mundane situation feels like a much-needed break. “Take as long as you need,” I think to myself.
When I finally exit the store, the funk is still there, but I feel a little lighter. I’m still searching for that intangible something beyond my current reality, something that isn’t defined by diapers, screen time, or laundry. Maybe it’s something just for me—something I don’t have to share. Like a chat with a stranger while waiting in line.
In the end, perhaps extraordinary isn’t a grand revelation but simply a step away from the funk. And that’s enough for now.