Aug. 26, 2016
The room was dimly lit, and after a long day filled with the sounds of wailing children, a rare silence surrounded me. My temples pulsed painfully as I sank to the floor of the dining room, pulling my knees up to my chest. I wrapped my arms around myself, swaying gently, tears streaming down my cheeks. Both kids were finally asleep, and with my husband away on a business trip, I was left alone with a thought that had haunted me since the birth of my second child.
I’m a failure.
My sobs were relentless.
What’s wrong with me? Other women have managed to stay home with their kids since the beginning of time. If they can do it, why can’t I? Why is this so incredibly tough for me?
Days blurred into one another, a mix of my baby’s reflux and explosive diapers. My toddler threw monumental tantrums at the slightest distraction, and I could never reach either child in time. Someone was always crying, a constant reminder of my perceived inadequacy as a mother.
On those rare occasions when both kids napped simultaneously, I leaped online, craving connection with the outside world. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying life. My Facebook feed was full of smiling families at parks, zoos, libraries, and museums. Their pictures were crystal clear. I had countless shots of my kids, but every single one was a blur.
Nearly a year after that emotional breakdown on the dining room floor, my husband took the kids for an evening, granting me the chance to reconnect with friends I hadn’t seen in ages. One of them asked how I was doing.
The automatic reply of “I’m okay. How about you?” caught in my throat. I swallowed hard and whispered, “Things aren’t good. Not good at all.”
Her surprise was palpable as she turned to me. “What’s wrong?”
I slumped, reluctant to admit my struggles, but the truth spilled out. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Shame washed over me. She was one of those Facebook moms I envied. “Staying home with kids all day is too hard. I feel like I’m drowning.”
“I remember those days,” she said, her eyes full of understanding. I didn’t see the judgment I feared. “Those were dark days. I cried constantly.”
“Really? You?” I was taken aback. My friend seemed so composed; I couldn’t imagine her ever breaking down.
“Oh, absolutely. When the kids were little, it was tough. But it gets better as they grow.” She placed a comforting hand on my arm. “You will get through this too.”
Her empathy eased my tension. Someone genuinely understood. “I never knew you felt this way. Why didn’t I know?”
She shrugged. “I never talked about it.”
“Why not?” I felt guilty for not being there for her in her time of need. “Why didn’t we discuss this?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I guess women just don’t share these things.”
It was true. We kept these struggles hidden. “But we should.”
And so we did. Over the next year, I reached out to other mothers, both in person and online. I was surprised to find that many of those “put-together” moms shared my feelings. I was not alone in my tears, frustration, and sadness.
Knowing others had traversed the same difficult path brought me comfort. If they could do it, then so could I.
Two years have slipped by since that honest conversation. I still have my dark moments when my kids push my limits, but things are much brighter now. Sometimes, the only light you need on those shadowy days is the reassurance that you’re not alone.
A few months back, another friend welcomed her second child. During a phone call, she confessed feeling overwhelmed. “I saw your pictures on Facebook. I don’t know how you manage.” I recognized the awe in her voice; it mirrored my own feelings toward my Facebook friends.
I glanced at a rare, clear photo of my kids, one of the few out of hundreds I had taken at the park. They were both smiling, looking happy. “It’s completely normal to feel overwhelmed with little ones, especially a newborn and a toddler,” I reassured her. “I felt that way too.”
“Really?” I could sense her skepticism. “But you always seem so organized.”
“I’m not,” I replied, recalling the image of myself sobbing in the corner. “I’ve been where you are. Those dark days of motherhood are tough. But you’re not alone. It did get better for me, and it will for you too.”
If you find yourself feeling lost in the shadows of motherhood, I’m speaking to you. The darkness is real, and it’s challenging to escape. But you don’t have to navigate it alone. Reaching out to friends, joining support groups, or seeking professional help can lighten those dark days. I found my light, and so can you.
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Summary:
Motherhood can be overwhelming, filled with dark days of doubt and despair. Many women feel isolated in their struggles, feeling like failures while comparing themselves to seemingly perfect peers online. However, sharing these experiences can create a sense of community and understanding. By reaching out and connecting with other mothers, you can find comfort and reassurance that you’re not alone. Remember, it’s okay to ask for help and seek support during these challenging times.