I just want to take a shower, the voice in my head screams. I crave a moment to myself, to fold laundry without someone clinging to me. Wait. No. I don’t even want to fold laundry. How did my days become so mundane that my ability to manage laundry has turned into a measure of my worth? Ugh.
That voice—it’s often defiant and out of control. It’s not even who I truly am… except it is. It’s my hidden mom voice, the one that echoes in my mind during my lowest moments. Those days when my toddler is in full rebellion mode, when the baby is teething, and when the pressure of deadlines and dinner time weigh heavily on my shoulders. When I find myself in that mental space, it feels impossible to move forward.
As I shuffle through the kitchen, my partner takes a second glance: “Are you crying?”
Silence. Then, finally, I respond: “No.” I’m lying. I have been crying, but I can’t find the words to explain my feelings, especially with the kids watching. So I deny it.
The day continues. I think I’ve regained my composure, but I feel as transparent as a sippy cup. “What’s going on?” he asks gently.
I can’t hold back any longer. I spill everything, even though exhaustion has left me feeling hollow. I’m not sure of the exact words I use, but it’s something like this:
“This is so hard. We once had a vibrant life. I used to go out, socialize, and dress up for nights out with friends. I had adventures and stories to share. We hiked mountains together and danced until dawn. The bar was filled with familiar faces. I used to shower every day, keep the house tidy, and have plenty of energy.”
I’m lost in my own home—the place we bought with so much excitement has become a reflection of my confined life. I live here, work here, and parent here. Everything is contained within these four walls, and stepping outside feels like an uphill battle. With naptime, breastfeeding, and tantrums, what’s the point of venturing out just to be that mom in Target? The one sporting spit-up as her new accessory, dry shampoo as a sign of her missed showers, and chipped nail polish as a reminder of the vibrant person she used to be?
My world has shrunk to the point where even a trip to Target feels unjustified, and I’m utterly exhausted. This isn’t who I am, and I can’t keep going like this.
As we work in the yard while the kids nap, the ocean sounds of our son’s noise machine play in the background. The rhythmic waves have become the soundtrack of my life—so much so that I hardly notice them anymore. Suddenly, I’m having a full breakdown in the driveway, sobbing against my partner.
“What can I do?” he asks softly.
His tenderness makes me feel both comforted and more distressed. I know I’m not alone, but I can sense his confusion about how to help me.
Neither of us is accustomed to me facing unsolvable challenges.
I retreat inside, grab my laptop, and start writing. Writing has always been my escape when I’m overwhelmed.
Months have passed since then, and I’ve learned this: the only way out is through. Motherhood is draining. Having a baby can be overwhelming, and the toddler years are perplexing. Let’s not sugarcoat it. However, perhaps there’s a silver lining in the breakdown.
At its core, my breakdown stemmed from feelings of powerlessness, isolation, and the overwhelming responsibility of nurturing young children. When I bring those emotions into the light, I realize they represent the darker aspects of motherhood. And if these feelings are common, at least I know I’m not alone.
In moments when I don’t need another challenge, it becomes a call to rise up.
I wish I could say I turned a corner immediately, but I spent the next hour writing and crying, battling that chaotic mom voice in my head. Then, I stepped out for a coffee and a book, wandering aimlessly around Barnes & Noble, enjoying my solitude.
That day marked a turning point. I realized I couldn’t avoid my breakdown without significant reflection and change.
So, what next? I asked myself repeatedly. Is this how it will be, or will I take action? My answer was straightforward: I refused to wallow in my misery, weaving it around me until it felt like second skin. There’s always something to do—that was both the problem and the solution.
The responsibilities I’ve taken on as a mom, partner, homeowner, and self-employed individual will never truly be complete. There will always be tasks on my to-do list.
But there’s also always something I can do for myself—always. I had to embrace both sides of that statement and learn some vital lessons. Being a mom doesn’t equate to the picture-perfect moments I once envisioned. I stand between the roles of working mom and stay-at-home mom, and neither is glamorous. Both are filled with guilt, uncertainty, and a mountain of laundry.
Instead of fretting over the height of that laundry pile, I needed to reassess the weight of my expectations. And where had I placed my own needs on that never-ending to-do list? I can’t expect others to fulfill my needs. I must voice them, claim them, and feel no guilt in doing so. I need to show myself compassion.
It sounds simple, but it’s been a journey of letting go, negotiating, and reevaluating. My children are young, and I have many more years of this balancing act ahead of me. If I lose myself now, what will happen when they grow up and leave? I don’t want to find out.
I can’t claim to have it all figured out, nor can I say that being a mom will ever be easy. But when I posed the question, “What will you do now?” I discovered my strength. I regained my sanity. I silenced that chaotic mom voice and stopped resisting the chaos that comes with motherhood.
Whenever I feel myself drifting away from this lesson, I return to that initial question: What now, Mama? One thing is certain—there’s always something to do.
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Summary
This article reflects on the author’s struggles with motherhood, emphasizing the importance of acknowledging emotional breakdowns as part of the experience. It outlines the journey through feelings of isolation and powerlessness, ultimately leading to self-discovery and empowerment. The author encourages readers to take action for their well-being amidst the chaos of parenting, reminding them that they are not alone in their challenges.