Recently, I found myself in a familiar yet disorienting situation. It was akin to misplacing your car in a sprawling parking lot. You know it’s parked somewhere nearby; otherwise, you wouldn’t be standing there, wrangling kids and a cart stuffed with groceries. But until you locate it, your sanity feels just as lost as that elusive minivan. The uncertainty clouds your faith in ever rediscovering it.
That’s precisely how I felt in my kitchen a couple of weeks ago—adrift in the chaotic sea of parenting. The thrill of motherhood had somehow drained the joy from my life. I was buried under unmet obligations and disturbed by the sight of bathrooms that hadn’t seen a cleaning in over a month. I recalled my partner had called me a grouch earlier in the day as I prepared my daughter’s lunch for the following day, slogging through one chore just to tackle another. It left me feeling utterly lost.
My children are quite young—my daughter is three and a half, while my twin boys are just a year old. On certain days, managing them feels like an unending grind. Between the babies’ cries and wails, the endless diaper changes, and the multiple meals I prepare, I yearn for time—time to accomplish tasks that don’t revolve around my kids. Time to rest. Time with my partner. Time just for me. I crave time.
Parenting is the most selfless endeavor I have ever undertaken. Yet, with the demands of young children, it also awakens a selfish side in me. After a long day of being spoken to, climbed on, and comforted, I often fantasize about finding a hidden nook where no one can reach me. I don’t want to engage or be asked for anything; I simply want solitude.
These feelings often spill over onto my friends and partner, while my children bear the brunt of my internal frustrations. When my boys resist sleep during naps or bedtime, my thoughts can become quite harsh: “Please, just go to sleep!” And when I tire of playing or watching them, I can’t help but feel an overwhelming boredom wash over me. I reminisce about all the other things I could be doing instead of being present.
Yet, these are my kids—three beautiful souls who bring immense joy to my life. I wanted them more than anything, but at times I yearn for a break from them.
I usually wear my emotions on my sleeve, but it’s rare for me to reach a breaking point. That night in the kitchen, I cried. My partner, Sarah, is much better at handling my tears than I am. Instead of trying to fix things, she listened and we discussed ways to balance my role as a work-from-home and stay-at-home mom. She reassured me that this challenging phase wouldn’t last forever and helped restore my faith that I wasn’t truly lost.
The person I was before motherhood still exists; she’s just harder to find on tough days. What propels me forward are those simple joys that make parenting so rewarding—a tea party with my daughter, the laughter of my boys, our first family hike together. While the lead-up and aftermath of these moments can be exhausting or overwhelming, the experiences themselves provide clarity and connection.
Though my children will remain young for a while, as they grow, we’ll be able to do more together and less for them. This prospect gives me hope. The anticipation of being able to reclaim more of my time fills me with optimism. It’s an intangible feeling, yet it’s undeniably present—much like the lingering thought of losing myself again along with that sense of wandering aimlessly in the parking lot of parenting.
For more insights into navigating the journey of parenthood, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination from the ASRM.
Summary
This reflective piece captures the tumultuous emotions of parenting young children, balancing the joys and challenges of motherhood. The author shares her struggles with finding personal time and maintaining her sense of self amidst the chaos, ultimately finding hope in the future as her children grow.