Enough of feeling like I’m always in a hurry.
Enough of endless laundry that seems to multiply on its own.
Enough with fundraisers that only lead to bigger fundraisers.
Enough of people who can’t figure out how turn lanes work.
Enough of Evites and the never-ending emails asking, “Did you catch the Evite?”
Enough with having 11 tabs open in my browser (not at the bar, mind you).
Enough with the shaming.
Enough with shaming the shamers.
Enough with outrageous shipping fees.
And enough with the overuse of cowbell in songs.
Seriously, enough!
I’m feeling cranky. Everything around me feels like a race, with no pause button. Even on a sunny Sunday morning, as I sit on my porch with a new book, there’s this nagging sensation that I should be somewhere else doing something. There’s always a sense of urgency, as if tasks are overdue or missing entirely. I feel like there’s always something just waiting to be judged—whether it’s the way I tackle my to-do list or the moments I try to ignore it all. But who is actually judging me?
The answer, I suspect, is: “No one, you silly goose.” This relentless feeling of inadequacy and guilt when I dare to slow down is self-imposed, isn’t it?
Enough!
I could pen an extensive article about the societal pressures that lead women to feel this way. I could dive deep into gender roles and our self-inflicted pressures. There could be a follow-up piece discussing whom we’re measuring ourselves against. I could tweet endlessly about the fact that no one is the perfect mom, wife, or even a perfect piece in the daily grind. Yet, these discussions happen daily.
Despite the flood of insightful articles encouraging women to embrace imperfection, there’s still this elusive notion of perfection that feels just out of reach. If only the kids would get in the car a tad faster. If I could just remember to buy laundry detergent. If I could keep my e-bill organized in the right Gmail folder. If, if, if…
Enough!
Last weekend, while walking home with my kids from a neighborhood Easter party, I felt overwhelmed. My children had a blast, but I felt like I was under scrutiny. We were the oldest kids there, and I wasn’t filming every moment or fussing over chocolate-covered faces. I realized how far we’ve come in our parenting journey, yet I also felt like the Mom of Big Kids—subject to judgment from the younger parents.
But what I wanted to shout to those new moms is that I do watch over my kids. I worry just as much about their antics in the bouncy house. I began to wonder if those fleeting looks I received were actually hints of envy or perhaps just shared moments of parental concern. They, too, might be lost in thoughts of why their child is the one crying or how to manage the chaos. Our glances don’t equate to judgment, and it’s disheartening that my first instinct is to think otherwise.
Enough!
As we strolled home, my 6-year-old lagged behind, absorbed in his own world. My impatience flared as I noticed him dragging his feet, but then he smiled and held up a tiny leaf with a rollie pollie perched on it. “I gotta keep him safe,” he said. “He’s so little I might not be able to find him if he falls.”
In that moment, I remembered something crucial: life isn’t just a series of moments leading to the next. Each moment is significant, not on display for judgment.
Enough with feeling like I’m not enough.
Sometimes, the most vital part of the day is to slow down enough to appreciate the little things—those tiny moments that can be so easily overlooked.
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In summary, let’s be kinder to ourselves. Embrace the chaos, cherish the little moments, and remember that it’s okay to not have it all figured out.