It was a fair observation. My partner, Jake, has an uncanny ability to soothe our baby to sleep, a talent my daughter, Lily, has picked up on. But considering how infrequently he’s home these days, it’s maddening. Reaching out for help was pointless—he was away on a work trip for the fourth time this month, and the weight of my stress and exhaustion had finally reached a tipping point. In that moment, I broke down, a feeling that has become all too familiar since the arrival of my second child, leaving me to navigate this chaotic world mostly on my own.
There’s no denying it—on that night, I felt like a terrible mother. And frankly, I was one.
Although I usually thrive on my own, parenting solo is a different type of discomfort. With two kids—one still in diapers—my daily routine barely leaves room for my most basic needs like showering or even dressing properly. It’s a cliché, but I’ve practically become a master at living in yoga pants while hardly exercising and grabbing meals over the sink. Yet, my resentment towards this reality is often overlooked in the typical narratives.
Not every day feels utterly insurmountable, but the sensation of being overwhelmed has become my new normal. I’ve struggled to carve out time for writing, which feeds both my spirit and my family’s financial wellbeing. Finding the energy to exercise has become a challenge, as has maintaining a sense of self while striving to be the loving, engaged mother my kids deserve—at least most of the time.
This past year has undoubtedly been the most demanding of my life, and I say that as someone who has faced a tumultuous adolescence and the consequences of impulsive decisions. Yet, none of those experiences compare to the transformative challenges of motherhood.
Perhaps I clung too tightly to the hope that having a second child wouldn’t be as life-altering as it is. But it has been—in every conceivable way. My first child knocked me down hard, but I eventually rose, stronger and wiser. After my daughter’s sudden, overwhelming entrance into the world, I felt like I was finally getting the hang of things.
In the whirlwind of that first year, I lost friends, wrestled with anxiety after my daughter faced health challenges, and ultimately came out on the other side. By the time she turned one, I was thriving, balancing work, sleep, and family life. I felt like I had transformed my life for the better.
Fast forward to a year into having my second child, and the chaos feels similar to those early days with my first. I keep waiting for a sense of calm, all the while knowing I shouldn’t. I’ve always told new parents not to wait for life to slow down; instead, they should embrace the chaos and learn a new normal.
Yet, these days, embracing the chaos is challenging when I’m constantly on the go. I struggle to let go when doing so feels like inviting disaster. If I pause for even a moment, it leads to tantrums or meltdowns, and I must quickly gather my patience to return to neutral. So, I keep moving, holding everything together, even if it means I end up crumbling under the pressure.
Being an overwhelmed mother was never part of my vision. I had imagined our family of four—Jake and I playing music on the porch while the kids frolicked. Sure, I might not have been back to my pre-pregnancy weight, but I pictured myself healthy and balanced.
The reality is quite different. My baby has been crawling for months now, and my guitar sits neglected, its strings desolate. The image in my mind didn’t account for my spirited five-year-old dropping the baby instead of gently kissing him or the endless evening whining that stretches from 4:30 p.m. until bedtime. It also didn’t show me possibly gaining weight since giving birth.
The vision wasn’t entirely false—it exists, albeit in fleeting moments rather than a steady glow. I don’t expect motherhood to be easy, and it often isn’t, but I long for the ability to breathe without the weight of always being someone’s support. Nevertheless, I am deeply invested in every aspect of my motherhood journey, which often leaves little room for personal freedom.
At times, I wish I weren’t so entrenched. I find myself envious of Jake, who sleeps peacefully in a hotel room without a squirming child wrapped around him. Yet, even on my worst days, I remain profoundly grateful for my children. This gratitude only amplifies the guilt I feel when I feel like I’m failing them.
I’m far from a perfect mother—flaws define me more than I ever anticipated. I envisioned being stronger, yet I’m discovering my strength in different ways. The greatest lesson I’m learning in motherhood is to embrace my imperfections—my anxiety, my fears—and to teach my children how to navigate failure and growth.
Despite my constant struggles, I will never give up on being a mother. My experience is uniquely mine, may not always be beautiful, but I own every moment of it. In my heart, I remain hopeful.
I’m beginning to understand that motherhood doesn’t have a one-size-fits-all look. It’s often messy and beautiful, sometimes in the same breath. For me, parenthood might never resemble bliss. But it will be real, it will be my journey, and in the end, I will emerge better for it.
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Summary:
Navigating motherhood can be overwhelming, especially with two young children. The reality often falls short of the idealized vision many parents have. This piece reflects on the struggles and joys of parenthood in a candid manner, exploring themes of personal growth, resilience, and the unique challenges that come with raising kids.