This morning, I felt the urge to hide beneath my blankets, wanting nothing more than to wallow in self-pity. I was on the brink of tears; it felt like a wave could crash at any moment.
Then the alarm rang. I wanted to ignore it, to pretend I was still sleeping. But I couldn’t. The kids needed to get ready for school, and the little ones needed breakfast. So, taking a deep breath, I threw the covers aside, my feet hitting the floor with all the grace of a stampede. My body ached, and stress surged through me like a jolt of electricity. “Shake it off,” I reminded myself. “Just breathe.”
I woke the girls with a gentle tickle on their feet and scooped up the babies from their cribs, inhaling that delightful baby scent. I hugged my 3-year-old tightly, showering him with kisses. I felt like a decent mother today, hiding my struggles from them. Yet, tears still threatened to spill. During nap time, I slipped away to my room and cried.
I cried for my ailing parents, helpless to ease their suffering. My dad’s Alzheimer’s is worsening, and my mom, in pain, longs to play with her grandkids, but her body won’t cooperate. I see them as the strong figures who raised me, masking their own pain in the process. Time, however, is unrelenting, stealing moments that I can never get back. My heart aches daily, and while my depression may have brushed against me today, I managed to conceal it well.
I cried because of the relentless guilt that comes with motherhood. The nagging question of whether I’m doing enough for my kids torments me. Are they truly happy? I know they are, yet I can’t shake the feeling that I’m failing them. I’m often too hard on myself, which only adds to my tears.
I cried because I felt lost, having sacrificed so much of my own identity that I hardly recognize myself anymore. My children won’t have much to be proud of when they think of me, just “Mom.” What will I do when they no longer need me? I grapple with feelings of inadequacy.
I hesitate to share these feelings, fearing people might think I am ungrateful for my children. Yet, I wouldn’t change a thing. If I could go back, I’d choose this life again without hesitation.
My mind races, filled with thoughts that spiral out of control, like a balloon ready to burst. My heart aches because parenting is incredibly challenging, even without the weight of external sadness. But my struggles are not theirs to bear; they deserve to feel nothing but love.
Yet, that love can feel overwhelming. I’m constantly amazed at how deeply I care for my children. They are remarkable beings, even on those long days when I feel like I’m losing my mind and find myself screaming “Go to bed!” or “Stop talking!” repeatedly. But when the house quiets down, I watch them sleep, their peaceful faces filling me with love. “I’m sorry I lost it,” I whisper. Will they hold it against me tomorrow? No, they’ll wake up, smile, and love me just the same.
Despite my flaws and confusion, they adore me. Their innocence pushes me to be better, to shield them from the world’s harsh realities. Their happiness is intertwined with mine; I have to find joy for them to thrive.
I feel torn between the young and the old, those who need me and those who want me. The days feel too short, and I wish I could be everything to everyone. But I am grateful to be trusted and needed. My tears are bittersweet reminders of this beautiful chaos.
So today was a pretty good day. Sure, I cried, but through those tears, I breathed. Amid the anxiety, I breathed. With every hug and every shout, I breathed.
And you know what? It’s perfectly fine if all I did today was breathe.
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Summary
This reflective piece delves into the emotional complexities of motherhood, highlighting the struggles of balancing personal pain and parental responsibilities. The author shares intimate moments of vulnerability, expressing the bittersweet nature of love and the challenges that accompany it. Ultimately, the message resonates with the idea that simply breathing through the chaos can be enough.