To the Exhausted Mom

I see you listening to the tales of your kid’s day, trying to remember which of their friends is Bianca and which is Bailey. 

I see you driving from the school drop-off to the pick-up, then to the grocery store and to weekend activities. 

I see you planning trips and family outings to create memories and special moments only to have someone vomit in the car and the other watch YouTube on their tablet the whole time you are there. 

I see that coffee in your hand, and there is zero judgment knowing that it is your fifth and it’s only 9 a.m. (There’s also no judgment for the two cups of cold coffee sitting on your desk from yesterday, either.) 

I see you bouncing your baby on the Zoom call and trying to keep the screen of your laptop open as your two-year-old plays the fun game of “Shut the Computer” (or is that just my two-year-old?). 

I see the half-eaten lunch, the cookie snacks and the unopened fat-free yogurt in the fridge. 

I see the yoga mat you pulled out this morning with great intention, but your baby is now using it instead for crawling practice. 

I see your calendar––it’s booked. You haven’t seen your friends in… who knows when? I get it. 

I see your message notifications on your phone–– only 14 unread texts? Way to go! 

I see you pour out for everyone around you with full commitment and love. 

I see your desire to be the best you can be in every space and setting you’re in. 

I see you. 

I am you. 

And, yes, I’m exhausted, too. 

Some days are filled with more joy than others. Some days you’re just making it through to bedtime. But every day is worth it. I see you, mama, and you got this. 

I doubt there isn’t a mom in this world who doesn’t feel exhausted. Just the sheer weight of emotions we feel daily––the joy, the love, the frustration, all of it––is exhausting. Having to switch brain functions from a professional work setting to gibberish translator. Being the calm in the storm, the leader of the pack, the rock that is the foundation for all your family’s needs. Watching these little humans that are a part of your very being out in the world is the most EXHAUSTING thing in the world. 

Motherhood in all its glory is really just a constant series of juxtapositions (which in itself is an exhausting series of whiplash moments.) It’s the relief when they finally fall asleep yet inexplicably missing them throughout the night. The desire to see them grow into strong, independent people, and the sadness when they leave the nest becoming exactly that. It’s craving the flexibility you had pre-kids yet never wanting to know life without them. The need for just a moment to yourself but not wanting to miss a moment without them. There’s the pull to get stuff done, and the tug to sit on the couch getting in as many snuggles and tickles and kisses as possible. There are also the times you are yelling at them to be calm and realizing you need to take your own advice. It’s feeling exhausted and depleted and yet overflowing with love. 

When I first had my twins, I read an article where these words stood out and have stuck with me ever since: 

“Because to be a mother is precisely this paradox: the power of a perfect storm that could tower the sea and flatten a city, and yet the softest space in one’s own soul, the aching vulnerability of a heart cracked wide open, bleeding tenderness like the falling colours of a rainbow.” 

I had only been a mother for three weeks at this point, but I felt every word of this. My heart had been cracked open, pouring out in a constant stream with no hope of ever being put back together. And yet this fierce resilience and lion strength had already overcome me, only becoming stronger by the day, giving me the knowledge that things I thought were humanly impossible before were not impossible for a mother. The aching vulnerability and the strength of a hurricane, swirling around inside of me fighting for space and dominance–– the ultimate juxtaposition.

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