I remember reading an article early on in my parenting about a mom who asked for a night in a hotel for Mother’s Day. I also remember my reaction to that article and that request. I thought it was strange, to put it kindly. I waited my whole life to be a mom, I loved being a mom and I couldn’t imagine requesting to not only have a specific planned time away from my child, but on Mother’s Day of all times! I’m not proud to admit it, but I definitely judged the mom featured in the article.
Cut to me, sitting in a hotel room writing this, a number of years later. It’s not Mother’s Day, but a random Tuesday where I have chosen to take time for me. It still even makes me uncomfortable to say out loud and the fear of being judged is there too. What I needed to learn was that while I haven’t ever felt like I lost myself in parenting, I have lost something. My ability to take care of myself. I published a whole piece once about how I actually found myself in motherhood, but it doesn’t mean I don’t need to replenish in order to function at my best. My best as a mom, a wife, a daughter, a sister, and a friend.
So, real talk coming in here- the last month or so was hard. My mental health was not okay. On top of being bipolar and suffering from often crippling anxiety, I began feeling like I was drowning. I began seeing a version of myself that disappointed me, made me feel weak, and honestly, scared me. I am a good mom. Like, a really good one. But I wasn’t seeing that mom in myself. I enjoy exploring outdoors with my kids, doing projects and crafts, reading hundreds of books, answering the why’s and working together to find the answers to the ones I don’t know. I enjoy the parts of motherhood some find mundane, like packing lunches and sudsing up a mini human’s little blonde head. I love the hard parts of parenting because they challenge me and make me better. But recently, I got lost. The projects and crafts were more of a chore, I would set them up to paint or play with clay solely so I could sit on the couch and do nothing. I’d read books but wasn’t feeling the joy of watching their eyes light up with wonderment at each page. The questions became incessant and annoying rather than the usual awesome opportunity to learn together. Packing lunches and other mom duties I’ve grown to love became endless chores I slugged my way through.
And on top of all of those changes, I found my patience thin and my monster coming out far more often than I care to admit. I would yell, snap and scream at things I would normally be able to either handle calmly or walk away from to catch my breath for a minute. I worked hard in the early years of toddlerhood, then mother of two-hood to research the psychology of children, the psychology of positive parenting. I was good at it. But recently? I lost all those tools and succumbed to yelling, threatening and not so positive behaviors. I don’t mean I was like this ALL the time. I just found my reactions were bigger and angrier than usual more than I would have liked. But that means all my kids saw was inconsistency. Mommy was kind, gentle and helpful when I spilled something this morning, and now she is freaking out and yelling when I spilled something tonight.
I saw it in their reactions. When one would have some sort of accident; spill something, break something, get paint on something, etc., they’d immediately say “sorry mommy! I’m sorry! It was an accident!” and my heart would crumble because I knew what was making them react like that.
My normal response to those types of situations? “That’s okay, what can we do to fix it?” Get a paper towel, a wipe, some glue or tape, etc. then we fix the problem together. But the inconsistency in my parenting was not just killing me, it was hurting and confusing them. Am I a perfect positive parent at all times normally? No. Gosh, no. But my reactions and general attitude sucked for a bit recently. Sucked bad. And it’s because I was burnt out. I am a stay at home and homeschooling mom. I do everything with and for my kids. And I love that I am able to live life like this. I get to watch them learn and grow and communicate, make mistakes, and navigate their way through life. I am here for it all. And happy to be so. But it also means that I lost myself in giving. Physically and emotionally completely depleted and drained. Drained and numb. My inconsistency and terrible attitude, quick temper, irritability, all came from being empty. So empty I felt like I was a shell of the person I know myself to be.
So, here I am in a hotel. By myself. Filling back up so I can get back to the version of me I love. The mom who is caring, understanding, open and healthy. The friend who is there when you need her, the wife who doesn’t walk past her husband without pausing for a kiss because her mind is reeling with the thousand things she needs to get done. I know I bring a lot of my stress on myself. I want my kids to have the best, I want to be there for them, I want to provide opportunities for them to thrive. I am in constant GO mode. I’m currently working on how to ensure I don’t fall below empty again. I need to rely on others and not feel like I am putting someone out, I need to accept help when it’s offered and I need to stop feeling selfish or guilty for taking time for myself. I’m journaling again, I’m setting healthy boundaries for myself and I am working on being more mindful of how I’m feeling so I don’t get to a place where I just want to sit on the couch and scroll mindlessly on my phone just to go blank for a few minutes.
I am a work in progress and it shows by the fact that I am sitting here writing this on a trip away from my family just for me when I hardcore judged that mom in the article years ago for doing the same thing. And I am sending an apology to that mom for being a judgy jerk and doubting her choices. Good for her for knowing what she needs, acknowledging her feelings and making time to take care of herself. Now it’s my turn.
