“I really just want to TAKE A SHOWER,” the voice in my mind erupts. All I crave is a moment to wash off the day, to pee in peace, and to tackle laundry without someone clinging to me. Wait. No. I DON’T want to fold laundry. When did my daily struggles become so monotonous that my ability to fold laundry has become the measure of my worth? Ugh. That inner voice is relentless. Chaotic. It feels foreign. Yet, it’s undeniably me. It’s my hidden mom voice, echoing in my thoughts during my lowest moments. Days when my preschooler is in full rebellion mode, when the baby is teething, and when deadlines and dinnertime loom like dark clouds. And in those moments, escaping that mental space feels nearly impossible.
As I stroll through the kitchen, my partner glances at me, surprised. “Are you crying?” Silence. Finally, I respond, “No.” I’m lying. Tears have been flowing, but I struggle to find the words, especially with the kids watching. So, I say no. The day continues. I collect myself, or at least I think I do, but my façade is as clear as a plastic sippy cup. “What’s wrong?” he asks gently. I can’t hold back. I don’t want to anymore. I let it all spill out, even as fatigue has drained me. I don’t recall my exact words, but it was something along these lines:
“It’s so overwhelming. We used to have this vibrant life. I used to socialize, dress up, and enjoy long conversations over drinks. I had stories to share. We spent weekends hiking and dancing to your music. Our lives were filled with friends. I showered regularly. Our home was tidy. I had energy.” I’m left questioning who I am at this moment. The house we bought with such anticipation has shrunk to fit my existence. I live here. I work here. I parent here. Everything happens within these walls. Venturing out feels daunting. There are naps, breastfeeding, and tantrums, so what’s the point of leaving? Get out and do what? Become that mom wandering through Target, with spit-up as my outfit, dry shampoo as a sign of missed showers, and chipped nails as a reminder of my former self?
My world has become so small that I can’t even justify a trip to Target, and I’m utterly spent. This isn’t the life I envisioned, and I fear losing my sanity if this continues. We’re outside, tending to chores while the kids nap. The ambient sounds of the ocean from our son’s noise machine fill the air, but it’s become another background hum. I’m having a complete meltdown in the driveway. Neighbors glance over as I cry into my partner’s embrace. “What can I do?” he asks softly. His gentle tone brings comfort and confusion. Better because I feel less alone; worse because it highlights that he’s just as uncertain about how to remedy this as I am. Neither of us is accustomed to dealing with unsolvable issues related to my well-being.
I retreat inside, grab my laptop, and start to write. Writing has always been my refuge when I feel lost. Months have passed since that incident, and I’ve learned this: the only escape is through the storm. Motherhood is draining. Parenthood is tough. The toddler years can be baffling. Let’s not sugarcoat it. Yet, perhaps there’s a certain beauty in the breakdown. At its core, that breakdown was about recognizing the powerlessness I felt—the isolation, the loss of identity, and the heavy burden of caring for small beings. When you bring those feelings to light, you realize that they are common themes in motherhood. And if it’s a theme, it suggests that you are not alone. In a time when challenges seem endless, it’s a rallying cry to rise up.
I wish I could say I turned a corner immediately, but I spent the next hour crying and writing while battling that relentless inner critic. Then, I took a step outside. I treated myself to coffee and a book, wandering aimlessly around Barnes & Noble, enjoying my solitude. That day marked a pivotal moment. I couldn’t navigate the depths of my breakdown without deep reflection and change. “What’s next?” I questioned repeatedly. Is this the way it’s going to be, or will I take action? My answer was clear: I refuse to wallow in my despair, wrapping it around me until it feels like my new normal. There’s always something to be done—this is both the dilemma and the solution. As a mother, wife, homeowner, and self-employed woman, my to-do list will never be fully crossed off.
There’s always something to be done. And always something to do to care for myself. I had to embrace both aspects of that realization and learn valuable lessons. Being a mother doesn’t equate to a series of picture-perfect moments. I balance the roles of working mom and stay-at-home mom. Neither is glamorous or “easier.” Both roles are filled with guilt, uncertainty, fear, and yes, laundry. Instead of stressing over the laundry pile, I needed to reassess the expectations I placed on myself. Where did my needs fit into that endless to-do list? I can’t rely on others to provide for my needs; I must voice them, claim them, and not feel guilty about doing so. I have to be kinder to myself.
It might sound simple, but it’s been a journey of letting go and reassessing priorities. My children are young, and I have many more years of this balancing act ahead of me. If I lose myself now, what becomes of me when they grow up and leave? I don’t want to find out the answer to that. I can’t say I have it all figured out. I can’t claim that motherhood will ever be easy. But when I asked myself, “What’s next?” I discovered my inner strength. I regained my sanity. I quieted that harsh inner voice and stopped resisting the delightful chaos of motherhood. Whenever I feel myself slipping away from this lesson, I return to that original question: What’s next, Mama? One truth remains—there’s always something to do.
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Summary:
This reflection explores the challenges of motherhood, emphasizing the importance of acknowledging one’s breakdowns as a path to resilience. By embracing vulnerability and seeking support, mothers can reclaim their identities and navigate the complexities of parenting with renewed strength.
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