The house is eerily silent, perhaps too silent. All my little ones are fast asleep, and I feel utterly drained—so fatigued that the weariness seems to seep into my very bones.
I wish I could just crawl into bed, pull the covers over me, and fall into a deep, peaceful slumber, just like in the good old days. But there’s a barrier: my mind. It simply won’t turn off. If only I could quiet it down just a little, maybe that would be enough to help me drift off, but not tonight. Or most nights, for that matter.
After my daughter was born, I recall seeing a commercial that sparked a twinge of envy. It featured a couple peacefully asleep in a tangle of sheets, with a tagline like, “Sleep like you did before kids.” I remember thinking how much I longed for that—missing that deep, restful sleep more than anything else.
Fast forward 14 years, and I still yearn for the well-rested, easygoing person I used to be before parenting took over. The worries don’t vanish as kids grow; they only evolve. It’s an ongoing burden, the feeling of carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.
I’m trying to accept this new normal, but good grief, I’m exhausted.
I’ve attempted counting my blessings and practicing meditation. While both foster a sense of gratitude, neither helps me feel drowsy. My thoughts bounce back like a rubber ball, and soon I’m lost in a whirlwind of worries and mental checklists.
Chamomile tea? That was short-lived—every sip had me running to the restroom all night! As for reading, it’s soothing until my anxiety decides to rear its ugly head right when I think I can finally close the book and drift off.
I find myself fretting about my son: He’s been unusually quiet lately. Is he spending too much time with his girlfriend? Is he eating enough? Are they being intimate? When was the last time I had a heart-to-heart with him about boundaries and respect? Was it last month? No, just two weeks ago, I think. Today is the 10th; I could check the calendar in the morning. Nah, I’ll just talk to him tomorrow. Should I wake him now? What if I forget? Does he know how much I love him? I hope he does.
Then there’s my daughter and her never-ending friendship dramas. There’s always something brewing. Suddenly, I’m furious at one of her friends whom I’ve never even met, all because she upset my sweet, sensitive girl days ago. I remind myself to stay out of it—I’ll check in on her tomorrow.
Do they have everything they need for school? I feel guilty for opting for the cheaper lunchboxes instead of the ones they wanted. Yet I did splurge on those fancy sneakers, so they should appreciate that. Am I spoiling them? Are they ungrateful? Maybe I need to be stricter with boundaries, but then again, I could afford to ease up a little.
Next, I start berating myself for not giving the dogs enough attention. They deserve love too, and I’m always rushing around, so they probably feel neglected. Great.
I let my kids spend too much time on their devices. And I’m the “mean mom” for saying no to most sleepovers since I don’t know the parents well, plus I make them do chores. Am I assigning too many chores? Should I just lighten up on sleepovers?
I feel terrible for not replying to a friend’s text about lunch; she’s probably fed up with me and will write me off. Then, I feel a jolt of panic at the sensation on my forehead. Is that a spider? No, just a stray hair falling out because I’m aging faster than the news cycle. I really need to find a good shampoo for that. Tomorrow, I’ll make a note to research it.
Oh great, now I’m stressing about tomorrow. It’s almost 11 PM. If I could just fall asleep now, I might get a solid seven hours. But sleep eludes me. Instead, I’ll stew in my worries for a few more hours and then drag myself out of bed in the morning.
And so it continues. Night brings on an avalanche of worries that seem to come rushing in the dark when we’re left alone with our thoughts. It’s as if we’ve been conditioned to expect the worst when there’s no one else around to talk things through. Does reason just vanish after 10 PM?
I really don’t know what happens to a mom’s brain at night. Perhaps they’re trying to catch up after being on autopilot all day. When we finally have the chance to unwind, we’ve forgotten how to do so, and instead, we conjure up a million worst-case scenarios in our minds until our bodies refuse rest because our minds are too restless.
The more we worry, the less we sleep. The less we sleep, the more exhausted we become, leading to even more worries. It’s a relentless cycle that seems to come with the territory of motherhood.
I wish I had a magic solution. I wish I could tell you how to silence the monsters in your mind that love to party all night long, but honestly, I’m still figuring that out myself.
What I do know, however, is that my kids are worth every sleepless night and every worry that crosses my mind. Yours are too. The fact that you care so much about those you love is a testament to your goodness as a parent. So, the next time you find yourself wide awake, fretting over bills or whether your kids are eating enough veggies, remind yourself that you’re enough. Cut yourself some slack.
Then close your eyes and tell yourself that all your worries can wait for tomorrow night. After all, we both know they will.
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Summary
Parenting often comes with sleepless nights filled with worries, from children’s well-being to personal anxieties. While the cycle of stress and fatigue can feel relentless, it’s essential to acknowledge the care you have for your children as a sign of good parenting. Instead of letting worries consume you, remind yourself that you are enough, and give yourself permission to rest.
Keyphrase: sleepless nights in parenting
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