“I just want to take a shower,” the voice in my head screams. “I simply want to enjoy a moment of solitude to shower, use the bathroom alone, and fold laundry without someone clinging to me.” Wait. No. I definitely do NOT want to fold laundry. When did my life become so monotonous and insignificant that my capacity to fold laundry became the measure of my worth? Ugh.
That voice. It can be fierce, out of control. It’s not even really me… except that it is. It’s my hidden mom voice, echoing in my mind during my toughest moments. Days when my toddler is obstinate, the baby is experiencing teething pains, and looming deadlines feel overwhelming.
When I spiral into this mindset, escaping it feels nearly impossible. As I walk through the kitchen, my partner does a double take: “Are you crying?”
Silence. Then finally, I respond with a shaky, “No.” I’m lying, of course. Tears have been flowing, but articulating my feelings feels impossible, especially with the kids watching. So, I say nothing.
The day trudges on. I seem to recover, or at least pretend to, but I might as well be made of glass.
“What’s going on?” he asks gently.
I can’t hold it in any longer; I spill my truth, even though exhaustion has left me feeling hollow. I don’t recall my exact words, but it goes something like this:
“This is so hard. We used to have a vibrant life. I used to go out and socialize. I’d get dressed up, enjoy drinks with friends, and stay up late chatting. We hiked mountains together on weekends. I danced while you played in the band, surrounded by loved ones. I used to shower daily. Our home was tidy. I had energy.”
Right now, I’m unsure of who I am. The house we purchased with excitement has shrunk to the confines of my existence. I live, work, and parent all within these four walls. Getting out feels like a daunting task. Naptimes, breastfeeding, tantrums—why disrupt the routine for what? To be that mom in Target? The one sporting spit-up as a style statement, dry shampoo as a substitute for long-lost showers, and chipped nail polish as a reminder of the vibrant woman I once was?
My life has become so confined that even a trip to Target feels unjustifiable. I’m exhausted. This isn’t me, this isn’t what I envisioned, and I’ll lose my mind if I continue down this path.
As we tackle chores in the yard while the kids nap, I hear the calming sounds of the ocean from our son’s noise machine drifting through the monitor—the rhythm of waves has become my life’s background music. I barely notice it anymore until I’m hit with a complete breakdown in the driveway. Neighbors pass by as I sob into my partner’s arms.
“What do I do?” he asks softly.
His gentle tone brings me both comfort and sorrow. Comfort because it reassures me that I’m not as alone as I feel. Sorrow because it highlights that he’s just as lost on how to fix this as I am. We’re not accustomed to facing unsolvable problems.
I retreat inside, grab my laptop, and start to write. Writing has always been my go-to when I feel there are no answers.
Months have passed since that day, and I’ve learned this: The only way out is through. Motherhood is draining, having a newborn can be overwhelming, and the toddler years are perplexing. Let’s not sugarcoat it.
Yet, perhaps there is beauty in the breakdown. At its core, my breakdown reflected the powerlessness I felt—the isolation, the loss of my identity, and the immense responsibility of nurturing tiny humans. Bringing these feelings to light reveals that they are common threads in the tapestry of motherhood.
If it’s a theme, it means you’re not alone. At a moment when additional challenges seem unwelcome, it’s a call to rise.
I wish I could say I experienced an immediate transformation, but really, the next hour was filled with tears, writing, and battling that relentless mom voice. And then I left. I stepped out, treated myself to coffee and a book, and aimlessly wandered through Barnes & Noble—alone.
That day marked a turning point. I couldn’t escape the depths of my motherhood breakdown without significant reflection and change.
So now what? I kept asking myself. Is this how it’s going to be, or will I take action? My answer was clear: I refuse to wallow in despair, allowing it to become my second skin. There’s always something to be done — that’s both the challenge and the solution.
There will always be tasks to complete. The responsibilities I shoulder as a mother, partner, homeowner, and self-employed individual will never fully be done. There’s always something on the list.
You can always do something to help yourself—always. I needed to embrace both aspects of that statement and learn critical lessons. Being a mom doesn’t equate to a series of picture-perfect moments. I stand between the realms of a working mom and a stay-at-home mom. Neither side is glamorous or “easier.” Both are fraught with guilt, uncertainty, and plenty of laundry.
Instead of stressing over the towering laundry pile, I needed to reassess the weight of my expectations. And where had I positioned my own needs on that endless to-do list? I can’t expect anyone to meet my needs; I must ask for what I require, take it, and not feel guilty about it. I need to practice self-compassion.
This revelation sounds simple, yet it’s been a journey of letting go, compromising, and reevaluating. My children are small now, and many years of this balancing act lie ahead of me. I don’t want to answer the question of what happens to me when they grow up and leave.
I can’t claim to have it all figured out. I can’t promise that motherhood will become simple. However, when I asked myself, “What are you going to do now?” I discovered my strength. I regained my sanity. I silenced that mad mommy voice and stopped resisting the inevitable chaos of motherhood.
When I find myself drifting from the lessons I’ve learned, I return to the initial question: What now, Mama? One thing is certain—there’s always something to do.
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, Sarah Jensen candidly shares her experience of feeling overwhelmed in motherhood. She explores the struggles of identity lost amidst daily responsibilities and the breakdown that led to a turning point. Emphasizing the importance of acknowledging feelings and self-care, she encourages mothers to embrace both their challenges and their strength.