I always wanted to be a mom. Heck, I think I played babies and house until I was a tween.
After that it was babysitting. And then working with kids in college.
Thankfully, I was blessed with three beautiful boys.
They are loud, wild, healthy, and each perfectly exhausting in his own way.
I am the lucky one. I know that. But three kids is a lot. Working, running a house, a baby, breastfeeding, cooking, cleaning, and so on.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love being a mom. I absolutely love it.
And I know I am in the thick of it. It’s just that time of my life.
Some days, I even want more kids. Three just isn’t enough. Then I tell myself I’m crazy.
I have devoted my life to them, my husband, and our home.
And again, most days, I am happy to do it.
But some days, some weeks, I don’t feel that way.
I feel like I have lost myself along the way.
I’m 36 and I’m having a serious case of lost identity. Or maybe it’s a midlife crisis. Or a little postpartum depression. Or maybe I’m just tired, overweight and mentally drained.
Who knows which one.
I look in the mirror and I hardly recognize myself anymore.
It’s not that I necessary look old. It’s that I look like someone I don’t even recognize. I look tired. I look like I’ve let myself go. I look angry. I look really rushed.
Rushed to shower. Rushed to eat. Rushed at stoplights. Rushed to get dinner on the table.
And that can’t possibly be me. I’m the happy one. The positive one. I always smile.
But lately, I feel almost empty.
I feel like I wasted my education.
I feel like a housekeeper, a cook, a chauffeur, and a ring leader.
I feel like I’m disappearing into nothing.
Some days I am shocked at what upsets me.
I didn’t know I could be jealous of my husband for getting to poop alone. He’ll be in the bathroom, on his phone, and I’ll be angry.
I’ll yell for him to hurry up as one kid is crying, the other one needs to be fed, and the phone is ringing.
The other day, my husband and I drew straws to determine who got to go upstairs and change the pee sheets. Because it meant five minutes alone. I lost.
That’s what it’s come to.
I didn’t know that I could consider a shower a luxury either. Or not have time to do it. It blows my mind.
I am a very capable woman and I can’t find time to shower. I laugh even as I type it.
But with a baby, a very socially active 6-year-old, and a severely autistic child, showers have to be before 5 a.m. or after 10 p.m. And by that point, this mama is exhausted.
I used to care about how I looked. Like really care. I ate well. I exercised. I showered. I put makeup on. I’d peek at hashtags on Instagram like “outfits for summer” and pin cute outfits.
Now, I wear hoodies. Dirty ones. Grey t-shirts.
I grab my clothes off of the floor every morning.
And the sad part is I almost don’t care. I’m too tired to care. There are so many more important things to do than look cute. Like sleep. Or get my job done. Or go to Sawyer’s baseball game.
But then, I see myself and feel sad.
I feel like I’ve lost myself. Almost entirely.
I have no hobbies. I have no time to do anything. I just care for kids. For my home. I keep the ship going.
I watch TV shows in 15-minute increments. I stare at my phone for entertainment. I answer text messages three days late.
I’m nonstop busy and yet bored at the same time. It’s a bizarre way to feel.
I don’t know how to fix this funk I’m in. But I’m working on it.
I just want to stand still. I want to sit. I want to walk. I want to remember who I am. And what I like to do.
I want to slow down so I can enjoy this. Because I don’t want to miss it. I don’t want to resent it. I don’t want to be angry.
What I’ve learned is that there is only so much of me. And I need to find balance.
This post originally appeared on the author’s blog
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