One of the most unexpected things about motherhood, for me, has been just how lonely it can seem. 
 
Sitting with a baby at my breast, rocking her in the stillness of the night? Lonely. 
 
Fixing sandwiches at lunchtime, one no crust, one cut into triangles, one absolutely certain to be left untouched? Lonely. 
 
Sorting laundry into four endless piles—colors, whites, darks, delicates—while baskets of folded, already-washed-but-rarely-put-away clothes and socks mock me from the perimeter? Lonely. 
 
Rubbing elbows with my husband as we do the long-ago-memorized dance of loading the dishwasher, wiping faces and bottoms, brokering peace between siblings, sinking into the couch exhausted at the end of another day? Lonely. 
 
Organizing, executing, and documenting activities, birthday parties, Christmases, gatherings? Lonely. 
 
Motherhood can be incredibly lonely
 
But where is it written that admitting we feel lonely sometimes means we are unhappy? 
 
Newsflash: the two don’t have to go hand-in-hand. 
 
Saying I feel lonely doesn’t mean I’m broken. 
 
Saying I’m lonely doesn’t mean I’m a terrible mother.
 
Saying I’m lonely doesn’t mean I’m a horrible wife or a lousy friend. 
 
It means I’m human. It means I’m probably just like you. 
 
You know what’s even more lonely than feeling lonely? Being afraid to admit it, even to yourself. That’s the loneliest kind of lonely there is. 
 
Because something else I’ve learned about motherhood is we constantly place these outrageously high expectations on ourselves to be all things to all people. Somehow, we’ve come to believe everyone else is doing it all as easily as breathing, so if we find ourselves feeling like we’re gasping for air, we have to fake it. 
 
We’re supposed to keep a tidy house, because how hard can that be? 
 
We’re supposed to find time for date-nights on the regular, space for romance and connection with our spouses because how hard can that be? 
 
We’re supposed to get the kids to school, practice, bed on time, because how hard can that be? 
 
We’re supposed to practice self-care (whatever that means) because how hard can that be? 
 
We’re supposed to giggle with girlfriends while we sip wine and bond because how hard can that be?
 
We’re supposed to do it all because one scroll through Facebook or Instagram tells me everyone else is doing it all—how hard can it be? 
 
Guess what? It’s impossibly hard. And no one else is doing it effortlessly.
 
I have hurried conversations with friends about it sometimes—friends who nervously admit, sometimes only with their eyes, that yeah, they’re a little bit lonely, too. 
 
“We’re so busy,” one of us will say to the other while our kids run amok in the periphery. What we really mean, what that’s code for in mom-speak, is, “I’m lonely.” 
 
But we’re afraid. We’re afraid if we say it, we’ll be judged. Labeled as unhappy, maybe even depressed. Not enough. 
 
Well, lean in close, my friend, because here’s the important part: you’re allowed to be lonely and happy at the same time. 
 
You’re allowed to grab quick moments with your girlfriends in the aisles of Target and call it bonding, let it buoy your worn out spirits for days, maybe weeks. 
 
You’re allowed to pop in headphones while the kids eat Cheetos on the couch and call it self-care, feel recharged and recentered. 
 
You’re allowed to let everyone sleep in some mornings because you just can’t face the morning hustle quite yet. 
 
You’re allowed to sit on opposite ends of the couch from your husband, absorbed in This Is Us while he scrolls through ESPN on his phone and not worry romance is dead. 
 
You’re allowed to let the mess wait until tomorrow, call in reinforcements to help you manage it if suits you, and call it a success. 
 
Motherhood is busy and crazy and overwhelming and so much
 
Yes, it can be lonely. 
Yes, it can still be happy. 
 
For me, knowing that—granting myself permission to live confidently and openly in the balance—gives this mother a whole lot more unexpected peace. 
 
lean in close, my friend, because here’s the important part: you’re allowed to be lonely and happy at the same time. 

Carolyn Moore

Carolyn has served as Editor-in-Chief of Her View From Home since 2017. A long time ago, she worked in local TV news and fell in love with telling stories—something she feels grateful to help women do every day at HVFH. She lives in flyover country with her husband and five kids but is really meant to be by the ocean with a good book and a McDonald's fountain Coke. 

I Thought Our Friendship Would Be Unbreakable

In: Friendship, Journal, Relationships
Two friends selfie

The message notification pinged on my phone. A woman, once one of my best friends, was reaching out to me via Facebook. Her message simply read, “Wanted to catch up and see how life was treating you!”  I had very conflicting feelings. It seemed with that one single message, a flood of memories surfaced. Some held some great moments and laughter. Other memories held disappointment and hurt of a friendship that simply had run its course. Out of morbid curiosity, I clicked on her profile page to see how the years had been treating her. She was divorced and still...

Keep Reading

The First 10 Years: How Two Broken People Kept Their Marriage from Breaking

In: Journal, Marriage, Relationships
The First Ten Years: How Two Broken People Kept Their Marriage from Breaking www.herviewfromhome.com

We met online in October of 2005, by way of a spam email ad I was THIS CLOSE to marking as trash. Meet Single Christians! My cheese alert siren sounded loudly, but for some reason, I unchecked the delete box and clicked through to the site. We met face-to-face that Thanksgiving. As I awaited your arrival in my mother’s kitchen, my dad whispered to my little brother, “Hide your valuables. Stacy has some guy she met online coming for Thanksgiving dinner.” We embraced for the first time in my parents’ driveway. I was wearing my black cashmere sweater with the...

Keep Reading

To The Mother Who Is Overwhelmed

In: Inspiration, Motherhood
Tired woman with coffee sitting at table

I have this one head. It is a normal sized head. It didn’t get bigger because I had children. Just like I didn’t grow an extra arm with the birth of each child. I mean, while that would be nice, it’s just not the case. We keep our one self. And the children we add on each add on to our weight in this life. And the head didn’t grow more heads because we become a wife to someone. Or a boss to someone. We carry the weight of motherhood. The decisions we must make each day—fight the shorts battle...

Keep Reading

You’re a Little Less Baby Today Than Yesterday

In: Journal, Motherhood
Toddler sleeping in mother's arms

Tiny sparkles are nestled in the wispy hair falling across her brow, shaken free of the princess costume she pulled over her head this morning. She’s swathed in pink: a satiny pink dress-up bodice, a fluffy, pink, slightly-less-glittery-than-it-was-two-hours-ago tulle skirt, a worn, soft pink baby blanket. She’s slowed long enough to crawl into my lap, blinking heavy eyelids. She’s a little less baby today than she was only yesterday.  Soon, she’ll be too big, too busy for my arms.  But today, I’m rocking a princess. The early years will be filled with exploration and adventure. She’ll climb atop counters and...

Keep Reading

Dear Husband, I Loved You First

In: Marriage, Motherhood, Relationships
Man and woman kissing in love

Dear husband, I loved you first. But often, you get the last of me. I remember you picking me up for our first date. I spent a whole hour getting ready for you. Making sure every hair was in place and my make-up was perfect. When you see me now at the end of the day, the make-up that is left on my face is smeared. My hair is more than likely in a ponytail or some rat’s nest on the top of my head. And my outfit, 100% has someone’s bodily fluids smeared somewhere. But there were days when...

Keep Reading

Stop Being a Butthole Wife

In: Grief, Journal, Marriage, Relationships
Man and woman sit on the end of a dock with arms around each other

Stop being a butthole wife. No, I’m serious. End it.  Let’s start with the laundry angst. I get it, the guy can’t find the hamper. It’s maddening. It’s insanity. Why, why, must he leave piles of clothes scattered, the same way that the toddler does, right? I mean, grow up and help out around here, man. There is no laundry fairy. What if that pile of laundry is a gift in disguise from a God you can’t (yet) see? Don’t roll your eyes, hear me out on this one. I was a butthole wife. Until my husband died. The day...

Keep Reading

I Can’t Be Everyone’s Chick-fil-A Sauce

In: Friendship, Journal, Living, Relationships
woman smiling in the sun

A couple of friends and I went and grabbed lunch at Chick-fil-A a couple of weeks ago. It was delightful. We spent roughly $20 apiece, and our kids ran in and out of the play area barefoot and stinky and begged us for ice cream, to which we responded, “Not until you finish your nuggets,” to which they responded with a whine, and then ran off again like a bolt of crazy energy. One friend had to climb into the play tubes a few times to save her 22-month-old, but it was still worth every penny. Every. Single. One. Even...

Keep Reading

Love Notes From My Mother in Heaven

In: Faith, Grief, Journal, Living
Woman smelling bunch of flowers

Twelve years have passed since my mother exclaimed, “I’ve died and gone to Heaven!” as she leaned back in her big donut-shaped tube and splashed her toes, enjoying the serenity of the river.  Twelve years since I stood on the shore of that same river, 45 minutes later, watching to see if the hopeful EMT would be able to revive my mother as she floated toward his outstretched hands. Twelve years ago, I stood alone in my bedroom, weak and trembling, as I opened my mother’s Bible and all the little keepsakes she’d stowed inside tumbled to the floor.  It...

Keep Reading

Sometimes Friendships End, No Matter How Hard You Try

In: Friendship, Journal, Relationships
Sad woman alone without a friend

I tried. We say these words for two reasons. One: for our own justification that we made an effort to complete a task; and two: to admit that we fell short of that task. I wrote those words in an e-mail tonight to a friend I had for nearly 25 years after not speaking to her for eight months. It was the third e-mail I’ve sent over the past few weeks to try to reconcile with a woman who was more of a sister to me at some points than my own biological sister was. It’s sad when we drift...

Keep Reading

Goodbye to the House That Built Me

In: Grown Children, Journal, Living, Relationships
Ranch style home as seen from the curb

In the winter of 1985, while I was halfway done growing in my mom’s belly, my parents moved into a little brown 3 bedroom/1.5 bath that was halfway between the school and the prison in which my dad worked as a corrections officer. I would be the first baby they brought home to their new house, joining my older sister. I’d take my first steps across the brown shag carpet that the previous owner had installed. The back bedroom was mine, and mom plastered Smurf-themed wallpaper on the accent wall to try to get me to sleep in there every...

Keep Reading