A Gift for Mom! 🤍

I notice the lump in my throat getting bigger and I feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest.

It seems as though the walls are caving in and I can’t find my way out.

It’s hard to breathe and I can feel my face start to flush.

Anxiety has a way of stopping me dead in my tracks.

Sometimes it creeps up slowly and I feel the internal struggle and the intense emotions it causes.

Fighting back the tears as my two young sons stare at me wide-eyed wondering if I’m OK.

RELATED: It’s OK To Admit You’re Not OK, Mama

And then there are days where it hits fast and with unbearable force.

The weight takes my breath away and I find myself running to the bathroom to catch my breath and splash cold water over my face.

These moments are getting more frequent and more intense as the days go by.

It’s hard to take care of yourself when you’re always taking care of everyone else.

And I’m struggling to find the balance between keeping it all together without falling apart and realizing when I need a break.

RELATED: Take That Break Before You Break, Mama

I’m really good at the “I’m OK” act and have been doing it for years.

Truth is my friends, anxiety is real.

It can be debilitating and life alternating if not controlled.

I am working hard to gain that control back.

I know this rollercoaster all too well and I will continue to fight for better days ahead.

Days with less anxiety and fear.

Days with less panic attacks and more time enjoying things I love.

Days with less tears and more laughter and smiles.

RELATED: Check On Your Strong Friend, She’s Faking It

Days filled with more time enjoying the little moments and less time worrying about things that are out of my control.

Life is too short to live with so much weight on our shoulders all the time.

Tonight, I’m throwing in the towel.

I’m praying and asking God to help me carry this weight.

And to give me the strength I need to take care of myself too.

This post originally appeared on Love Hope & Autism

 

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

Christina Abernethy

Christina is a dedicated wife, mother of three, and passionate advocate for people impacted by disabilities. She is committed to spreading a message of heightened awareness and acceptance of differences, ultimately inspiring hope. Christina enjoys connecting with others through her blog and Facebook page, Love Hope and Autism. She is also proud to be the coordinator for Changing Spaces Pennsylvania, a movement to build accessible restrooms with powered height adjustable adult-sized changing tables to promote inclusion. She is a two-time best selling co-author, most recently including You Are Not Alone: Stories, Resources and Hope from Autism Moms.

I Didn’t Know You Were My Last Baby When I Had You

In: Baby, Motherhood
Mother holding newborn baby, black and white image

I didn’t know at the time that my last baby would be my last. Those late nights with little sleep. The days that felt so long, yet so full all at the same time. The pain that came with trying to breastfeed and wanting so badly for it to work. Learning who was truly there for you in moments that felt lonely. I didn’t know my body would never feel those first flutters again—or experience the emotional joy of meeting your baby face to face after nine months of waiting. I think that’s why I want so badly to experience...

Keep Reading

The Invisible Pain after IVF Stops

In: Motherhood
Woman holding pregnancy test with head in hands

There is nothing “basic” about stopping IVF and returning to the so-called natural route. There is no guidebook for what comes next. The protocols and procedures that once dictated every step suddenly disappear. The appointments, alarms, and instructions are gone—but the emotions and unknowns remain. There is no protocol for going back to the basics. When we decided to stop IVF and try naturally, I wasn’t prepared for how difficult this next part of our journey would be. During IVF, everything had structure. There were calendars to follow, medications to take at exact times, appointments that filled the weeks. There...

Keep Reading

The Final Out

In: Motherhood
Baseball game as seen through the fence behind home plate

Tonight I watched him step up to the plate for the last time. Play-offs. Single elimination. Down by one. Last inning. Two outs. And the batting lineup just happened to fall to him. Nothing prepares you for that. He took a breath. The weight of an entire lifetime spent in red dirt hinging on this moment. He set his face like flint to that pitcher. The ball left the glove, and he swung. Strike one. He stepped away. Reset. Tapped the base. Then set himself once more. He swung, hit a line drive, and sprinted headlong towards the base, setting...

Keep Reading

These Holy Small Things

In: Faith, Motherhood
Children sewing at machine

My 8-year-old-daughter has recently taken up sewing, to my simultaneous delight and chagrin. My delight because I too love sewing; my chagrin because her enthusiasm often outpaces my own abilities, namely, in the undertaking of tedious projects with no pattern. Take, for example, the cloth doll diaper we designed and stitched up together. Granted, the design was fairly basic to draw up and scale. But the minuscule nature of the work, both for my hands and head, was enough to throw me into existential questioning. It was one of those moments when you wonder how the sum of your life...

Keep Reading

The Pressure to Do Everything “Right” Is Crushing Us

In: Motherhood
Tired and stressed mother sits in hallway with toddler across from her, black and white image

I don’t remember when motherhood started to feel like a test I didn’t study for—but somehow, I’m always convinced I’m failing it. It’s in the quiet moments. Standing in the grocery store aisle, overthinking every label—organic, non-GMO, dye-free, free-range, grass-fed—like I’m one bad decision away from ruining their future…while also trying not to take out a second mortgage just to afford my ever-rising grocery bill. Sitting on the couch, wondering if the show they’re watching or game they’re playing is rotting their brain. Lying in bed at night, replaying the way I handled a meltdown, picking apart every word I...

Keep Reading

Letting You Go Is Still So Hard

In: Grown Children, Motherhood
Walkway toward water at sunset

Nothing really prepares you for the day your child leaves the house. Last September, my husband and I moved our 18-year-old son into his dorm room. Right after that, he was swept away into all things orientation, and we began our 1,000-mile journey back home. Leaving this beautiful human I raised and spent all those years with felt foreign. During our final hug goodbye, despite trying to hold in my pain, I broke out in huge, ugly, guttural tears. Our drive home was a long two days. It took every fiber of my being not to turn around. Returning to...

Keep Reading

Behind Every Smiling Graduate Is a Mother Letting Go

In: Grown Children, Motherhood
Mom and grown son smiling

Every year, millions of American families send their children off to their freshman year of college. Their pictures dot our social media feeds. Images of excited students holding collegiate pennants, maybe wearing a hat or holding up their school’s hand sign with beaming smiles. Their parents post excited words about futures and hopes and dreams. One chapter closing. Another opening. A new beginning. So why am I struggling so much? Why does this feel more like a loss than a gain? Why are my tears always on edge, threatening to spill over each time I think about August and what...

Keep Reading

Life Lessons from My Grown Children

In: Faith, Motherhood
Two women's hands on teacups

“Don’t limit a child to your own learning, for he was born in another time.” – Rabindranath Tagore Quietly communing with a loved one in the early morning hours is such an intimate and precious time. Visiting with one’s grown child when all is dark and still is one of life’s purest pleasures. I remember the conversation clearly. My daughter’s husband, small children, and father were all asleep as we whispered and chatted. She and I are both fidgeters by nature, unable to be still for long. This inner restlessness must be remedied, and we are compelled by biology to...

Keep Reading

As a Medical Mom, I Measure Growth Differently

In: Kids, Motherhood
Little girl climbing outside

In most homes, the marks on the wall are a simple celebration of time passing. They are pencil lines that track how many inches a child has gained since their last birthday. But in our home, those marks represent a much deeper, more complex story. When your child lives with multiple hormone deficiencies, growth is never just “natural”—it is a carefully managed medical achievement. However, as any medical mom knows, the story doesn’t end at the top of the head. It begins deep inside, with a tiny gland that isn’t sending the right signals. Having multiple hormone deficiencies is often...

Keep Reading

Hannah Harper Is Every Mom with Babies in Her Arms and a Dream In Her Heart

In: Living, Motherhood
Hannah Harper American Idol winner sings with her young son on her lap

By now, you’ve probably seen the posts flooding your feed: A young mom. Three little boys. A guitar strap embroidered with her children’s drawings. And a crown. When Hannah Harper won American Idol this week, moms everywhere erupted. And honestly? Same. There is something collective about watching a stay-at-home mom win on such a large stage. The celebrations have been pouring in. Moms, we can do it. She didn’t abandon her dreams. She went for it. And all of that is true, and all of that is worth celebrating. But I want to add something to the celebration. Not to...

Keep Reading