Times like now, I’m reminded of my dirty little secret. The one that haunts me. The one that makes me feel, more than any other fault I’ve got, that I’m a failure. The secret that I hid so well for so many years. The secret that still embarrasses me to admit, but that I’m getting better and better at fessing up to.<\/p>\n
My secret: There are days when I hate being a mother. Days when I want to run away. Days when I think there is nothing that could be more miserable than what I endure each and every day of my life. And the worst part of the secret? Most days I feel like this. Not just occasionally, or sometimes, or even frequently. Most.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n Does that make me abnormal? I honestly don’t think so. I think a lot (maybe not the majority but still a fair amount) of stay-at-home parents have feelings like mine. Maybe not on as frequent a basis as me, but then again maybe so. Does admitting I feel this way, to myself and other people, make me abnormal? Likely, at least in the culture I live in where being the stay-at-home parent is the ideal.<\/p>\n Don’t misunderstand me: I love my children with all my heart. I’m grateful for the chance I have to be a mother. For a long time I didn’t know if that would ever happen, and so I feel even more guilty that I don’t enjoy this. But this day-to-day stuff just really, really sucks. The laundry, cooking, cleaning, picking up, homework, lessons, fighting, whining, etc – all of it just wears on me. Today was laundry day at my house. I dread Mondays because I know that no matter what I set out to do, I’ll be lucky if I manage to just get the laundry done. And then I feel like I’ve spent a whole day doing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. At the end of my days, what do I have to show for all my work? A messy house, a lot of whining kids, and not much else. Sometimes the laundry is all folded and put away. Sometimes I manage to actually cook dinner (as opposed to making my family eat sandwiches again). But most days I have two angry children (because who really wants to do homework anyway?), a sink full of dishes (because cleaning out the dishwasher is the most detested chore of all the jobs I give my children so it almost NEVER gets done), a list of everything I needed to do that day that I never got around to (that list just grows and grows), and I am emotionally spent.<\/p>\n I wonder what, exactly, I thought motherhood was going to be. Why, precisely, I thought this was something I would actually want and enjoy. There are sweet, precious moments that make up for a lot, but they are simply too few and far between to tide me over. My emotional stamina is not capable of maintaining the happy, cheerful demeanor I have been led to believe comes “naturally” to mothers.<\/p>\n I wonder what to do with myself. How to keep myself going when I feel so utterly and completely drained. I sometimes fantasize about running away. Or dying. I wonder if I should get a job. Something that would give me the kind of fulfillment I’m not finding in my current position. And I wish I had waited and spent some time focusing on me<\/em> before I had my children. I wish I had learned what I like and who I am and what I want to BE instead of just doing what I thought I was supposed to do and what was expected of me. Because now, it feels like it is too late.<\/p>\n Call me horrible if you must. Call me a terrible nurturer or a failed Mother. But one thing you can’t call me is a liar. Being a parent is hard. Being the parent that stays home with the children is a tough gig. And regardless of the effort I put into this, it is a thankless job.<\/p>\n If you are a person who completely disagrees with everything I’ve said, I applaud you. You have done what I can’t. You amaze and astound me. However, if you, like me, feel less than fulfilled and less than thrilled at the role you play, know you are not alone. Know that there are others who understand. Know that the happy faces you see are not always true faces. You are one of many, and there is no shame in the way you feel. You are human and important, too. Don’t ever<\/strong> forget that.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Times like now, I’m reminded of my dirty little secret. The one that haunts me. The one that makes me feel, more than any other fault I’ve got, that I’m a failure. The secret that I hid so well for … Continue reading