I just sat my two-year-old son in front of Thomas the Train…again.
Today hasn’t been hard. My husband fed the baby a bottle (even though I exclusively breastfeed most of the time). I slept in. The house wasn’t even THAT much of a wreck this morning when I finally trudged down the stair for my morning coffee.
Even though my house isn’t a wreck, my heart is.
I spoke to my heathen friend last night. She’d readily admit to being a heathen. But I just needed to talk to a non-Christian about my emotions. I didn’t want the “Godly” answer — I just wanted someone to “hear” me, not “counsel” me.
I had already admitted my feelings to my husband (who understood me), to my sister (who encouraged me), but last night I spilled out my heart to a friend that would identify with me.
This is hard to type. It’s hard to type because it’s not my ETERNAL TRUTH…but it’s my truth right now:
Today, I hate being a mother.
There. I said it. I wish it weren’t so. Especially since I have six kids.
Actually one of my little ones is calling my name right now to “wipe her hiney.”
I’m back…even though I didn’t want to. And this is my life. Doing a long laundry list of things I don’t want to do while totally forsaking anything I want to do. I’m that great invisible mom in that one poem.
No one sees all I do. But that’s not totally accurate…they may not see it, but lately I’ve made VERY sure they HEAR about all I do. In fact, my daughter told me yesterday, “You HATE being a mother.” And in a fit of anger, I agreed with her. Because in my heart, I do agree with her.
After we both cooled off I reminded her that even though I currently hate being a mother, I DO NOT HATE HER.
She said it sure “felt” like I hated her. I apologized and told her that I’m super sorry that she’ll need therapy. I’ve told her in the past that I’d pay for therapy when/if she needs it. But I don’t tell her that anymore because I’m pretty sure that given our current financial status we WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO AFFORD therapy for her…and we definitely won’t be able to pay for it six times over.
Crap. Crappity. Crap. Crap. (This is the more “Christian” version of my heathen friend’s words, mind you.)
Why am I even putting my words out there? I can just imagine the judgement…judgement is my worst nightmare.
For all your Christian high-horses, I’m a fan of the Duggars. I’ve read the Pearl’s books. I love the Maxwell family. I respect the opinions of Voddie Bauchman. If you doubt my absolute sincerity and love for my children, search my posts OR just give me the benefit of the doubt. Or just post hateful comments “in the name of Christ” how I shouldn’t FEEL this way.
For those who aren’t judging me, but might be where I am at. Know the truth of my spirit is: I LOVE MY FAMILY. I submit to my husband. I want to pour out my life as a drink offering to my children and my community. I want to be like Jesus.
But all these desires are intersecting with some other desires. There is a war. Inside my heart.
I am ignoring all my responsibilities this morning. Homeschooling: nope. Working out: nope. Cleaning: half-nope. I’ll feed the kids today. I’ll love on them the best I know how. I’ll try to smile. I’ll try not to yell. I’ll try…because that is all I have.
I am putting my words out into cyberspace, because I’m pretty sure that someone…somewhere is drowning just like me. And they need to know they are NOT alone. I’m putting my words out there because I need prayer.
I don’t want to hate being a mother.
I want to love it. I want to make the bowl of oatmeal my five-year-old daughter just requested and NOT be annoyed. I want to deliver it with a smile. But since my son is shoving a book that I refuse to read to him and now he’s aiming to crawl in my lap, I’m pretty sure I just can’t will myself to do it.
And I’ve tried. I’ve ignored all my internal warning signals that I’ve reach a boiling point. I’ve smiled when I felt like crying. I’ve been sweet when I would have rather been bitter.
But somewhere in all my efforts to love motherhood — I’ve lost my joy. I’ve lost myself. I’ve lost God. My mission statement is: Learning to Thrive, instead of Survive by the power of the Holy Spirit. But lately, ya’ll…I’m surviving. Definitely not thriving. I’m not sure when the Holy Spirit left my house-party…but he has.
I’m desperate to get him back. I don’t want my children to remember me like this: miserable. Maybe it’s hormonal. Maybe I’ll get over it. I’ll return to my kid-loving happy self tomorrow. But I doubt it. I need God’s power to do this motherhood thing. I need God’s power to LOVE IT. And I don’t have it. I don’t know how to get it.
I listened to Lysa TerKeurst this morning. She illustrated a story about a time when God asked more of her than she was able to give. She recounted a story of locking herself in her closet in tears. She admitted that she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t homeschool her five kids. And God spoke to her basically this. “If you just show up and bring the little bit of obedience you have, I’ll do the rest.”
Today, I hold out my palm with my metaphoric tiny handful of dirt — an offering — to God. It’s not much. In fact, I think I see half of it blowing away as I look at it. It’s next to nothing.
I hold up the hope that one day I won’t hate being a mother. That I’ll REGAIN a love for motherhood deep down on the inside of my heart. I know it’s possible. Not with me…but with God.
But today, I’m at the end of myself, hoping that God catches me as I fall.
Head covering Christian woman who loves good wine, coffee, stinky cheese and missionary books. My favorite dessert is Peanut Butter Chocolate Cheesecake. I am a Christian author, blogger, and speaker. I fell in love with my husband because he had rain drops on his glasses (true story). In my spare time I homeschool my six children (5 girls, 2 boys).