So I kind of abandoned Sarah this week. Talk about SCARY. I’d been walking around for days frustrated with just about every big aspect of life. (More than usual.) Money. Career. Relationship. Mommyhood. And I’d started to take it all out on my kids. And my partner. I was having imaginary conversations. Out loud. It was getting pretty ugly.
And scary. Because I wasn’t making anything better. I was avoiding real conversations that needed to be had. And I was perpetuating a vicious circle of “why am I the only one” thinking. Why am I the only one to see the mess of this house? Why am I the only one responsible for feeding this family? Why am I the only one to keep up with all of the school goings on? Why am I the only one to notice when the diaper pail is full? This thinking begins and continues and I just get more angry. And the imaginary conversations get more heated. And it goes on and on. And last week it spun out of control. I spun out of control. And something had to give. And I looked around. The house. The kids. The job. The feeding, clothing, bathing. The family. The marriage. None of that could go. So I gave up the blog.
It didn’t work.
Here’s the scary truth: For me, the hardest part of motherhood is reconciling my independence with the total inability to be independent. It’s what I’ve had to give up. And what I’ve had to admit to. And it’s hard. Every day. Because every day I have to keep giving it up. And every day I have to keep admitting to it. Every. Day.
And here’s what has happened over the years. Here I am. This is me. Scary. Take one look. Seriously. My dirty hair. My mommy-onset acne. My ripped, dirty jeans. The circles under my eyes. The general scowl all the time.
I am exasperated. I am trying to be fair. I am trying to keep track of everything. I am trying to feed my family. I am trying to clean up after my family. And I am paying the price. And I am reaching maximum capacity. Maximum capacity for putting myself last. On the back burner. For listening to everyone tell me it won’t last forever. This “phase” of motherhood. Maximum capacity for eating my children’s sandwich crusts while I rush around picking up dirty socks and finding lost Thermoses and loading the baby into the car so we’re on time for the next pickup.
What IS this life? Did I really CHOOSE this? Because it doesn’t feel like it. Especially not since my son entered the public school system. Every day his “backpack mail” comes home. Every day there is more. More deadlines. More activities to put on the calendar. School clean-up day. The spaghetti supper to raise money for the fifth grade. A bake sale. A book sale. A Halloween parade. Teacher conferences. School pictures. Half days.
Was life this complicated when I was a kid? If it was, my parents did a very good job of not letting me know. And I am grateful for that. Because that is another way that I am scary. All of this is for me to do, and when I lose it, I do put it all out there for the kids to hear. How very much I am doing for them. All the time. And they shouldn’t have to know that. And I should be more of a grownup. It’s so so difficult to be swimming in this ocean of motherhood grasping so much of the time for the life raft, knowing all the while that there is someone out there who needs it more.
But right now? Right now I need to be selfish. Right now every day we are in survival mode around here. And I am not exaggerating. Not this time. I’m not. From having food in the house to the right clean clothes for B to wear so he doesn’t have a tantrum and throw off the whole day. Or or or or. I can’t even think. Because right now I don’t feel like I am surviving. Not even a little bit. Right now I am treading water, and more often than not my head is going under. And I see the other species of mothers under there. The ones who seem to have it together. And, frankly, they don’t look so bad. In fact, I have to wonder and I’d like to ask, How do they do it? Or maybe they don’t. Maybe they just make it look like they do. I suppose I make it look doable, too. Most of time. But not lately. Not today.
Right now I could use someone else in my home. Someone else doing the mothering, and the nurturing, the feeding, the clothing, the CLEANING. Right now I could use someone else. Someone besides me to keep track of everything. To look ahead to next week’s child care needs NOW, because that’s when arrangements need to be made. Now. I will do it. Because it needs to be done. And something else won’t get done because I am calling around seeing if someone will take my THREE CHILDREN while I go to a teacher’s conference. In the middle of the afternoon. When everyone has DAYS to live. And they’re not looking for three more kids to care for. Two of whom fight all day long and one who is 12 months old and climbs on everything and puts everything in her mouth and who, frankly, could use one-on-one care, if she’d ever get the chance.
I am so full right now. Full of contempt. And frustration. Fear. I am full. I am lonely in the chaos. I am grouchy all of the time. And I have no time. No time for me. No time for me and Sarah. No time to do what I want to do. Ever. Now? Now I am writing this, 10 minutes before I have to leave the house, to BE SOMEWHERE, and the only reason I have the time is because I put my screaming baby in a crib and walked away. Because J is here and keeping B out of my hair because I WAS SO DAMN SCARY THIS MORNING. Nobody wants to be near me. And I don’t blame them. I don’t particularly want to be near them, either.
And that is perhaps the scariest part of it all: This IS the life I chose, and sometimes the easiest thing seems like running far far away. And, so far, I have chosen to stay and fight for what I know to be right. For what I know to be true. For what I know I really want. But here, every day, there are hurdles. And cliffs to avoid. There are fights and tantrums. Accidents. And messes. There are forgotten obligations and chances thrown away. There is no independence. There is no me before motherhood.
I used to be independent. And now I have four people who are exclusively dependent on me, and it is overwhelming. Frankly, I didn’t expect it. I didn’t expect to be so worried about the grocery bill and the new snowpants we need. I didn’t expect to be the one responsible for so very much. I was naive. And it’s probably a good thing. Because I chose this life not knowing what that choice really was. And that is scary indeed. This life.
The good news is I’m back. I couldn’t stay away from the blog. In a lot of ways it is a stand-in for the me before motherhood. The writer I still hope to become. Even though I am writing about my mothering life and how it informs every second of every day. During my time away I couldn’t stop thinking about posts to write. And the fact that Sarah is out there, just an hour away, wondering what the hell happened to me to make me call it quits. I couldn’t give up this tiny corner of independence that I have gained back amidst the chaos of my days. So here I am. With more to say.
My life is wealthy, too. I’ve just had a difficult time seeing the wealth lately.
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Jen,
I love the Erdrich poem and I did not know it!
LOVE IT.
And I know the feeling of being both incredibly full and yet lonely – and full of things that I feel ambivalent about. Thank you for this honest post.
xo
Thanks Lindsey. It is one of my favorites. I just reread it for the millionth time. I am doing my part to let the “earthern scum harden on the kitchen floor.”
Hi. I didn’t want to read this and not respond, although I don’t have much of anything helpful to say. So just know that I am sending you sympathy (which is not to be confused with pity) along with a huge helping of respect for everything you do to keep your family running. Also, a hug: down the hill, around the corner, around the other corner, through the gate…
Thanks, Anya. It’s nice to know some of the real readers out there. Things are not as dire as I portray them to be. Mostly it’s just me. Feeling dire. But everyone’s pretty happy, strangely enough. I think I even smiled today. Must have been the hug.
I am new to reading your blog. I love the honesty with which you talk about your life as a mom. I have one baby and another on the way and am beginning to understand what you are saying. I remember my mother being terrifying some days (especially with 10 children! Crazy!), but I didn’t understand why. Until now. I think my husband has truly been freaked out by my manner at times. But, life goes on. Some days, weeks, or even months, I feel as if I am lost in a whirlwind of parenting woes. The best thing has been having friends with whom I could chat with.
Keep going. I hope that is encouraging! If you want to throttle me right now, I understand. Sometimes all you really want is a kind word. So, I think that you are doing the best at being a mother. Your kids, and husband, love you. They will forget the bad days. Just like you will.
Thank you! 10 kids. My god! Makes me feel entirely in control to think of the mayhem of 10. Soon you will see your life change in ways you can’t even anticipate. And it will be wonderful. The whirlwind of parenting woes will continue. But there will be twice the reasons to forget it all. Good luck with your pregnancy. We’re glad to have you here!
hey jen? i hear you. i feel you. :) i have no magical words of wisdom, other than quit trying to elbow me off this life raft that we are sharing. and by we, i mean you, me, and a bunch of other moms (and maybe some dads, too) out there. and by sharing, i really mean desperately clinging to by the skin of our fingernails.
i am sending you a giant internet hug. and booze. do you like booze? or chocolate! even better. i’m not going to even bother saying, “oh, it’ll get better,” because frankly, i’m not sure when that fantasy actually becomes reality (ooohh, i’m kind of a Debbie Downer, hey?).
i am glad you are back. for real.
Hey Debbie. She likes skittles. And chocolate, yes. And TEQUILA, believe it or not. More specifically tequila in MARGARITAS. Why don’t you join us Friday night at the local mexican place? I’ll be the one taking up the entire bartop with my life raft.
Thank you thank you. Really just having readers is therapy. I think the bloggy world can be as lonely as motherhood sometimes. And yet, here we are, getting love from all directions. Now, please work on the Skittles. And Tequila.
too bad there is no such thing as tequila-infused skittles. i may have to invent them.
hum. not real sure on that one anymore. looked good in my mind, no so much in writing.
if we meet up at the bar, we ought to at least try to convince the bartender that a flood is imminent and all booze-ahol should be placed *in* the life raft under our watchful eyes. for everyone’s safety, of course.
oh you ARE a brilliant one aren’t you?
i have a way of convincing bartenders of things, or so i’ve been told. let’s climb aboard.
Welcome Back, sister. I missed you. Your voice. Your words. You.
And I love you. Gratuitously. Without fear. Always.
S
I know the frustration you are talking about. This is why I created my e-zine to empower moms to take care of themselves without guilt.
Yes. No guilt is so important. So so important. Thank you for your work.
I’ve had to fight for the time to myself. It got better when both of my girls were finally in school. I still feel like I’m drowning in paperwork and activities: Girl Scouts, school parties, fund raisers for this and that, and of course homework. I truly think it wasn’t this bad for me growing up. Parents are responsible for so much more now in public schools.
Loved this blog! Glad to know I’m not the only one fighting to keep their head above water. Hang in there! {hugs}
Thank YOU! Why is it so difficult to keep on top of everything??? We haven’t even enrolled the kids in lessons or activities yet, except for one hour of soccer one day per week for ONE kid. I guess I have to remember that we all are treading water together. And some of us are just a little stronger. I’m more of a laps person myself. :)
I could’ve written this–meaning I have to work through my rage all the time.
My poor husband.
So I just tell myself to surrender. And breathe. And to validate and accept that life is hard no matter what. Even if nothing big is wrong. All the little things are hard, too.
And yes we chose it, and yes we were naive, and maybe we wouldn’t have it any other way, but regardless–Motherhood? Best job in the world. HARDEST EFFING JOB IN THE WORLD.
Peace. And I mean that–I wish you a moment of peace–peace of mind.
Ann
I am in love with this comment.
I wish I had more to say. A direct response. But I don’t. And I don’t think that I need to. Because you get it. And that’s the whole point.
I mean really. What Jen needs, what we all need, is a moment of peace. Peace of mind. Every so often. To retrieve pieces of our mind.
Again. Love it.
Thank you for meeting us here.
Um, yeah, what Sarah said. I am working on creating my own peace right now. Kids are plugged in. I am indulging in blog catch up. Not too shabby.
I’m sorry it’s soo hard and exhausting right now… all I can think of is that you need a glass of wine, or a margarita. I hope something gives soon and that you get a chance to take a deep breath!
Thanks, Belle! Sarah and I have been working on getting together for a margarita for weeks. Why is it so difficult to find ONE evening between us? Oh, maybe the SIX kids and TWO spouses between us? Grr…
Yay! Sisters. Yay Yay Yay!
Jen and I need a great pic like you guys have in your header. Love it! Love sisters!
Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and think, damn girl, you look….. homeless. I get it. I live it too. When it sucks it SUCKS and when it’s great, well you know. Sending big kisses from your other sister from another mother.
Uh, yes, homeless. It’s SORRY, isn’t it? I’m working on a thought, it’s formulating, and it goes something like this: OH NO! I am one of those sorry looking women who are surprised on national TV with a makeover. Because, DAMN, do I NEED one. And it’s apparent to everyone. (NEVER EVER thought I would be that woman. NEVER. And yet now I understand all those frumpy, tired, frazzled-looking moms that are on those shows. I have become one of them. Oh. My. GOD!)
Oh, man. I completely hear you. This is exactly why I just finally started therapy. I probably won’t go back, because we can’t afford it. But I was so ANGRY. “Because right now I don’t feel like I am surviving. Not even a little bit. Right now I am treading water, and more often than not my head is going under.” I was competent once. And this is feeling like I can’t do anything right no matter how hard I try, feeling that if I have to plan and prepare and clean up one more freaking meal I will lose it. Remember when it seemed okay to have Skittles and margaritas for dinner once in a while? Why is that not okay anymore? Oh, yeah. Because I’m not what’s important. Aaargh.
you’re not alone. That’s all I have. Not that it will get better or that any shift in perspective will help. You’re not alone is all I have.
Hey Nap. This is absolutely my most favorite comment that you have published here. Plan, prepare and clean up after meals? Yeah, I totally lose my shit over this. And my husband just totally doesn’t get it. I think men should be in control of the food situation. It would relieve a world of stress around here.
A couple things I know? Skittles and margaritas are certainly still a meal option. These kids are not inhibiting my sweet tooth or my need for a “little calm” at the end of the day. Also, if required I will marry Diego, as long as he continues to bring me 22 minute chunks of independent time. And lastly, we will have more and different things to bitch about in 5, 10 and 15 years. So don’t go anywhere. We’re right there beside you.
Oh, and one more thing? You still waiting on number 2? When s/he comes out all of THIS will evaporate for a certain period of time and you will rekindle all of the love in your heart for these kids and this mothering thing and DARN IT if I don’t have a little baby fever over here. Shh! Don’t tell anyone. (Shoot, I think I just did.)
Hi Nap. I’m so glad you’re here. And you know what? You already sound like a mom of more than one. It IS overwhelming. We ALL need therapy. And yet, how can we possibly have the time for therapy? (Or the money.) It’s all so overwhelming. But Sarah is absolutely correct: Soon you will be falling in love again and the focus will be right where it needs to be, and because of your honesty and your self awareness and your writing, you will become an even better mom. (Even though it will be F-ing hard every single day. Yikes!)
Dirty hair, Mommy acne, ripped jeans, dark circles under the eyes…wait, am I looking in the mirror? Right NOW? All that’s missing are the ratty UGG boots that I swear I’m not going to wear but cannot resist because they are so comfy.
I’m glad you’re back to the blog, every scary inch of you. We scary bitches need each other.
Witchie. I think you should know that my daughter is being a SCARY witch for Halloween. She is about as scary as you are. (Read: NOT.) No UGG boots for me, but scary-ass clogs that are falling apart in every way imaginable. I should trash them, and yet …
But seriously? Thanks.
My husband told me I was selfish yesterday. He said it as i was lying in bed facing the other way (i don’t even remember why he said it) and I freaked. Selfish. We moms are so far from selfish. We never think of OURSELVES. We always think of everyone else. I am not me anymore, I am an entity of three/sometimes four. Without me, things wouldn’t be. As much in disarray as things seem or are, things wouldn’t even BE without us moms. But your post made realize we NEED to be selfish even for just a bit. Before you sink. Before you crumble. Be selfish. Take care of yourself. I love your words… they rang really true for me on so many days when I just feel so ALONE in this house. Thank god for all the blogs that get me through, knowing I’m not alone.
OMG. The “S” word! My partner called me selfish about 8 months into our parenting gig. I couldn’t believe it. Honestly? Five years later? I still can’t. Selfish. As IF! I honestly don’t even have the ability, the CAPACITY to be selfish.
Thank you for reading, for your honesty, and for whatever selfishness you can muster!
CRAP!
I swear I typed out and posted a comment for this here little bloggity blog spacie poo.
I swear. I did.
I think.
Darn it all to hell and back again because now I forgot what it was I wanted to say and that I’m sure I did say. 48 hours of life has wiped out all memory of what came before.
I’m pretty sure it was brilliant though. So, you know, you’re welcome for that.
Heather! You crack me up. Thank you. And thank you for your brilliance. No doubting that. :)
“Because every day I have to keep giving it up. And every day I have to keep admitting to it.”
Yes.
I wish I had more to add, but right now I’m on empty. I’m so glad you’ve found your way back, though. It encourages the rest of us, who struggle with the same things.
Thank you Bad Mommy. I appreciate your encouragement. I am so grateful for readers and supporters out there in the Internet land of mommy refuge.
This weblog is being featured on Five Star Friday – http://www.fivestarfriday.com/2009/10/five-star-fridays-edition-77.html
Glad you’re back. And if you have forgotten that most of us (the honest ones, anyway) feel the EXACT SAME WAY YOU DO, then spend some time at your computer…reread some of your sister’s posts, some of mine, some of others’. This blogging world has saved my sanity, I think, simply b/c I now realize you all feel the same way. Keep treading water. (And th ones who look like they have it altogether? I don’t believe, for a second, that they really do.)
Hi Liz. I think I had forgotten that crucial truth. Obviously, I can’t play dumb anymore, with so many wonderful ladies out there giving me such great encouragement. Thanks to you and everyone else I’m feeling a bit stronger and a bit less alone. (And I know you’re right about those OTHER moms…)
I stumbled upon your blog in the nick of time. I am reading your post today and nodding in total agreement and understanding. While I am sad for you that you are struggling lately, I am so very much relieved to hear I am not alone in my (VERY!) similar thoughts and feelings! I appreciate your honesty and THANK YOU for sharing it with us so that I, for one, feel like there is SOMEONE out there who gets it. And perhaps it (mothering) is NOT as easy as most people manage to make it look. I often feel like I’m somehow lacking in coping skills or just not cut out for this tremendous job I’ve taken on. Thank you for providing honesty and simultaneously justifying my existence. :)
Hi Shana,
So glad you found us. And thank you for your encouragement. This is a DIFFICULT JOB. Egad. It’s worth it, I do know that. I just wish it weren’t so solitary sometimes. Solitary amongst chaos. Such a strange contradiction that I live every single day. Feeling like an invisible woman among loud, constantly moving children’s bodies! Hang in there. I plan to!
It is nice to see the honestly among mothers. My wife has gone through these phases in life ,well since we started having kids (have 3 kids 6 years old and under). She tries to put on a good face but I know when she is about to pull her hair out. She recently began taking Zoloft to help her cope and THANK GOD because she is a new person lately. I sympathize because I know I could not stay home with 3 kids and do all of the things she does between school and home….NO WAY. I have my moments, mostly struggling with my ability to provide for my family and to support my wife emotionally but its nothing compared to being home all day. My wife and I keep repeating…”It will be better one day” but I think we should change it to “Let today be a better day”.
I appreciate your honesty! Thanks and I just had my wife read your post.
Congrats, Mike! You are officially our first male commenter. Right, Jen? Yes, I do believe that is right. So there are now two reasons I am in love with your comment. Because you have a penis and because you have a brain. I mean really, how many men read blogs? The percentage is low I’m sure. But many could benefit, yes?
And, beyond all that…beyond any sarcasm or humor, I thank you for your honesty. Sincerely. Parenting is hard. So, so, so hard. And we DO need to know that we aren’t all alone out here. Keep reading. Tell your wife to keep reading. It helps just to hear the voices out there, you know? Talking about the good and the bad. And always, with honesty. I find it counterproductive to spend time away from all the other stuff I should be doing if I’m sitting here typing up lies or misconceptions. So you can always except honesty. Usually in pretty raw form if it’s my day to post. :)
And one more thing, my sister rocks doesn’t she? I love this post. Love Love Love
Thanks! Hard to believe I am the first male commenter…and I am a blogger too! Thanks for the reply, it means a lot. The two of you have a great blog and I enjoy the tweets…keep it up! I am now a subscriber.
HOLY COWS, how in the world do the two of you keep getting inside my brain? And WHY WHY WHY don’t you both live next to each other and next to me? Just checking.
I would take those three kids who fight and climb in a heartbeat (and you could go get a MASSAGE, forget the damn conference!)
Oh lady, I’m with you. So grouchy and with you.
Did you say you wanted to move into the neighborhood? And, yes, should have opted for massage. Some day.
I couldn’t have said this better. I just think that we are living in a peculiar time, peculiarly regressive for women.
My single, childless bff recently pointed out to me that “wearing” your baby constantly to the point that your back is aching, sleeping with your baby to the point that you get no sleep, nursing your baby until baby “decides” to stop, giving up a hard-earned, desired career for a child (and probably resenting it), some of these choices we make for our children are made out of fear, guilt, and naivete. It struck my friend as a kind of competition, dividing rather than uniting women. Just this idea that some mothers “have it together and why can’t I?” is so isolating. There is a lot of cultural pressure to be this kind of supermom. But we are already supermoms.
Our children will never really understand or possibly even notice the sacrifices we make for them. They do seem to notice the resentment, frustration, weeping, and general loss of self. My children feel sorry for me. I felt sorry for my mom, who used to tell us she wished she could be admitted to the hospital just to get some rest.
Ladies, take good care of yourselves. This is the hardest thing to do. I feel like I need to be hypnotized out of “give” mode. But, we will all be happier when I am happy. I set the tone, and the tone is rather bleak around here because I am so unhappy. It’s going to take a lot of work to just put myself first and expect (allow?) the children to pick up some slack.
One more note for readers who never see you in person. Jen is lovely and has great hair. Really great hair. ;)
Maryellen, I think you did say it better. “Peculiarly regressive for women.” It’s so anachronistic, these things that are happening under our roofs (rooves?). I am hardly a 50s housewife, and yet I feel as if women’s lib didn’t happen some days. Maybe we’ve swung too far in the other direction–the direction of our children–leaving our own freedom’s behind, once again.
We ARE all supermoms. We HAVE to be. So here’s to trying not to do more more more all the time. Here’s to doing a little something for our super-selves.
(And thanks for the hair compliment; Imagine if you ever saw it clean!)