Thursday, December 1, 2016

To The Mom Who Feels...



Psalm 147:3
He heals the brokenhearted And binds up their wounds [healing their pain and comforting their sorrow] 





So,.. Even as I write this, I'm not sure what I need to say. I think we've all been there. Someone asks, "How's it going?" and the best we can offer is a half-assed "Good! Busy... but you know, all good." and a total minimization of what we're feeling that day. To be honest, that's probably best. About 90% 98% of the time, I'm pretty sure people are just exchanging niceties. It's not that they don't care, but really, they don't want to know.

But really, we're a bloody mess.

And, usually, there's no one to tell.

And, if I may be honest for a minute, if you're a Christian, it's worse. Because usually if you're brave enough to admit that you're drowning, a good 75% 88% of the time, someone will recite a worthless homily that will rub salt into your already gaping wound. "I'll pray for you" is my favorite. It means literally nothing. It's a cop-out and everyone knows it. What it actually means is "I'm kinda done hearing about this and don't know what to say, but I feel bad for you."

This isn't a dig for the moms who have those seriously close friends who you can call on, and they come over and cry and bring coffee and you all hug it out. But for the rest of us, we're pretty much doing this mom thing on our own. We're winging it in an age where everyone has an opinion, and everyone looooves to judge a mom. It's too easy.

Case in point: last night was a battle of wills with my oldest. I posted in a group (designed for
positive parenting, no less!) and was actually torn to shreds. So much so, that the post was deleted, and I received no help at all. Then I was blamed for starting the drama. I can't make this up.

I spent all day running in circles only to find out I had done so for nothing. I spent an hour making a dinner that my oldest actually spit in my face. I spent the rest of the night trying to catch up on what I hadn't done during the day with NO help.

Finally. I just stopped. I sat down. I stopped trying. Why? Because it didn't matter. If I caught up on dishes, I would be behind on laundry. If I folded laundry, I couldn't put it away because the kids were asleep (sorta.) I was so done. I was so empty I couldn't even speak my own love languages to myself. I still can't. I made coffee, and I'm sitting here watching Peg+Cat on mute because I'm too lazy to walk the 3 feet to the remote control.

And I don't know what to do next. My only comfort is that I'm willing to bet we've all been here. It's not the first time I've felt like this, and it won't be the last. How comforting, right? Let's put that on a pillowcase.

So, that's it. Sorry there's not magic cure for this. All I have to say is if you're feeling this way today or any day, I'm sorry. Because there's nothing I can do to fix it for you. Right now, I can't fix anything. I'm going to reheat my coffee for the third time.


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