I celebrated my first Mother’s Day with my little family in the sun. It was perfect. All the iPhone photos we took depicted the most amazing spring outing together. Everything all in a row and lovely. It was.
Even though it all seems like a fairytale life, I don’t want to project that image all the time. I don’t mean to say that life isn’t good, because it is. It appears especially good on the surface. On paper. In photos. In this blog. But there is certainly a balance.
Staying home and watching Benton turn from a baby into a kid before my eyes is a blessing. It’s truly the best job I have had, even though I am never off the clock. I am capable of feeling more love and joy than I could have ever imagined. I feel lucky. I do. This is why I don’t like to voice my sorrows or struggles. It makes me appear ungrateful.
I hate being a complainer, especially when I have it so “good.” But I give 125% of myself everyday, and sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough. I don’t like asking for help, even though I could use it. I hate to admit that I can’t do it all and my perfectionism is often a curse.
I don’t like admitting that I have been struggling with anxiety in the middle of the night. That I have conversations in my head in the early morning hours that would not be considered remotely pleasant. That I worry about things in the dark that would never be given a second thought in the light of day. That I often feel alone, even when I am never actually by myself.
I have started talking about these things with other moms who have been through similar things. It is helping. If you are one of the ladies I have been conversing with on this subject, thank you so much. It means the world to me.