Quiet.
I am engulfed by a sea of quiet. All that fills our home with noise are the running dishwasher, my husband's snoring, and our children's sound machines. I can hear crashing waves echoing from the hallway of our babies' rooms, while white noise and snippets of Mozart drift down from upstairs.
From the time my morning alarm jolts me awake to the marathon that is putting our children into their beds at night, there is little quiet. I sit here, during this last hour of the day, depleted of energy and overwhelmed with exhaustion, but sleep is still a far-off place. My mind spends most of the day preoccupied with responsibilities, to-do lists, and dinner menus. Once my head hits the pillow, I catch up on thinking about my family and their families; my sweet mama friends; special events I am planning; selling our old house; if I will finish my accounting degree and what sort of work I will pursue with it; writing a book... There really is no end to this list. I just cannot seem to quiet the worry, the stresses, the planning, the yearning.
Days can pass without my needing to leave the house. My steps down the driveway to the mailbox give me a fleeting moment of serenity to deeply inhale all of God's majestic handiwork. This is the first home out of four that we cannot hear a train blasting its whistle as it barrels down railroad tracks. Highway noise is miles away and emergency sirens are scarce. We relish in the bits of nature that are now a scenic backdrop to our everyday life. Our girls are thrilled to take inventory of the little creatures making our outdoors their homes. But amidst the grandeur of the Lord's design, I feel so overwhelmingly little. Overlooked. Sometimes even forgotten. I realize that, upon collecting the mail, I will recluse back into my home and quickly be needed again. Tugged on and spilled on again. Needed for more meal-making and dish-washing. More bath-giving and laundry-folding. More teeth-brushing and bottom-wiping. I give all of me to these children whose lives give me life. But this journey takes so much of me, sometimes leaving me feeling barren--emotionally, socially, and spiritually.
A lot of women are professionally successful, building their corporate legacy and contributing to their family's finances along the way. They have value, both inside and outside of the home. Our family saves money by not paying daycare tuition, but it also feels as if I run a daycare (and nightcare) for free. There is never a paycheck. Never a column of my income next to my husband's income on our budget sheets. My on-the-clock responsibilities look just like my off-the-clock responsibilities. I can go hours without participating in any sort of conversation with another adult. It is common that my lunch break occurs one or two hours after I feed our girls. I preface business calls with "Please ignore the screaming. I promise they are not dying." I cannot leave a stack of work on my desk for me to tackle the next day, allowing me to break away and clear my head until the morning.
Yes, I chose to have these (and this many) children.
Yes, I also chose to stay at home with them.
I do not aim to gain your respect, impress you with my mad skills, or have you pity me. I write these words, full of compassion and understanding and camaraderie, for the other mama engulfed in the worry, the stresses, the planning, and the yearning, in this last hour of the day. Of all the mamas in the whole world, I know I am not alone in feeling overlooked and forgotten. I write this for you. We are so much alike. I know the same exhaustion you feel, and I know the same emptiness you feel. Something often described as "the most rewarding job" can be so depleting. Friend, I wish we could sit together, to share with each other the beauty and the ugliness that so commonly accompany one another.
I am immensely grateful and humbled that God chose me to love and lead my children through life. But I would be lying if I said that I truly know my value here. There is no impressive title by my name; I do not receive recognition for the completion of extensive projects (although, grout cleaning should qualify); and there are no tenure-based or performance-based pay increases. Evidence of my hard work are full-bellied, sweetly-smelling, kind-hearted babes, on the good days. Some other days, I feed our girls junk food, I spot-clean their sticky hair, and I remind them to be considerate of their sisters more than occasionally. When difficult days abound, the self-guilt and self-doubt see me as a vulnerable target.
Far too often do I reach a day's end feeling depleted and defeated. Maybe I yelled at my girls too much or could have helped them navigate their sibling conflict better or tackled my housekeeping and homeschooling duties more efficiently. You see, how we conclude a day dictates how the next one will commence. In a moment of pure honesty, I might admit that I envy my friends who send their kids off to school or daycare. If I had a "real" job, nobody would question how I spend every waking moment at home and have no substantial proof of accomplishing any tasks. If I had a "real" job, I would never receive such lackluster responses when asked what I do for a living. For whatever reason, there exists a stigma for stay-at-home moms. We can be considered professionally incompetent, academically disadvantaged, or downright lazy. Society imposes impossible standards, as if battling our own expectations of ourselves is not enough.
These expectations we have of ourselves exist because we cannot imagine giving our children anything less than our best. We exhaust every muscle of our body and every ounce of our sanity to give all of ourselves every waking moment. We are good moms, even when our hearts grow weary and our minds try convincing us otherwise. Dear friend, I see you. You have been tugged on and spilled on again. Needed for more
meal-making and dish-washing. More bath-giving and laundry-folding. More
teeth-brushing and bottom-wiping. Sitting on the couch, soaking in the day's last offering of quiet, depleted of energy and overwhelmed with exhaustion, I see you. You are not alone in feeling overlooked and forgotten. I may not know your name, but I know your heart.
"Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."
Matthew 11:28 (NIV)
