Are you struggling, mama?

Sometimes I feel very small and sad and tired inside my heart. In that deep down place you can’t really explain to anyone.

It’s the same place that sometimes fills up with a feeling of love and light and joy so powerful that you feel like you might burst. The same place that aches with relief when you fall into the arms of someone safe. The place that wells up with pride when you watch your child choose to be brave, or kind, or forgiving.

And because its the same place that holds those other tender, lovelier things, it is even harder to feel a sadness or loneliness–something gray and uncertain–sweep into it.

Sometimes it comes with grief or loss. Sometimes failure or exhaustion. Sometimes loneliness. Uncertainty. Or just the niggling feeling that something, somehow, is missing or not right.

I’ve been feeling this lately, and I’m not sure why.

Several years ago I was diagnosed with depression (and I’m more than happy to share more about that for anyone who needs an insight), but counseling and careful tinkering with medication has lifted a lot of that weight. So it might be partly that, but it’s also something else. Something I can’t put my finger on. Maybe just a change in the weather and seasons, and the overwhelming feeling that I won’t be able to keep up. (Part of the reason I’ve made it a priority lately to set up my plan of attack for keeping life balanced.)

I’m writing this partly for myself, because it helps to say these things to you, mama–and I trust you understand. But I’m also writing it for you, because one of the most encouraging things is to know you are normal, and you are NOT alone.

I hope you’re not struggling, mama.

But if you are, you’re not alone. Because I’m there, too. And so are all of us at one time or another. Even the mom who makes homemade cupcakes shaped like miniature ice castles for her daughter’s birthday. Even the mom who brings you fresh-baked bread two weeks after she’s given birth. Even the mom with the perfect hair and the perfect kids and the perfect life.

If you are struggling, mama, I know you can get through it. You’re smart and tough–you’re raising a human (or several) for goodness’ sake. And you’ve gotten through other tough stuff before, haven’t you?

If you are struggling, mama, I want to remind you of three things. (And while I’m reminding you, I’ll remind myself, too.)

One: You don’t need to feel guilty that you’re struggling.

There is a tendency, I think, to belittle ourselves and our trials. We look at the things we rail helplessly against, and wonder–why are they are hard for us? Wouldn’t a “good” mom/wife/woman/human be able to handle this? And how can we feel discouraged, when others are going through things so much worse?

But here’s the thing, mama. This isn’t someone else’s hard thing. This is yours. And that’s okay. This is what was given to you, and if it’s not easy for you, that’s okay, too.

It’s okay to ask for help, for a shoulder to cry on, or for a moment alone to think and process.

Teddy Roosevelt said that, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” I’d like to add that it is also the thief of grace. We can’t love ourselves, give grace to ourselves, if we are busy comparing our failures and struggles with everyone else’s.

Two: Courage is not the absence of fear, but continuing on in spite of it.

Mama, sometimes life is hard. Sometimes, as hard as we try not to be, we get scared.

Like a child watching shadows in the dark, we imagine all the things that could be waiting for us in the unknown spaces of our lives. Fear is hardwired into us, and feeling it doesn’t mean we are not brave and strong and courageous.

It’s what we do next that defines that.

When we follow the advice of Christian leader Gordon B. Hinkley–Forget yourself, and go to work—we are being courageous.

(And I don’t think he meant, “forget to take care of yourself”–we need to take care of ourselves–but rather, to continue to give your heart over to your family. To find joy in the care and love we can provide them.)

And here you are, mama. Doing your best with what you have. Pushing onward with your day: feeding little mouths and washing dirty dishes, driving carpools and arranging checkups, even as your heart flutters and worries.

This is courage, mama.

Three: Be gentle with yourself.

When you’re struggling, be gentle.

Because we’ve chosen this role–this beautiful, mystifying, frightening, overwhelming, and magical role of mom–it often falls to us to take care of ourselves by ourselves. And it is easy–it is so easy–to put ourselves last.

There is always more to be done. More toys to sort, books to read, meals to cook, playdates to arrange, hair to brush, homework to help with, groceries to buy, toilets to clean, games to play, bills to pay, and of course (always!) clothes to wash.

And how can we stop when there is so much to be done?

But when you’re struggling, you need to stop more. Go more slowly. Be more gentle. You need to rest, to plan, and to make time for peace. You need to kiss small foreheads and hold someone sweet and baby-scented on your lap. You need to lean on a comfortable grown-up shoulder and cry a little, and then ask for a hug. You need to take a nap, or read a book, or go for a walk.

It is good let go of selfishness so we can work for our families. But we must also look after ourselves so we can have the energy and strength to do that work.

It is not selfish to take care of yourself. It is selfless. It is an act of service to yourself and your family–to take time away from the things that nag and call at you to create space to be a kinder, happier, more peaceful person.

Make time to be gentle to yourself.

You just try, and I’ll keep reminding you, okay?

We can do this, mama. You can do this.

xo

with love,
Jamie