I have days when I just don’t feel like it, when I want to Forrest Gump my life and start running and never stop. Like right now, I don’t even feel like writing this. I’m not a bad person for feeling this way, and neither are you if you do, too. Sometimes being an adult just sucks. It’s overwhelming. The expectations are endless. The days are long. The children are all at once precious and tyrannical. My oldest son has recently developed a throat clearing tic that makes me want to send my entire body through a wood chipper. Because at least the sound of that would be slightly more pleasant.
So in the moments when I want to lace up my running shoes and take off down the street, I remember, first, the impossibility of that- as I am nine months pregnant, huge and swollen, and have zero energy. Then common sense kicks in and I realize that even if I DO start running, they will only chase after me. There is no escape. Kind of like when they wait outside the locked bathroom door for me, banging on it with all the feet and fists they have. And so I resign myself to a temporary daydream of a mountain adventure. Solo. And then I learn to breathe again while ignoring their whines and throat clearing and desperate pleas of “mom, watch this!”- which actually translates to, “Mom, watch this thing I can do that I do every single day, a thousand times a day, and demand that you watch every single time or I feel neglected and sad!” Only then can I jump back into the mess of Lego creations, help the Transformers analyze a battle plan with the Power Rangers, and read Goodnight Moon for the 8,346th time. Sigh.
My life is a good one. No, a great one. But trying to be a responsible adult in life in general, maintain a reasonable level of sanity, AND raise healthy, happy, well-adjusted, well-behaved, loving, compassionate, kind, generous, humble, thoughtful, God-loving, servant-hearted, socially aware, educated children… sometimes it all becomes a tad overwhelming and the weight of all the responsibility pulls at the threads holding my brain parts together and I start to unravel. The raging pregnancy hormones don’t help either. Some days are just hard.
And you know what? It’s okay. Because eventually they go to sleep. Eventually. After a long, drawn out war of the wills.
And then I get a few moments to myself. I write and release the frustration, or numb it with Netflix. And before my eyes close in restless, often-interrupted sleep, I pray for a chance to try again tomorrow with a little more grace and a lot more patience.
I know I live a blessed life. I am grateful for it. But we all have times when we just don’t feel like it; when we reach the end of ourselves by midday. Or morning. Maybe shortly after waking up. So breathe, take a short daydream trip to your favorite place, control what you can and release what you can’t, pray for patience, listen to a favorite song, drink coffee, eat something good (and by good I mean indulgent, not some kale kefir beetroot concoction that can only ever produce misery and sadness), or simply step outside in the fresh air. Do something to remind yourself that life IS beautiful. Because it is. Then keep on keeping on.
Peace & Love, Amy