Motherhood is unlike anything else. I know that sounds incredibly cliche, but it’s true. It’s more than a job. It’s more than a position or trait. It turns your entire life upside down and spits you out on a new planet. There is beauty and magic and oxytocin and happiness and soul-crushing love. But there is also heaviness.
Motherhood can feel heavy.
I can’t think of another word to describe it. I used the word “relentless” once, but that is more task-specific. Sometimes it’s an unspoken feeling of burden, for lack of a better word. It doesn’t always have to be a bad burden, but it is heavy.
It’s exhausting, boring, necessary and fine, but also heavy.
Thankfully, the heaviness doesn’t usually last.
I look into their sweet faces and remind myself that this is literally all I ever wanted: motherhood.
The heaviness, day after day, can weigh you down to the point that you need to revive yourself once in a while. I am working on this; I really am.
By “working on it” I mean I have intentions of being better. I need to take time for self-care and tell myself that my girls will be fine without me for a few hours. Even if the baby screams for whoever is watching her, the caregiver will survive as well. But by tethering myself to my children in an attempt to always meet every need they have, I am depleting myself.