For me, the pressure to be happy can be crushing and there are times, more than I would care to admit, that “be happy” is just one more line item for supermom to check off. There it looms on the list: above “nutritious short order cook” and below “sultry sexpot”.
Being a mother has proved to be my life riddle. One that I am struggling to figure out.
How is it that I feel so utterly lonely but at the same time crave solitude?
Why do I want time apart from my kids but once I am alone, I count the hours to when they return?
At the end of the day, I beat myself up and wonder what is that I accomplished today? What use did I make of my two university degrees?
At the end of the day, I am amazed by the magnitude of what I have contributed to our society: three small boys, who are learning to be thoughtful, compassionate members of the community.
There are days when I am deliriously happy and days that I feel as though I am clawing my way out of a black hole.
Today I didn’t feel happiness. I felt claustrophobic, torn apart, pushed beyond the limit of exhaustion. As I write this, the boys are tucked into bed and not a minute too soon. My patience now sags like a hyper extended elastic band.
Hard days come with the mothering territory and when I feel less than sure, it’s not to the experts that I turn. I seek solace from those elbow to elbow with me in the trenches and Glennon Melton’s Don’t Carpe Diem tops my list.
Am I happy every day? No. Am I happy most days? Yes, and that’s good enough for me.
Life’s not a glossy magazine, folks. If it were, I’d have better hair.
photo credit: http://www.symbolset.org