Exhaustion of Motherhood

Sometimes I wonder if all mothers feel guilty for the strange things.

I hear all the time that no one could possibly be my son’s mother except me. I think that is true for all parents. I think that we should be the ones that our kids need. Children deserve patience, love, and understanding.

I still tilt my head when someone says that to me because my own mother was definitely not the one that I needed, so I made sure and still make sure that I do everything I can for my son. I work to become the one that he comes to. I was a single parent for most of my life until I met and married the man that he calls Dad.

I am not a perfect mother by any means, but I am a trying one.

My son is Schizophrenic and Autistic. This means that, on top of being a mom, I am a case manager for his doctors, therapists, and psychiatrists, as well as his nutrition and medication plans. I am also the one sitting with him on the floor in a store for three hours when he needs it. I am the one advocating for him.

I am a wife. I am the spouse who is home while my incredible husband works overtime, starts a real estate company, and attends EMT school.

So, on top of being a mother and a wife, I am the housekeeper who they probably should have fired years ago, the cook, the animal caretaker of six dogs, three cats, and 14 baby chickens. I am the reading tutor, the keeper of the Scouts training book, and the school schedule.

I am waiting to meet with a pacemaker doctor and to see a neurologist and a rheumatologist, all for myself.

I am also a writer, an aspiring author, and a full-time college student working on my Master’s degree online.

I know that we all have the same amount of hours in a day as Beyonce, but I also know Beyonce doesn’t have to make all the meals in the house for three different diets from scratch.

No hate to the Queen that she is.

I am exhausted. I feel like I have to pick and choose what I can be passionate about in my life while still trying to maintain everything else that I am supposed to do.

I know that I can say that I am not complaining, even though I feel like I am. I love my life, and I would not change a thing except possibly the ability to stop time, get everything done, and then start it up again without affecting any time-space continuum.

I know that I can’t be the only parent drifting between exhaustion, guilt, and just complete overwhelm.

Being chronically sick does not help. I look at myself, and I feel like I can no longer find myself.

Where is the girl who used to lose herself in long runs?

The girl who used to rock climb the cliffs without a harness?

Where is the girl who did not get out of breath walking from her desk to the kitchen? (At this point, I would settle for this version)

I miss her. I’m trying to find a balance in my life now. A balance between the exhaustion and the guilt and refiguring out who I am again at 35.

Thankfully, I am lucky, and I have an incredible husband who pushes me to do just that, but honestly, he could push me over the exact right cliff to find who I am again, and the vines of guilt would not even let me get off the edge.