Far, Far Away


Today I don’t want to be a mom. At all.

I’ve lost my temper, I’ve yelled, and I’ve said things I can’t take back.

The way my children behave 90% of the time is extremely triggering for me. Hence we work on it every Monday, but change doesn’t happen overnight. I’ve prayed for it, begged for it, longed for it. So far, it continues to evade me.

I’ve cried enough. I’m crying currently.

Motherhood isn’t easy. It isn’t some beautifully painted portrait of an immaculate home, perfect children who curtsy and say thank you for everything, the wife who keeps it all together and remains unbreakable.

I am torn, spread thin, exhausted, no closer to answers or help with Alvi, and desperation takes over more often than not these days.

My littles have gone so long without snuggles and comfort that they don’t care to have it anymore, they’d rather yell, scream, and tell me no. Alvi prevents a lot of things in our home, regardless of not yet being two. It’s easier to leave the bear unbothered than to poke it.

I want to run. Far, far away.

Days like today I don’t feel qualified or enough to be their mother. My understanding of why God chose me for them is faded, and I am a complete disaster.

We’re about to have number four. How in the Hell am I supposed to manage that?

I am utterly terrified.

Yes, recently I have changed my stance to believe that God does indeed give us more than we can handle, so that we remember where to turn. Where to lay our struggles and troubles down. Instead of running.

So, then my question is why. The one we aren’t supposed to ask. It’s not our job to understand, but to trust and know that what lies on the other side of this is much bigger than we can begin to imagine.

These aren’t easy things to do, and so often I fail at them. I fail because I am human, just as you are.

Tomorrow can be a better day, if you give it a chance.

Right now it feels hopeless to hold onto the thought of a better day, but I’m doing it anyway.

Maybe this is you today, too. Maybe you need to hear that it’s going to be okay. You’re still doing a good job. Being a parent, caretaker, whoever you are isn’t for the faint of heart, and you were meant for this job, this path.

It is yours, and yours alone.

Tomorrow will be better.

Sweet Regards,


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