journal 2

I'm having a hard time, and I'm afraid to speak up about it. I go through this thought process from time to time, when things feel so hard, where I think something like I have no right to feel like I do, because I wanted this, chose to be a mother, chose to have all these children. I chose this life. I made my bed and now must lay in it.

Baby Hazel brings so much joy, she really does, and I really feel like I could have a baby around all the time, but beyond babyhood, I feel as though I'm floundering.

I feel like any time a mother starts to talk about how she feels like she's totally failing in her calling, most people band together to build that mother's confidence, to help her see she really is doing the best she can and that that is enough. And that is wonderful. But I never have been able to believe it when those intended confidence boosters are sent my way.

Because I know how I really am.

I don't share everything. I still try to keep my struggles vague, because I feel so much shame for not doing better than I am. I feel shame for being so frazzled and overwhelmed, for tuning out for most of the day - especially on the really hard and stressful ones. I feel shame for how unkind and straight up cruel my children can be towards each other, and because I don't seem to know how to stop it.

I've struggled at times with feeling completely spent and burned out as a mother, I've had times where I thought I was getting better, and times where I get a burst of energy and try to do things to prove to myself that I'm improving (picnic in December, anyone?). But it always comes back, the discouragement, the overwhelm, the struggle to feel any bit useful and effective.

My home is a disaster, my children run amok, I'm either numb and tuning out or completely lose my temper and I shrink with the shame of it all.

I'm not sure why I'm sharing these things on my blog, I don't put up posts like this on Facebook. I guess that, even though there are people I know "irl" who read this, it still feels more anonymous than Facebook. And, for some reason, that sense of anonymity makes it feel slightly less frightening to spill out some portion of my struggles.

I don't like feeling this way, I feel like I'm completely on empty, running on fumes. My bucket isn't just empty, but turned upside down as every last drop escapes and evaporates.

I fell like I know the tools to use to help myself out of this, but sometimes it all just feels too hard.