Since I am on this journey to just write, and to share my life with you in a more deep and honest way, I’ve been going back to those 10 unpublished posts I mentioned—the posts I have been afraid to post. I published one of them last week, and all I have to say is WOW.
The response to it has been incredibly humbling and enabling at the same time. Thank you for your gracious words and encouragement. It does a weary momma’s heart good.
This one has been sitting in my draft box for seven months, yet the reality of the struggle is near.
Its been a hard day.
I find myself bawling on the way home from the Doctor’s office. There is something about that place that brings out the worst in my kids. I knew I shouldn’t have gone with all three—it is a recipe for disaster.
And a disaster it was.
Spent, tears well up as soon as I leave the building. Frustration. Anger. Embarrassment. Shame.
I’m not ashamed of my kids, but of me; of how I feel about my kids at that moment, and how I just want out. Out of this motherhood thing.
I can’t do this.
This is the only thought I can manage. I can’t do this. I CAN’T do this. I CAN’T DO THIS.
This being a momma; it is too hard. The screaming. The whining. The fighting. The dishes. The laundry. The interruptions.
Its all too hard.
As much as I want to run home, put Max and Ruby on for the kids, and collapse into my bed, I can’t. Antihistamines and antibiotics have to be dolled out, and there’s a line. I pull the car into a dusty, empty lot, and cry.
Kenneth asks why I am crying. I squeak out some words through my sobbing, “I can’t do this. I can’t be a good mommy…I am trying so hard, but I just can’t do it. We need to pray for mommy…I can’t be a good mommy with out God.”
He says he can’t be good either; he needs God, too.
We get through the car line at CVS and head home. I can’t help it, I am still crying. Overwhelmed. Exhausted. Defeated.
Kenneth says “Mommy, will you pull over? I want to do something.” Bewildered, I pull over. This five-year-old gets out of his buckles, steps over the molding sippy-cups. and ground-in Cheez-its, down the aisle of my blue mini-van and hugs me. With all his little might he hugs me.
I sob. I can’t stop. I am a complete mess.
I am not even sure where to go from here. I know what is true. I know I’ll get through this. I know I need Jesus.
But in these overwhelming moments, which come all too often, it is incredibly hard to preach the truth. My mind will listen, but my soul ignores.
Answer me quickly, O LORD!
My spirit fails!
Hide not your face from me,
lest I be like those who go down to the pit.
Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love,
for in you I trust.
Make me know the way I should go,
for to you I lift up my soul.
(Psalm 143:7-8 ESV)
Every Monday in November we are sharing our hearts. Letting go of what hinders us in our writing, and linking our words with others. No criticism, no grammar-police, just encouragement. All we ask is that you do some blog-hopping and at least comment on the post before you. (And, it’s always nice to see the Write It, Girl button!)