Partly Cloudy, 64°
Modern motherhood asks women like me to do it all. Every day, I juggle my own career alongside my husband’s work schedule and the daily responsibilities of caring for my three beautiful children. Between meal prep, grocery shopping, driving to extracurricular activities, getting the laundry done, and being displayed for this crowd of cheering Romans on a flaming spiked wheel, I have to admit that I’m starting to feel like a martyr.
With three young kids, it’s difficult to make time for any self-care. Sure, I have my book club once a month, but that’s not enough when you’re constantly giving, giving, giving and rolling, rolling, rolling on a wooden torture wheel as punishment for your faith. I’ve always heard the advice to put on your own oxygen mask first before helping others, and if I’m being honest with myself, I haven’t been living out that truth. Whether it’s my husband forgetting to help with the dishes or the pack of bloodthirsty lions advancing towards me in this circus, I don’t feel supported by my surroundings.
No one talks about the raw reality of motherhood. I’m never alone anymore; either my youngest son is clinging to me, or a prison guard is watching me while I wait to meet my Creator in a spectacular act of renunciation. Not to mention, carrying a toddler around all day makes me feel totally “touched out.” Yes, children are miracles, but they’re also hard work! Someone is always bombarding me with requests; one moment my five-year-old is asking me to cut up his chicken nuggets in quarters, not thirds, and the next a Roman soldier is telling me to get in the gladiator ring because I refused to sacrifice to the emperor.
Do I regret becoming a mom? Absolutely not! But motherhood has meant that I never really get to focus on ME anymore. For some reason, staying on top of my family’s needs and having my earthly flesh publicly mortified as entertainment for pagans isn’t bringing me fulfillment. I guess I’ll just have to try meditation.
