Dear mom who is one small crisis away from losing it completely, I see you.
I see you on your knees with tears streaming down your face.
I hear you flooding your soul with negativity and harmful self-talk because you once again screamed at your kids.
Because your house is a wreck.
I see your exhaustion.
I see the to-do list that keeps growing daily, but nothing getting done.
I see you with more hats piled on your already overflowing hat rack.
I see the frustration of trying to work from home while also being your child’s classroom teacher, full-time child care provider, chef, and referee.
I see you, mom, without a job right now, ends not meeting. Worried about the future if things don’t open back up, and worried that they will open too soon.
I see the late payments, recall notices, and decisions to be made about what stays and what goes.
I see the dread of knowing that the future and the lifestyle you once had will probably drastically change.
I see you sharing the burden of your spouse’s job on the line, or the total loss of two incomes, maybe even the family’s only source of income.
I see the void left in your heart knowing you can’t visit your parents.
I see the pain from trying to explain to your children why they can’t spend time with their grandparents.
I see the void of not having your girlfriends to hang out with to escape life a few hours.
I see the frustration of repeating 50 times a day why your kids can’t go to the park, indoor playground, or to see their friends.
I see how upside down your life has become – doing what once was a simple task, like going to the grocery store.
I see you slowly sinking deeper into depression because well…life, and not being able to utilize self-care at the hair and nail salon.
I feel the tension between you and your spouse.
I see the disappointment when you explain there won’t be a birthday party, graduation, prom, sports playoffs and other school activities your kids worked so hard to accomplish.
I see life beating you to the core.
I see you worried about family members working on the front line and family members immunocompromised.
I feel your heartbreak because you can’t comfort family when a loved one passes away.
I know that closure is hard when you don’t get to say goodbye in a proper way.
I read your frustration at the other end of the keyboard.
I see your anger.
I see your fear.
But mom, know these things:
You are not a bad mom.
You’re the best mom you can possibly be through all this.
You don’t have to be everything right now.
This is history – and your children will tell their own children how they survived. They will recall memories of mom being their teacher, so make the best of it.
Know that every child is experiencing the same setbacks.
Know this too shall pass, and there will be a new normal.
You are not alone.
You are stronger than you even know.
Everything doesn’t have to get done.
Breathe.
Count your blessings.
Hold on, tight.
Give yourself grace.
Give yourself a break.
Give yourself lots of love.
Turn on Disney Plus, go to the closet, and enjoy 10 minutes of peace.
Have an awesome dance party.
Find a reason to laugh, even at yourself.
You are loved, dear mom.
You are so so loved.
Others are watching you, and filled with admiration because of how powerful you are at this moment.
And Dear Mom, if you are doing well, or if these words really don’t resonate with you, please find a mom who is struggling and reach out any way you can.
We need each other.
