When I first sat down to write this, I was still raw from the horror that was Wednesday. Part of me preferred to look away, to not face the mom guilt I felt over how often I feel overwhelmed. Instead, I choose to be honest with you and share how a writing prompt helped me not only to process what had happened but also to realize how my son and I could move forward, together. 

Postponing my needs and feeling depleted

For context, I'd already postponed all of my needs, especially my writing, because my preschooler had refused to leave my side that Tuesday. I tried playing with him for a short time, both of us adding the Hot Wheels to the crash track, observing how many we could add before we had a pile up, and then slowly withdrawing myself. I prayed he'd stay engaged, but a few minutes later I'd hear, "Momma, I want you."

As much as I relish snuggling my little squishy, the constant attachment can also leave me feeling exhausted and depleted.

Knowing he'd never let me sit down to work, I instead spent the entire day cleaning the kitchen while my little one danced circles around me, running several loads of laundry while my little one practiced tossing shirts into the dryer, and folding everything while he sorted socks and climbed on my back.

As much as I relish snuggling my little squishy, the constant attachment can also leave me feeling exhausted and depleted. When the items on my to-do list keep piling up, irritation also sets in, constricting the muscle in my chest and shoulders.

To ease this mounting tension, I promised myself I’d tackle everything the next day. While both my kids were in school, I would spend most of Wednesday’s glorious 3 hours of quiet time catching up on all of my personal to-dos. I would offload the accumulating mental clutter, shed some stress, and tend to the quiet musings of my own heart.

Mounting frustration

But then my 6-year-old unexpectedly stayed home from school with a cough and mild sore throat. 

After dropping my little one off at preschool, I tried to prepare myself mentally for the day ahead by shifting negative thoughts to positive affirmations. When I began mourning my lost alone time, I reminded myself that I rarely have one-on-one time with my 6-year-old. I visualized us sitting side by side, sewing together the last parts of the felt Santa ornament he'd started days earlier. I imagined us laughing as we colored more Christmas pictures at the dinning room table.

I just wanted to scratch off a few items on my to-do list first.

Yet every time I tried to focus on drafting emails for my holiday journaling challenge, brainstorming new ways to help more parents, planning Christmas dinner and grocery shopping, etc., my kiddo hopped and stomped and sang and made fart sounds and jumped on the sofa and asked questions and yelled for me to reattach the Hot Wheels track and invited me to wrap his body in construction paper armor and . . . the list goes on.

He never left me alone. Never. Every time I tried to dive back inside my head, he yanked me back out again.

I kept asking him, telling him, begging him over and over again, that if he’d just let me finish composing one email, we could do something together. But he never left me alone. Never. Every time I tried to dive back inside my head, he yanked me back out again. 

Until I snapped. 

Until I raged. 

Until I cried profusely on the sofa, asking why don’t my dreams matter too? 

Until I hid in my car, hyperventilating and gripping the steering wheel like it was a life preserver. I did not want to leave, but I did not want to go back in that house either. 

Horrific guilt

And do you know what my child was doing while I broke down? He was curled up on his bed, alone, crying that no one wanted to play with him. 

Guilt, my friends. Major, gut-wrenching mom guilt here. 

My 6-year-old thought a sick day meant alone time with me, playing. I had other plans. And so we spent the whole day fighting, me feeling suffocated and him feeling dejected. My heart physically aches every time I reread this.

So after a long, horrific day, I crawled onto my bed, slumped my shoulders against the headboard, and stared at that day’s writing prompt for the journaling challenge I’d been hosting all week. I just sat there, void of emotion, my pen slack in my hand, and my eyes dull and withdrawn. Until someone else's words caught my eye—the quote I had picked out weeks ago to accompany that prompt: 

“When we get too caught up in the busyness of the world, we lose connection with one another—and ourselves.”

– Jack Kornfield

Slowly, Kornfield's words swept aside the thick fog of failure and depression that clogged my brain and prohibited me from reconciling with myself and my son. I needed this reminder. I needed this prompt. I needed this quiet moment at the end of a crappy day to read those words, to let them coat my heart like a balm, and remember that my kid didn't intend to be difficult.

He was having a difficult time and tried to tell me in as many ways as he could. I, on the other hand, had gotten so caught up in my to-do list, in what I had deemed to be my emergency, that I wasn’t able to truly connect with my sweet boy—nor with myself. 

Untangling myself and setting intensions

Only when I finally paused, exhaled the day, and reexamined my actions—only at the end of this writing—could I exit my anger, my anxiety, my regret, and my shame. I accept the fact that I am human. I make mistakes. I too sometimes get so caught up in my own chaotic mind that I forget how to untangle myself from that chaos. And only by facing that horrible day could I find and absorb that day's lesson. So I can connect better. So I can communicate better. So I can plan better.

Now, this next bit is extremely important, because I want all parents to let the following message settle deep within their psyche: Did I learn that I should toss aside everything personally important to me and spent the whole 3 hours with my son? No, my friends. No. That's not the lesson.

Wanting to include my needs and priorities in my schedule wasn't where I erred. My dreams do matter. And I still deserve a chance to unwind, recharge, and tend to my heart. Because even though I love being mom, I'm also a whole, complex human being.

My needs and my dreams do matter. And I still deserve a chance to unwind, recharge, and tend to my heart. Because even though I love being mom, I'm also a whole, complex human being.

The lesson was this: The next time my son needs connection, I will pause my work. I will step away from my to-do list. I will take a deep breath, clear my mind, and reconnect with myself. Once I'm in a better headspace, I will reconnect with my son through snuggles and laughter and make sure he knows how much I deeply love him.

Then, as a team, we will make a plan for the rest of the day that includes both time together and time apart. We can even create a visual doodle chart that shows him the order in which we'll do things.

Reconnecting

As horrid as I felt crawling onto my bed, this realization helped dissipate that guilt, resentment, and those other negative emotions that had pulverized me earlier. Only by the end of this writing could I look forward with hope and intention.

As horrid as I felt crawling onto my bed, this realization helped dissipate that guilt, resentment, and those other negative emotions that had pulverized me earlier.

Only at the end of this writing could I plan all the snuggles and affirmations I gave my sweet boy the following morning and plan a weekend playdate for just the two of us. A playdate involving a movie, Twizzlers candy, and holiday shopping. A playdate after which we did finish stitching together his felt Santa. And a date after which he drifted off to sleep, hugging my arm against his chest, smiling, and whispering, "You're the best Momma ever."

Love, my friends. Major, heart-inflating love here. 

To my readers:

How do you all disengage from the busyness of the world and reconnect with yourselves and those around you?

Featured photo by Fa Barboza on Unsplash