An Ode to Tired Moms Everywhere
It felt like Mother Nature breathed your life into my ear as our souls brushed against each
other on the trail the other day.
I think she delivered the message through a gust of wind,
Or maybe she was just taking a deep breath.
I recall things slow down to a crawl,
The leaves suddenly rustling loudly under my feet.
Everything seemed magnified.
You and your friend were out for a hike with your wee ones,
Each one sweetly packed into the
bunting of your backpacks.
The small papooses were taking in the grandeur of the trees surrounding
them,
Their tiny eyes wide and inquisitive.
You and your friend were looking at your phone.
Maybe you were looking at old photos,
But I suspect you were positioning for a selfie.
I don't think you even noticed us.
But for a brief moment,
I felt all of your frustration,
Your fears,
Your insecurities.
I felt the weight of your motherhood in the pit of my stomach.
I felt the pressures,
The expectations,
The worry,
The judgment,
And the self-doubt.
I felt the burden of that little papoose you symbolically carry on your back.
I saw the life of comparison your parenting skills would face.
I felt the torment you would feel
about the decision society would force you to make,
Follow your dreams,
Or be the mom you're
expected to be.
The world doesn't allow you to do both.
I felt the weight you would carry to make
everything perfect.
The perfect dinner,
The perfect house,
The perfect garden,
The perfect
vacation,
And the perfect life.
The perfect body and the perfect wife.
I felt the anger you would
have when you returned to work,
Only to find things were very different.
Your job was different,
Your work was different,
And your friends were different.
I felt the overwhelming disappointment,
But I also felt your rage.
I felt every single time you chose your family over yourself.
I felt every invitation you would have to decline,
And every joy you would have to bypass,
So that your family could be perceived as happy.
I felt the resentment you would have,
That all of that fell on your shoulders,
And yours alone.
I felt the lack of time you would have to
yourself.
The variety of tones in which you would hear the word mom.
There would be times when it
would be a nuisance,
But there would be times when it would be a blessing.
Still other times,
It would be a saving grace.
I envisioned you moving the other things in your life to the foreground,
And your hopes and dreams drifting to the back.
I felt you shrinking and disappearing.
I felt your deep,
Deep sorrow.
I felt the stigma you would feel around asking for help.
You would feel better remaining silent than to appear weak.
I felt all the ways you would try
to numb the longing you felt inside.
The longing to get back to yourself.
The long journey back
to your core.
The person you were before.
I felt your fierce determination to reclaim your identity.
I felt your river of tears over lost time,
Lost years,
And lost hope.
I felt your fear
that you hadn't done your best for others,
But most importantly for yourself.
All of that I felt.
And it may have been over a number of years,
A number of months,
A number of days,
Or even a number of moments.
I can't be sure.
But what I do know for sure
is that I saw you.
I felt you deeply.
And I just wanted you to know that I finally understood.
And that I miss you mom.
I wish you could have told me.
