Okay, Moms, we need to talk

About four years ago, I was in the depths of an abysmal hole, and I couldn't see any way out. I was the mother of three small children (four if you count the twins "Max," which we're definitely going to count), who were needy and loud and messy and constant. There weren't any breaks or holidays, and even vacations felt like a chore. I felt trapped. And, I felt all alone. I didn't know how to ask for help. And, if I'm really honest, I didn't think I could ask for help, because every feeling I had felt "wrong." I mean, what kind of mother daydreams about just running away and never coming back?! What kind of person can feel overwhelmingly sad in the midst of a truly blessed life?! These are the kinds of thoughts you barely acknowledge to yourself, and they certainly aren't the kind of things you talk about in public. And, believe me, I spent a great deal of time berating myself for ever even letting these thoughts pass through my mind. Especially since the world around me, in the form of Internet memes mostly, seemed to be screaming, "The time is short, so embrace every moment with your children!" I wasn't interested in embracing these seemingly interminable moments. In fact, the only light in my days sometimes was the thought that these little people would eventually grow up and move away. Awful thoughts for a mom to have, right?! So, I worked overtime to try to hide the crazy during the daylight hours. But late at night, when I finally let the tears flow freely and silently, I stood face-to-face with these monsters and a few more besides. One time, I actually left the house in the middle of the day, telling no one where I was going, and I disappeared for several hours. I was a mile from my house, at a park, being eaten alive by mosquitoes and wishing I could just stay there forever. At the time, it was the only thing that made any sense whatsoever. Perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done was to drag myself back home and reinsert myself into my life. 

I wish I would have asked for help. I wish I would have not tried so hard to pretend that everything was fine. I wish I would have hired a sitter to come to my house once a week, so I could have a break. I didn't do any of those things. I just muddled through, and eventually, I started to figure some things out on my own, and I started to make some changes in my mind. But, it was a tremendously painful and lonely process. And, much, much later, I was able to pull out of it. There are still scars on my heart from that particular time in my life. Things have been better in the years since I figured some of that stuff out. But, this summer, without the schedule and structure of the school year, and with a fun, but demanding job, and with a part-time potty training toddler running around, I have had inklings of those old feelings. I'm so thankful to my brave and amazing friend, Katie, for reminding me that I'm not alone, and that it's o.k. to ask for help, and that it's necessary to talk about it. I have come to believe that most parents of young children (moms AND dads) feel some or all of these things, at least occasionally. It doesn't mean we're bad people. Or that we don't love our children. It just means that parenting is hard. We need to ditch the Pinterest and Facebook-inspired comparisons, that shout at us that we are failing as parents if we don't have a celebrity-style birthday party for our two-year-olds and build super-duper deluxe bunk beds by hand and share this meme "if we love our kids and never want them to grow up." We just need to be real and honest and vulnerable. Like, Katie, let's not be "above or beyond" help.

And, for those out there who actually do have your stuff together at this particular moment, try not to judge those of us who may not. And be the help, if you can, because there may be a person in your life who doesn't know how to ask for help or even if they can.