White Flag

I flatlined.

There was nothing but a corpse, the soul sucked out by tiny midgets and the insatiable needs of the multitudes. Across the room, a defibrillator disguised as anti-anxiety medication reminded me of its presence. The prescription would help, of course, but self-care was too exhausting now. The effort not even an option, but a distant intent; one that had it been enacted proactively, may have lessened the direness of the outcome. But alas, the outcome came.

In my mind’s eye, I lied motionless in a grey toned room, stacked with heavy fleece blankets and drawn black-out curtains. Exhaustion had proved to be a powerful hindrance, but the sweet release of sleep was in fact, just a dream. It was a void that couldn’t be filled and resulted in perpetual paralysis, persistent mediocrity and a constant teetering on the edge.

In reality, my body moves robotically, dutifully waking, dressing, brushing, cooking, packing, dropping off, typing, calculating, configuring, planning, coordinating, communicating, picking up, planning, cooking, bathing, dressing, finagling, negotiating…until the cycle repeats. Going through the motions, moving through the day as a zombie would move through the night; no drive or motivation except the ravenous desire for brains- as inextinguishable as the exhaustion that no amount of sleep could quench.

When the responsibility is too much, when the tip scale holding the mental load drops like lead to one side, when gratitude and appreciation are non-existent, it culminates in complete defeat and my mind goes on strike.

I love my family. I’m in constant awe and appreciation for the gift of motherhood. The feeling of defeat compounds into feelings of ungratefulness. Which, I am most definitely not ungrateful. The sense of ungratefulness isn’t actually reflective of my feelings, but I suppose, a response to the overwhelming nature of my roles. It’s a silent cry for acknowledgment and a protest for some of the burden to be lifted…or at least, allowed a really long nap.

Motherhood may be the most paradoxical role in the universe.

The dichotomy of feeling unappreciated, ineffective, mediocre…on one hand, and profoundly grateful, proud and in awe of the blessings I’ve been bestowed… on the other hand, further underscores the complex, yet beautiful, essence of motherhood. The very sense of defeat is often what magnifies a mother's ability to appreciate the small victories, the fleeting moments of tenderness, and the milestones that pepper the journey of raising children.

The underappreciation, whether real or perceived, can inadvertently lead to an intense awareness. It's a poignant reminder that amidst the thankless days and sleepless nights, I am shaping small humans into who I hope will be exceptional people.

Tomorrow may be different. Tomorrow may be filled with a new hope and energy and motivation. But today, I wave the white flag. Today, it’s just too much. Today is a cereal-for-dinner, skip bath, TV in bed with mom kind of day. And that’s okay, because feeling defeated and running on empty, just means I’m giving Motherhood everything I have.

So, here’s hoping the refueling truck comes soon!