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When the Walls Come Tumbling Down

I am a  firm believer in mothering. I mother from dawn till dusk and dusk till dawn. Mothering, it is what I did, what I do, and what I will be doing for the rest of my life. That switch that was turned on at the moment of conception, that forever gave me another soul—or 8—to shepherd. From that moment, I determined that I was going to do it right. I would right the mistakes of the past and mine would be the blessed generation. Oh, the worries I have given myself over this goal. How much stress I have put upon the shoulders of myself, my spouse, and unknowingly my children with my lofty goals.

We wear masks to hide our faces and build up walls to create an image of ourselves in our minds that we, mothers, “have got this.”

I am exhausted from my goals. There are times I walk in a fog, dizzy from the overwhelming burdens I have placed upon myself. And the fox waits in the vineyard, ready to steal my joy.

Have you ever had that feeling that you are not enough? When you lose your patience, speak words of frustration, look around you and see the laundry, dust, cluttered email box, kids dressed with mismatched socks, and say you are not good enough? And say, I cannot do this. I am not doing this. Someone else better than me should be doing this.  And then, if you are me, you imagine that faceless person caring for your children, the scene of neatly packed lunches and cheerful hugs as they leave for school, a spirit of joy as she goes to do the laundry and tidy up their bedrooms.
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