What the Fuck? A Motherhood Reckoning

What the fuck.

These last two days have been a thing in the world of motherhood.

But now, as I sit locked away in the sauna, alone, knowing my children are safe with their dad, I can finally relax and breathe.

And holy shit, do I need it.

There are so many thoughts chattering through my mind.

What the fuck are we doing? Why are we choosing to do so many things against what traditional society tells us to do? Why does this feel so damn hard?

I love my children more than words can explain, and yet, sometimes, I want absolutely nothing to do with them.

There. I said it.

Because somewhere deep inside, I can see how each of my children brings something to the surface within me. Each one seems to touch a different tender place, a different wound, a different part of myself that is asking to be seen, felt, and worked through.

And while I am grateful for the opportunity to grow alongside them, it is also fucking exhausting.

Wow. I’ve said fuck a lot.

And honestly, I hate that word. But right now, it feels so damn good to say it out loud. To let it out. To release some of the energy I’ve been holding inside.

Maybe that’s what I need more of. Less holding it all together. Less trying to find the perfect words. Less making everything sound beautiful and intentional when, sometimes, it just feels hard.

Sometimes, motherhood is beautiful.

Sometimes, it’s sacred.

And sometimes, you just need to sit in a sauna and say what the fuck until you can breathe again.

The Pattern I’m Starting to Notice

One thing I’ve been bringing into my awareness lately is how often I feel this way.

Every few days, or at certain points throughout the month, I seem to reach a place where my patience is thin, my energy is gone, and everything feels like too much.

I’m starting to track it.

I’m paying closer attention to my hormones, my cycle, my sleep, and the subtle shifts in my body that I may have been pushing through for years. I’m curious about the ways these things influence how I feel, how I respond, and how much capacity I have to hold everything happening around me.

I’ve also noticed that with each child, I’ve seemed to become more exhausted. More depleted. And, dare I say, angrier.

I find myself asking why.

Why does it feel like such a chore to make space for myself?

Why do I have to reach a breaking point before I feel justified in stepping away?

Why is it so hard to simply say, I need a minute?

I know I’m not the only mother who has felt this way. I know there are women out there who love their children fiercely and still crave a moment when nobody needs anything from them.

But knowing that doesn’t necessarily make it easier to navigate.

And it certainly doesn’t answer the bigger question:

Am I putting too much pressure on myself? Am I demanding too much? Is this just what motherhood is supposed to feel like?

I hear Spirit chime in.

Calm the fuck down.

Ha.

Okay, Spirit. Message received.

But really, how do we do that?

The Weight of Wanting More

What happens when a woman has massive dreams and goals? When she feels a deep calling toward something more, something she is meant to create, something that lives so strongly inside her that she cannot simply ignore it?

And what happens when that same woman is also raising children, tending to a home, nourishing a family, and trying to be present for the people she loves?

What happens when she wants to build something meaningful in the world but feels like she’s barely keeping up with the demands of her everyday life?

Sometimes, I feel caught between two worlds.

There is the part of me that longs to create, to build, to explore, to bring my work into the world. The part that has dreams that stretch far beyond the walls of my home.

And then there is the mother in me.

The mother who wants to be present. Who wants to nourish her children well. Who wants to create a home that feels grounded and connected. Who wants her children to grow up feeling safe, loved, and supported.

I want both.

I don’t want to abandon my dreams to be a mother, and I don’t want to abandon the mother in me to pursue my dreams.

But somewhere along the way, I’ve started to feel as though I have to carry it all.

And before anyone starts whispering about husbands, let me say this: Kyle has been amazing. I’ve watched him grow so much throughout our journey with three children. There are moments when he can hold space for them in ways that I struggle to, and I am genuinely grateful for that.

This isn’t about blaming him.

It’s about looking honestly at the life I’m living and asking myself what is happening here.

Why am I so depleted?

Why does it feel like I’m constantly reaching for the next thing while running on empty?

Why do I feel guilty when I need to stop?

Perhaps the problem isn’t that I don’t have enough discipline, that I need a better routine, or that I need to try harder.

Perhaps I’m trying to do too much while believing that slowing down means I’m somehow falling behind.

The Fear of Slowing Down

As I sit with these questions, I hear that familiar wisdom rising from within me.

Slow down and listen.

There it is again.

That quiet, steady knowing that seems to find me whenever I finally create enough space to hear it.

But here’s the thing: when I actually sit with the idea of slowing down, I can feel how deeply uncomfortable it is.

It’s not just a matter of changing my schedule or deciding to take an afternoon off.

It’s something deeper.

Somewhere in my nervous system, there seems to be a belief that we aren’t supposed to slow down.

That slowing down means we’re lazy.

That we’re unproductive.

That we’re somehow failing to show up as the mothers, women, and creators we’re meant to be.

I think about how often mothers are expected to be everything to everyone. To anticipate every need, manage every detail, keep the home running, nurture their children, maintain their relationships, and somehow still find the energy to pursue their own passions.

And if we need a break?

We wonder what’s wrong with us.

If we feel angry?

We question whether we’re good mothers.

If we want to be alone?

We feel guilty for wanting distance from the very people we love most.

I wonder how much of this we have absorbed without even realizing it. How many of us are moving through our days with an internal pressure to keep going, even when our bodies and hearts are begging us to stop.

I look at my own life and see a mother trying so hard to reach for her dreams while also carrying the weight of her family on her back.

And her candle is beginning to burn out.

Not because she doesn’t love her family.

Not because she isn’t capable.

But because even the most devoted woman has limits.

And perhaps honoring those limits is not a failure of motherhood. Perhaps it is part of learning how to live in a way that allows us to keep showing up without losing ourselves in the process.

Maybe I Don’t Need Another Answer

I spend so much time looking for answers.

Researching. Learning. Tracking patterns. Trying to understand my body, my emotions, my children, and the deeper threads connecting everything.

I want to know what needs to change. What I can do differently. How I can become a healthier, more grounded version of myself while still building the life I envision.

But perhaps, for right now, I don’t need another answer.

Perhaps I need to stop asking myself to solve everything.

Perhaps I need to give myself permission to sit in the discomfort of not knowing what’s next.

There is a difference between giving up on a dream and allowing yourself to rest before taking the next step.

There is a difference between abandoning your responsibilities and recognizing that you cannot pour endlessly from a cup that is already empty.

And there is a difference between slowing down because you’ve lost your way and slowing down because you are finally willing to listen to yourself.

I think I’m learning that difference.

Or at least, I’m beginning to see where I need to look.

Maybe Spirit isn’t asking me to abandon my dreams, lower my expectations, or stop creating.

Maybe I’m simply being asked to reconsider how I am trying to get there.

To notice where I’m pushing.

Where I’m striving.

Where I’m carrying things that may not need to be carried in the way I’ve been carrying them.

And to ask myself what it might feel like to create a life that has room for me, too.

Not just the mother.

Not just the wife.

Not just the woman with the dreams and the plans.

But the woman who gets tired. Who gets angry. Who needs quiet. Who sometimes has absolutely no idea what she’s doing.

The woman who is still learning how to care for herself while caring for everyone else.

For Now, I Am Sitting

So, I guess this is where we leave off for now.

No grand revelation.

No five-step plan to become a more patient mother or a more productive woman.

No promise that tomorrow I’ll wake up with a new perspective and suddenly have everything figured out.

Just me.

Sitting in the sauna.

Sweating.

Breathing.

Letting the noise settle enough that I might hear what is underneath it all.

My children are safe. Kyle is with them. And for these few moments, I don’t have to be needed by anyone.

I can simply be.

Maybe that’s where the next chapter begins.

Not in doing more, learning more, or trying harder.

But in allowing myself to pause long enough to hear the wisdom that has been whispering to me all along.

Slow down and listen.

I’m trying.

For now, that’s enough.

In Peace, Love and Service,

Rebecca