Every day was a battle.
As a young mom who mainly stayed home with her kids, I battled post-partum depression. I battled exhaustion. I battled discouragement. The days felt so long, and I felt completely inadequate. And I knew, somewhere deep down in the pit of my soul, that I was the only mom not loving the days of the littles.
Friends had told me that they felt called to be moms. (I never felt that calling.) Others had told me they couldn’t imagine doing anything else than being a stay-at-home mom. (I loved being a part-time professor.) One even told me I wasn’t doing enough for my children if I didn’t educate them the same way she was. (Just no.)
Every day seemed to breed a new level of comparison with other moms, especially those at my church who seemed, to me, to have it all together.
I quickly felt “not enough.” Not spiritual enough. Not Christian enough. Not mom enough. Who did I think I was to think I could possibly raise three daughters?
As my standards for myself grew higher and higher, based on what I thought others were doing, my mood sank lower and lower.
For many of my early years of parenthood, I imagine my face formed into a scowl. I was not happy, even though everything in my life was, logically speaking, wonderful. I knew my unhappiness was of my own making—I kept comparing and coming up short.I’m thrilled to share my words and experiences at The Grit and Grace Project. To read the rest of this article, click here.
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