People tell stories of their grandest moments. They emphasize their smallest struggles and try to flaunt them as their heaviest. They brag about their happiness – but all of it is dishonest, to a point. Whitewashing, if you will.
Then I, in my immaturity, compare my weakness and struggles to their glistening triumphs and fail to measure up.
I’m going to embrace my humanity and honesty. Life is hard and life with children is harder! Going to bed with a sticky floor does not a failure make. Leaving the house to go for a run as soon as Josh comes home or enjoying a glass of wine with him to unwind does not mean I am subpar.
In fact, it is me being human. Being real. And keeping myself nurtured and cared for.
There are beautifully happy days and crummy, exhausting days. On the days where the kids can’t stop screaming, the house is swallowing me whole and my skin starts to crawl – I am still a successful mom. Cause bad days happen. I call Josh, tell him working late is not going to work, and leave for some time out of the house. I return relaxed and refocused. I kiss my babies and do a load of dishes.
Meltdowns happen. Dirty houses happen. Convenient food that you didn’t prepare from scratch happens. And yes – being stressed out from parenting and needing a separated time of quiet happens! I’m done feeling like a failure just because I don’t have perfect days all the time.