The Cry of A Mother

“Mommy, play with me”… That’s what my little one says every day. It doesn’t matter if I just spent the last hour playing with him. For him, it’s not enough. I feel terrible telling him I can’t play with him because I need to work. The look of disappointment registers clearly on his face and his head lowers. I see just the curls that sit on top of his head and a glimpse of his poked-out lip. I wish I could spend all day playing with him. I wish I could tell him let’s come up with more games, mommy doesn’t have any work to do today. I wish I could, but it’s not my reality.

The truth is, mommy has work to do every day because mommy is a single mother of 4 children and I have to make sure I work so that I can make the money to cover everything they need and some of what they want. This is around the time when those negative thoughts start to repeat. I made the wrong choices and this is why I have to constantly work and I don’t have to spend with my kids like I would love to. Poor choices keep me from playing with my kids. Get your shit together Nadine! Make better decisions! And it goes on like a song on a loop.

Only it’s not an accurate story. I’m hard on myself unnecessarily whereas I’d give others grace for the same choices. I chose to be a single mother by ending a relationship I knew wasn’t for the best for either of us. I chose to break my own heart because I knew we’d keep doing the break up to make up dance, and I didn’t want to end up hating him. I loved him, but we wanted different things and couldn’t find a way to meet in the middle. There was too much hurt over the years and healing that didn’t seem possible.

Prior to that relationship, I chose to end my marriage because I was so miserable, I felt like a prisoner. It was 12 years that I learned what love was and what it wasn’t. I learned what it meant to be completely abandoned by a partner…even while laying in a hospital bed. I faced postpartum depression for the first time during this marriage, and tried to meet the expectations of what others told me a good wife should be.

I chose to parent my children in a way that they’d always get the truth from me, but all the details they may not need, especially if it doesn’t involve them. There are some days I ask them to please have grace with me, I’m struggling today. I’m sad today. I’m not feeling well. And they understand grace and allow me to be human. I wish I could tell them I’m nursing a broken heart, or mommy is having some triggering emotions and trying to process through, but most of them don’t need to hear that. For their emotional wellbeing. They need to know mommy has human emotions and be able to see me process through, but don’t necessarily need to know the details of it.

I’m raising 4 beautiful souls that teach me so much every day. They also show me where I still have wounds and am in need of healing. This can be a humbling experience for me sometimes. And other times, my ego wants to say I’m already over that wound, it doesn’t phase me, knowing damn well I’ll come back around later and come to the conclusion that I’m in need of healing in that area. Yet, these are some of the things we can’t talk about openly as mothers. This will get me thrown into the pile of mothers that get judged and cast down into the volcanic lava of street gossip. I can admit to being far less than a perfect mother, and admit even more to being a mother just struggling to juggle all the balls I have in the air.

Out of my 4 children, 3 of them are special needs. That brings its own additional challenges on top of regular parenting. I have to be tuned in enough to be able to catch the signs of an impending seizure (if there are any that time), a mood swing, stimming, anxiety, or any of the other host of signs my kids show me that say they need me to give them some love and reassurance. Sometimes all it takes is a hug, other times it’s grueling and exhausting and may require hospital visits or first aid. I struggle to meet all of their needs, and I’m doing my best. The best thing I can do for them is to love them as best as I know how and hope this is what they’ll remember instead of my shortcomings.

I’m grateful to have found my tribe where I can be honest with women I trust and tell them sometimes I feel like I’m drowning, and know that they get it. They understand. They’ve seen me cry many tears agonizing over whether I was doing a good enough job as their mother. I’ve questioned myself, I’ve even questioned the Creator. After all, did Great Spirit believe in me enough that I’d take care of these beautiful souls and not fold under the pressure? Some days I feel like my knees are buckling and I’m just making it through.

I get angry at the 2 men I have children with. I feel like they get to enjoy life with no or very few responsibilities and I’m left to carry the entire weight of decision-making myself. Every decision I have to make on my own and wonder how it’ll affect the kids in the long run. Will I traumatize them if we move? Will they resent me if I miss one of their events? How do I juggle trying to make 2 events at the same time? How can I choose? If I don’t play with the baby today, will he feel rejected and it create a wound in him? I second guess every single decision and second guess every thought.

After all of this, you know what I’ve come to? I’m truly doing the best I can. I’m going to miss some things. There will be moments when I can’t make everything. There will be some days when I forget. Pajama day in school today and I forgot to wash the pajamas they wanted to wear so badly. They wanted a specific meal and I forgot to buy the ingredients for it. They needed cupcakes for school and I forgot all about it. There will be days when I need to take a hot bath to just sit and cry in the water because I feel like I’m pouring everything out of me and still showing up short…and then they come and knock on the door and ask if I’m ok. I clear my throat and wipe my tears and tell them I’m ok, I’ll be out soon. And they make sure to say I love you before they walk away.

I’m sure I’ll leave some wounds with them that they’re responsible for healing as they get older. It’s not intentional. I’m just not perfect. I’m trying to be. I really am. I fall short though. I’m sure I give them things to share with their therapist, even though the therapist tells me she doesn’t know how I do such a good job with them. I’m surprised to hear that because my own critique is much more brutal. When my friends tell me I’m so patient and loving to the kids and I still feel bad about snapping at them earlier, it’s hard to receive the compliment. Teachers tell me the kids are such wonderful kids, they’re a pleasure to have in the class, I wonder how they come out so great. It can’t possibly be from me right?

These are brutal thoughts we have as mothers and often don’t have anywhere to lay them down where someone can hear us and just hold space without judgment. I’m not a bad mother, I promise. I’m just not a perfect mother either. Every choice I make puts the children first, even when it comes at the cost of me denying myself something. There have been many times in the past when money was super low and I didn’t eat to make sure the kids went to bed with full bellies. They never knew it though. There have been times when I ended relationships because one of my kids falls under the LGBT umbrella and the man I’m dating can’t respect that or disapproves. My job is to protect my children at all costs, that includes not inviting someone into our home that will make them feel uncomfortable about their lifestyle.

I don’t know if things get easier once the children grow up or if we just worry about them in a different way. For now, I can say I’m doing my best, and I’m constantly reminded by my tribe to stop being so hard on myself, my kids are loved and respected, and they have everything they need. Sometimes I’m able to stop the runaway train of “what if” thoughts and remind myself that my kids truly do have a great life. On the days I have trouble stopping that train, Great Spirit always sends someone along to remind me. Sometimes that someone is one or all of the kids reminding me that they love and appreciate me, and they couldn’t imagine things any other way. That in itself is medicine to my soul. I couldn’t imagine life without them.