I was taught at an early age the importance of helping others. My mother showed me by example how rewarding it was to embrace somebody who needs a hug, feed someone who is hungry, or listen to a friend who needs a crying shoulder. It's a lesson I have written down in ink in my "book of life". I believe this knowledge has made me a better mother, a better wife, and friend. It never crossed my mind, however, that to be a better person I also needed to learn when it was "me" who needed the help. I thank motherhood for teaching me that one. It all started about two months after I brought my twin babies home. I was now a mother of four, ready to take the bull by the horns like a champ. Or so I thought …
I knew something wasn’t right when the nights I spent smiling became fewer than the ones I spent crying. When during the day, I spent more time feeling guilty about the things I forgot to do or didn’t feel like doing, than enjoying the good moments that WERE happening. I was overwhelmed. I missed dentist appointments and fed my children frozen pizza for dinner; work was behind, and I didn't have a creative cell in my body to come up with a new product. I couldn't begin to remember the last time I had actually kissed my husband good night, much less the last time we made love. As I woke up in the middle of the night, for the 5th (or maybe it was the 6th) time trying to decipher whose turn it was to feed, I felt powerless and incompetent. I felt I was failing my children as a mother and my husband as a wife. Most of all I was failing myself. I couldn’t keep up with anything while other moms seemed to be able to do it all and look put together while doing it.
Everyone insisted I was overloaded and just needed to stop being so hard on myself and let people help. In my eyes, I wasn't being hard enough. I needed to get my act together! After all, I had four wonderful and healthy children. Not one sick child. My older children excelled in school. And, as far as newborns went, the twins were not that bad. I had an amazing husband who would come home from work and do whatever he could to help me. I was very blessed. Yet, when I looked around, all I could see was an unkept house, appointments I had missed, craft projects I never managed doing with the girls, and recipes of healthy meals I hadn't prepared for them. I felt sad and incredibly guilty.
I went to bed every night saying the next day would be different; that I would pull myself together. I really felt I could. Until the next morning, when the sun would come up and I would realize I had slept less than 3 hours, AGAIN. That everything was there to be done and I just didn't have the desire or energy to do it. My husband told me I needed to breathe and let people help me. But how could I? That’s the reason I stayed home right? To take care of our children and our house. Not for somebody else to do it for me. I was supposed to be the helper; the one who saw to THEIR needs. I was the one not volunteering to the PTA, or calling my friends to check on them. I was the one who was failing in providing help. Guilt was this spiral staircase in which once I fell, I could not see where the first step had been nor where I was going to land.
One day I woke up and realized I was missing life. I was missing my family. I was so busy feeling guilty and overwhelmed that I wasn't enjoying the little things. I was going through my days without feeling the joy of my babies' first smiles. I was listening to the voices in my head saying I wasn't good enough instead of listening to Maya reading her first words. I missed BEING body and mind with them. I knew they were missing me too. I needed help; not because I was weak but because I wanted us to be happy again. So I began to say yes.
I began to accept my father-in-law's offers to pick up the girls from school on occasion so that the twins could have a proper nap. I said yes when a friend offered to bring us some dinner. And when Josh asked if we could have somebody help with the house, I said yes. It had taken me months to accept the help and it took me several more to stop feeling guilty about getting it, but eventually I did. Funny thing is that my days were still full to the rim. I still had babies to nurse, diaper, bathe, play with, and read to. I still had children to drive from one place to the other, homework to help with, my store and business to take care of, food to prepare and "parenting" to do. I had meals to prepare and laundry in the hampers, but the help was definitely taking the edge off. And for that I was ever so thankful.
Now I was able to enjoy playing games with the girls instead of laundry. As I nursed my babies, I didn't focus on the pile of dishes sitting on the sink, but instead on the expressions and details of their faces. I was able to sit with my husband and enjoy some tea after the children were in bed without worrying we should be mopping the floors instead. I went to bed feeling accomplished, not guilty. And when the midnight cry for nursing came, I was tired, but ready for it. And all because I said, "Yes, I do need help."
I learned that sometimes we are so busy trying to be and do it all that we forget we might be better people, better engaged, better focused if we DON'T do it all. If we just accept that sometimes we alone are NOT enough. I learned I need others just as much as others need me. I had long been schooled on being a good person and helping others in need. Life finally taught me that it is ok to be on the receiving end as well.
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