I can complain about motherhood and still love my children more than anything in the world.
I am allowed to speak honestly about how exhausted I feel without having to justify it. I am allowed to be burnt out, touched out, and mentally drained—even if there is a helping hand nearby. Because some days, honestly, I feel like a robot, barely charged overnight, waking each morning to run the same endless course all over again.
Mom of three snaps photo of her children helping her make dinner
Simple daily tasks can feel like moving through quicksand. I am confined within these walls of constant doing—doing what needs to be done, over and over, for everyone around me, everyone except myself. Each day, I feel a little more numb than the day before, weighed down by responsibilities that never seem to end.
I love being a stay-at-home mom, but I hate feeling trapped in my own home. I love taking care of my children, but I hate feeling like I have no purpose beyond them. I love being essential to my household, yet I hate knowing it doesn’t function properly without me. And even when I get a rare moment to be away, my mind never leaves home—the mental load I carry never truly lets me rest.
Stay-at-home mom of three takes somber selfie while trying to enjoy time alone
I am always giving—my time, my thoughts, my energy, my body, my will. And when I dare to say, “I’m tired,” I am often looked down upon, judged, misunderstood. Because apparently, a mother is meant to be this endless vessel of giving. And while I would gladly give my life for my children, no questions asked, I am still allowed to feel overwhelmed, worn out, and utterly exhausted from time to time.
It gets heavy. And I am allowed to admit it without feeling like a terrible mother. Nothing else in life has made me feel so happy, so sad, so proud, so utterly drained, or so accomplished as motherhood. I am helping my children grow into their own unique selves while struggling to preserve my own, and if that doesn’t drain a person, I don’t know what does.
Stay-at-home mom takes selfie with her three children
I am wrapped in so much love for my little ones, yet it can leave me disoriented, lost, because I can barely find myself amidst their constant presence. I feel like a cloud surrounding them, existing solely for them. I forget my own thoughts unless I write them down, because there’s always a fight, a scream, a kick, or something spilled.
It’s. Always. Something.
And people are quick to judge, pointing fingers, saying, “You chose this!”
Yes, I chose it. I chose to devote myself fully and wholly to these little lives. And if that means that sometimes I reach the end of my patience, that’s okay. Saying I’m struggling does not mean I do not love my children—it simply means it gets heavy from time to time.
Mom takes a photo with her three children at her daughter’s pink-themed birthday party
I can complain about motherhood and still love my children more than anything in the world. It doesn’t make me ungrateful. It doesn’t make me a bad mother. It simply makes me human. And being human doesn’t diminish the joy, the love, or the incredible privilege it is to raise these tiny people. It just reminds me that motherhood is as hard as it is beautiful—and that is worth honoring.
