Life just got Real: Emotionally Exhausted

I remember the day I broke down into tears at the kitchen sink and I knew something was off. I had to do something about it. But I didn't know how.

I remember that I hadn't stopped since I woke up that morning. Cleaned up the usual mess, washed the dirty dishes, cooked meals and while I was doing all those, I was thinking of the piled-up laundry that I didn't even want to handle. You see, in my household, no one likes to do laundry. No one. So laundry would be the last in my to-do list, usually. It's the one thing I dread of doing every single week. Who hates doing laundry like me? We're on the same boat.

Anyway, I remember locking myself in the bathroom and just cried. I stayed in there for a few minutes thinking about how I hated those undone laundry and how I was going to deal with it. And then there was another thought of having a messy room should I choose to ignore dealing w the laundry. I was emotionally tired at that point that the thought of doing one more chore was enough to give me a nervous break down. At that point, I really thought I was having postpartum depression. A very delayed one.

DS wasn't home so I allowed myself to cry as loud as I can. Aidan was outside the bathroom crying because he wanted to get in there with me. I didn't want him to see me cry. What if he remembers me as the sad mother growing up? Of course I know that he isn't going to remember most of the things as he grows up, but I was in a depressed mode, I wasn't thinking rationally. I was at my lowest point.

I looked at myself in the mirror crying and all I see was a failed woman. I couldn't handle the house chores while caring for my child. I looked at myself as a failed role model. What made it so depressing was that I had to hide myself in the bathroom only to be able to let go of what I was feeling inside. All by myself. I concluded that I couldn't show this vulnerable side of me to my own husband. Why? Will he not understand? Will he not care? The only answer I had for myself at that moment was, NO, he wouldn't. But I could be wrong. I never showed it to him or even asked. Maybe because I'm scared of what he'll say. Maybe I kind of already know what he'll say. So I'll never know, or at least until my next break-down episode.

You see, I wanted a baby so bad. I was so afraid that I couldn't get one. And now that I have one, I can't seem to handle everything else that comes with it. But is it true? Is it true that I can't handle life with a baby? No. It's not. It's not the baby that I can't handle. It's not everything that comes with it that I can't handle. I just can't handle everything on my own. On. My. Own. I'm just one person. One human being. Two hands. Two legs. With everything to do. I need a team.

Sometimes I wonder if I'd be a better mom and wife if I was a stay-at-home mother who looks after my son while taking care of home. Would I have more time to do one chore at a time? Would I be more composed? Would I treat my son and husband better? I don't know. Different things could have happened but this I know: the struggle would be the SAME.

There's no easy way to be a good mother and devoting wife at the same time. Truthfully, I don't divide my attention to both my husband and son equally. It has to be either one and usually, it's always the latter. Why? It's because I don't think I would have anymore left for myself to keep me going if I were to give my all. There really is no easy way to be both and do all the "superwoman" deeds, especially for working mothers with no helpers at home. Don't get me wrong for saying this. I'm not implying that full-time moms don't get as tired as working moms. I know they do. They spend time with their kid(s) 24 hours a day. That's something. At least I get some "me" time at work. And that's not even half the attention given.

So how does a working mom like me cope? How do I go another day while keeping my sanity in tact and holding my shit together? I guess at this point, the best thing I could do for myself as a mother is to be able to admit my struggles. Admit that I can't do it all. Admit that I am taking one step at a time. Admit that I fall and crack, and sometimes, I do take a longer time to get back up. But to whom do I admit all these struggles? Well, it doesn't have to be anybody. I'll start admitting it to myself because when I try to find my vulnerable self in the dark, that's how I know how bright I should turn the light on. And that light, that would be my strength.