Hey, friend.

I see you.

You love your babies. They’re cute. They’re hilarious. They’re delightful. They’re maddening. They’re smart. They’re determined. They’re expressive. They’re so difficult.

Some mornings you wake up and see the things that need to be done and the bellies that need to be filled… and filled… and filled again. You see the endless needs, wants, requests. You know you’re going to spend the whole day trying so hard to shape hearts and behavior and it is hard, exhausting, holy work.

The thought enters:

I would rather be doing anything else today.


And then the guilt and shame set in. You hear every grandparent you’ve ever met telling you cherish every moment. You realize that they’re going to be grown before you know it. You know having littles and staying home with them is a privilege that some women would give anything to have. Maybe it was a privilege you’d have given anything to have, once upon a time.

And you’d rather be doing anything else today.

Oh, friend, I know.

I’ve been there.

am there.

Can we just talk about this for a minute?

IT IS OKAY. It’s okay to feel this way now and again. It’s okay to feel it when the needs and the noise overwhelm you. Feeling like running away does not make you a bad mom, whatever that accusing voice in your head whispers.

You are human.

This morning as I was sitting in my own puddle of exhaustion and guilt, I realized that this  please get me out of here and I’m such an awful mom for thinking that feeling is a useful warning light. In my heart, I’m pretty sure it means it’s time to look at self-care.

This week, I’ve been scraping by. Even the things that are bare-minimum level care (drinking water and eating food) have fallen apart. It’s no wonder I want to do something—anything—else!

There’s good news here. When I hear myself whisper, “I’d rather be doing anything else” …I can choose to do something else. Seriously. I still need to be here for my little people, but I don’t have to do it the same way. And you don’t, either.

Drink some water.

Declare “quiet reading time” and make sure you read, too. (Maybe not a parenting book or your facebook feed.)

Take an extra second in the car to breathe before you start messing with all the buckles.

For me, this looks like reading my Bible and my favorite devotional, then writing down some things I’m thankful for.

It looks like paying attention to the way baby Lilly’s head smells.

It’s drinking water, and making sure I remember my antidepressant. (Because if there’s one thing my family doesn’t need, it’s me off my meds. For reals.)

It’s choosing to look up.

At the moment, it’s letting a kid watch tv (before afternoon nap time?!?) so I can write.

This doesn’t fix all the things. But it does help fix me.

I don’t know what it looks like for you. But if you want to be doing anything else, please. Do something else. It doesn’t have to be big. It doesn’t even have to look any different. It may be as simple as reframing what you’re already doing. (Or maybe not.)

We got this, mama.


Published by robininalaska

Robin Chapman is a part-time writer, editor, and birth photographer and a full-time imperfect mama, wife, Jesus follower, and normalizer of failure. She’s trying hard to learn how to do this motherhood thing in a way that doesn’t land the whole family in intensive therapy. She has a heart for helping other mamas buried in the little years with hope, humor, and solidarity. You can find her hiding out in the bathroom with an iced dirty chai, writing and editing and making spreadsheets for KindredMom.com where she is a cheerleader for mamas, or online looking for grace in her mundane and weird life. She lives in Fairbanks, Alaska with her four delightful (crazy) kids—some homeschooled, some public schooled, some too young for school at all—and her ridiculously good looking husband, Andrew.

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  1. Thank you for writing this Robin. I heard this last night: “It’s better to build children than to repair adults.”.
    With the Lord’s help, you and Andrew are carefully building four little ones entrusted to your care. I love you.


      1. The lord must be trying to get me to listen to this message because I just read a different blog yesterday talking about Elijah and how when he became overwhelmed and cried out to God that God gave him rest, food, and a friend to help him. Thank you for writing this, there is something comforting in knowing you’re not alone.


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