Burnout

The days begin with feeling tired, not wanting to get out of bed, but knowing that I only have a short time to get done all that I want to get done before the kids wake up. Only, there is never enough time to get everything done before the kids wake up. Always clothes that need to be washed, folded, and put away. Always extra clutter to be sorted, trashed or put somewhere for safe keeping. Always dishes to be washed, recipes to make before the food goes bad, followed by dishes to be put back into the cupboard. There’s always a floor that needs sweeping and swiffering, a rug that needs vacuuming, and a spot where a stain is setting in. There’s always a toy that needs picking up, oppositional crayons straying from the pack, and rooms with messes to be cleaned. Always. Always. Always.

I can live with this. I have to live with this.

Because shortly there’s a crying child waking up wanting “Mommy”. A body to dress, a diaper to change, hugs to be given, and some Mickey Mouse Clubhouse to be watched with some warm milk. Additionally, breakfast needs to be made, consumed, and cleaned up. Followed up by a quick shower for “Mommy”, a lunch for the work day, and some “have a good day” hugs and kisses. Faster. Hurry. Faster.

I can live with this. I have to live with this.

A short day at work quickly becomes a long day at work. Fixing crises, inspiring hope in the hopeless, promoting self-compassion where self-hatred exists, and essentially saving lives. The deep troubles of others bear on my heart heavily as I feel torn between my passion for helping others and my desire to get home to be close with my darlings. I see exactly where I should draw the line, but I ignore it and push knowing I’m running at full capacity. Give more. Do more. More, more, more.

I can live with this. I have to live with this.

Finally going home, later than I’d hoped and planned. My mind already consumed with “what will I make for dinner?” I enter into an environment where my darlings vie for the “mommy-attention” they have craved all day, and they get their fix. But it’s never enough. Still so much to do, but no mental energy to complete all the tasks. Kids crying. New messes being made. Baths and pj’s and dinner. Bedtime comes too quickly, and I wonder where the time goes. The house goes silent.  Reflecting. Is this it? Is this enough?  I don’t know if I can live with this.

Let me know your sentiments.

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