When I became a mother, just like that, I surrendered any and all solitude and privacy I'd previously enjoyed. The quiet had been my muse, my companion, my center. Even the loneliness in that solitude was somehow comforting and familiar. If I learned anything as an introverted only child, it was how to be alone, still and with my thoughts. I can keep myself entertained and happy for quite some time without help from anyone else. If I only leave the house once a week, I don't get restless. I am content.
So for me to be lonely, well, that's saying something.
Maybe you don't post about the days you're depressed and angry and feeling inadequate. Maybe your social media persona is far more chipper than you actually feel. Well, if you relate at all to this, I can tell you you're not the only one.
I'm tempted to close this out with some advice about making connections, but what I really want you to hear is that, whatever you feel, I'm here with you, and we will be OK. These overwhelming days will come and go. You're allowed to love what you have while also having needs. It's OK to listen to them. We are not alone.
Of course, I love being home with my children
Suddenly, I was crying about it to my husband
With actual tears rolling down my cheeks last week, I realized how far I'd pushed myself, how much I was expecting of myself while I was running on fumes. If I, the happy hermit, feel like this, I wonder about you.
You Pinterest-perfect mamas with the from-scratch birthday cupcakes. You working mamas who somehow have the energy to make dinner when you get home. You mamas posting pictures of your night out with the girls … you don't look lonely to me, but maybe you are? I probably don't look lonely to you, but I am.
