My mantra now is radical acceptance. It's radical because, for me, it means defiantly and unequivocally accepting what my anxious mind tells me is unacceptable—the messy, the imperfect, the difficult.
How do you silence that voice? Where do you go to remind yourself of your worth, while you're reminding everyone else—your kids, your partner, your friends—of theirs?
I just feel like this is my civic duty to post and tell whoever's out there right now crying that you aren't alone, that you are normal and that it's going to be alright.
This is a picture of me mid-meltdown during my second week as a mom of two. I just got done breastfeeding for what felt like the 100th time and my husband had just entered the room asking if I needed anything, and I said no. When he walked out, I just broke down. Because there were SO many things I needed.
I realized that, for better or worse, joking about being a wine mom is a palatable
code for saying "this is hard." That feeling is one just about every parent experiences, often on a
daily basis—but it can still be hard to admit, lest we be accused of not appreciating
motherhood enough.
All the things that had made me an individual had faded away in the sleepless chaos of having young children. My home life was who I had become. My entire existence centered around taking care of my children, keeping the house and my husband.
