The Weight
I fall asleep with the Weight and I wake with the Weight. Maybe you do too?
I woke up this morning to my coffee maker beeping. I set it to turn on and reheat the leftover coffee from yesterday. It was too much to waste, so I'll deal with burnt, day-old swill for the first cup. I don't really taste it most mornings anyway. It's just a routine to get me moving before the kids tumble out of their beds and need my attention.
And the Weight presses down.
This morning, I let myself stay snuggled up to my husband for a few minutes. I'm not a morning person. I'd so much rather stay nestled against him than force my aching muscles to move. But if I don't get up, I'm not coherent when I need to be. He nuzzles against my hair and I hope it doesn't smell awful. I didn't get to take a shower yesterday because I fell asleep on the couch instead.
And the Weight presses down.
Already I'm drafting emails in my head. I have a photo client who needed a CD a week ago. I still haven't set up the CD burner. I need to schedule her next session too. I need to finish the data entry work I volunteered to do for a non-profit. Maybe I can do that while the kids play this afternoon.
And the Weight press down.
I finally roll myself out of bed and stumble into the kitchen. I haven't even poured my day-old reheated coffee when I hear footsteps. I herd my boy back to his bed. He was up until 10pm reading and I'm not ready to answer questions about what would happen if all the bees died or when can we visit Iceland to see the Northern Lights (I don't know, buddy, but I hope eventually). The sun is too bright, so I adjust his shutters.
And the Weight presses down.
My reheated coffee is now cold, but I settle into the couch with my phone. It's too dark in the mornings to read print, so I stick with the Bible app in an attempt to keep everyone sleeping. It keeps me on track too. Today I read about Israel's disobedience in driving out the Canaanites. The verse of the day is 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18. I save the verse image. Rejoice always. I need that reminder daily.
And the Weight presses down.
I should pray more. Do I even know how to pray? Have I ever known how to pray? There's just not enough of me. I scan the news and Facebook to catch up on the world. I scan the real estate apps because August 31 is coming and I don't know where we're going.
And the Weight presses down.
Outside, a garbage truck rumbles by. I forgot to put out the cans for the second week in a row. I run outside in my pajamas and bare feet, hoping that was the truck for green waste, not trash or recycling. Only one or two neighbors pass by.
And the Weight presses down.
I've been awake for half an hour. I put away my phone and set the kettle on the stove to boil water for instant oatmeal. On Monday I cooked eggs and sausage and hash browns. But today isn't Monday. It's Thursday. Instant oatmeal is all I have. The sink is full of last night's dishes. The Cuban pork mojo drippings don't smell as good now. Maybe I can do the dishes while the kids eat their oatmeal.
And the Weight presses down.
I definitely hear the kids now and wander into the bedroom where they're playing nicely.
"Do you have your library book for your AR quiz?"
"No."
"Do you know where it is?"
"No."
"I left it on your bed so you could read it."
"She was reading it. Now it's gone."
"It can't be gone. Help me find it."
Forty minutes later, I find it buried in the stuffed animals. Forty minutes of moving furniture and digging through the backyard.
"I forgot I put it there."
I yell.
And the Weight presses down.
Only half an hour until we need to be out the door for school.
"Can I have cereal?"
"Fine. Help yourself."
"The milk smells funny. You're going to get more right away."
"It smells fine."
"I don't like it."
"Then have something else."
And the Weight pressed down.
"Can I have a waffle with syrup?"
"Yes. Fine. Not too much."
I shoe them from the kitchen to pack lunches and turn off the nearly-dry tea kettle. So much for oatmeal. At least they're feeding themselves?
"Can I have a waffle too?"
"Sure."
The empty waffle box tumbles out of the freezer. I find one hidden toward the back. They both have too much syrup.
"Can you guys get dressed?"
"Are you dressed?"
"Please get dressed."
"Go. Get. Dressed!"
I yell. I rage-wash the dishes. I continue to nag.
And the Weight presses down.
"Do you have snacks for school? Do you have your folders? Do you have your glasses? Where are your shoes? Your socks are on the couch. Did you look for them? Look again."
No sweet family moments today. Just Mommy yelling and scolding and complaining.
But we get out the door. Joe gets off to work. The kids get to school.
And the Weight presses down.
I don't want to complain, so I keep silent and the Weight builds. And I do complain and the Weight builds, bringing with it guilt. And I try to hold it all together and the Weight builds, bringing with it condemnation. I'm not enough. I'm never enough. I can't be enough. How does everyone else manage so easily? Why am I drowning in ordinary, daily stress when everyone else is fine?
I read a quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer this week. It's in The Ragamuffin Gospel, which I've been reading for three years and have finally reached the midpoint.
My patients are too short. I'm stretched too thin and overexposed. I want nothing more than to lock myself away for at least a weekend, without interacting with another human soul. I don't want to dry tears or clean boo-boos or find lost things. I don't want the Weight. But it's mine and by God's grace, I'll get up again to shoulder it tomorrow.
How can I help you shoulder yours?
I woke up this morning to my coffee maker beeping. I set it to turn on and reheat the leftover coffee from yesterday. It was too much to waste, so I'll deal with burnt, day-old swill for the first cup. I don't really taste it most mornings anyway. It's just a routine to get me moving before the kids tumble out of their beds and need my attention.
And the Weight presses down.
This morning, I let myself stay snuggled up to my husband for a few minutes. I'm not a morning person. I'd so much rather stay nestled against him than force my aching muscles to move. But if I don't get up, I'm not coherent when I need to be. He nuzzles against my hair and I hope it doesn't smell awful. I didn't get to take a shower yesterday because I fell asleep on the couch instead.
And the Weight presses down.
Already I'm drafting emails in my head. I have a photo client who needed a CD a week ago. I still haven't set up the CD burner. I need to schedule her next session too. I need to finish the data entry work I volunteered to do for a non-profit. Maybe I can do that while the kids play this afternoon.
And the Weight press down.
I finally roll myself out of bed and stumble into the kitchen. I haven't even poured my day-old reheated coffee when I hear footsteps. I herd my boy back to his bed. He was up until 10pm reading and I'm not ready to answer questions about what would happen if all the bees died or when can we visit Iceland to see the Northern Lights (I don't know, buddy, but I hope eventually). The sun is too bright, so I adjust his shutters.
And the Weight presses down.
My reheated coffee is now cold, but I settle into the couch with my phone. It's too dark in the mornings to read print, so I stick with the Bible app in an attempt to keep everyone sleeping. It keeps me on track too. Today I read about Israel's disobedience in driving out the Canaanites. The verse of the day is 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18. I save the verse image. Rejoice always. I need that reminder daily.
And the Weight presses down.
I should pray more. Do I even know how to pray? Have I ever known how to pray? There's just not enough of me. I scan the news and Facebook to catch up on the world. I scan the real estate apps because August 31 is coming and I don't know where we're going.
And the Weight presses down.
Outside, a garbage truck rumbles by. I forgot to put out the cans for the second week in a row. I run outside in my pajamas and bare feet, hoping that was the truck for green waste, not trash or recycling. Only one or two neighbors pass by.
And the Weight presses down.
I've been awake for half an hour. I put away my phone and set the kettle on the stove to boil water for instant oatmeal. On Monday I cooked eggs and sausage and hash browns. But today isn't Monday. It's Thursday. Instant oatmeal is all I have. The sink is full of last night's dishes. The Cuban pork mojo drippings don't smell as good now. Maybe I can do the dishes while the kids eat their oatmeal.
And the Weight presses down.
I definitely hear the kids now and wander into the bedroom where they're playing nicely.
"Do you have your library book for your AR quiz?"
"No."
"Do you know where it is?"
"No."
"I left it on your bed so you could read it."
"She was reading it. Now it's gone."
"It can't be gone. Help me find it."
Forty minutes later, I find it buried in the stuffed animals. Forty minutes of moving furniture and digging through the backyard.
"I forgot I put it there."
I yell.
And the Weight presses down.
Only half an hour until we need to be out the door for school.
"Can I have cereal?"
"Fine. Help yourself."
"The milk smells funny. You're going to get more right away."
"It smells fine."
"I don't like it."
"Then have something else."
And the Weight pressed down.
"Can I have a waffle with syrup?"
"Yes. Fine. Not too much."
I shoe them from the kitchen to pack lunches and turn off the nearly-dry tea kettle. So much for oatmeal. At least they're feeding themselves?
"Can I have a waffle too?"
"Sure."
The empty waffle box tumbles out of the freezer. I find one hidden toward the back. They both have too much syrup.
"Can you guys get dressed?"
"Are you dressed?"
"Please get dressed."
"Go. Get. Dressed!"
I yell. I rage-wash the dishes. I continue to nag.
And the Weight presses down.
"Do you have snacks for school? Do you have your folders? Do you have your glasses? Where are your shoes? Your socks are on the couch. Did you look for them? Look again."
No sweet family moments today. Just Mommy yelling and scolding and complaining.
But we get out the door. Joe gets off to work. The kids get to school.
And the Weight presses down.
I don't want to complain, so I keep silent and the Weight builds. And I do complain and the Weight builds, bringing with it guilt. And I try to hold it all together and the Weight builds, bringing with it condemnation. I'm not enough. I'm never enough. I can't be enough. How does everyone else manage so easily? Why am I drowning in ordinary, daily stress when everyone else is fine?
I read a quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer this week. It's in The Ragamuffin Gospel, which I've been reading for three years and have finally reached the midpoint.
The final breakthrough to fellowship does not occur because, through they have fellowship with one another as believers and as devout people, they do not have fellowship as the undevout, as sinners.And I think that's why I'm pouring my heart out today. I don't have answers on how to deal with stress or how how to balance life and work and motherhood. I'm a mess. But I think maybe some of you are a mess too. And maybe you know the Weight. Maybe you need another momma to look at you, see you, and say "Yep. Me too." Maybe we don't need fellowship as perfect mothers, as devout people, but as sinners. Recognizing our shortcomings and hearing one another's regrets. Maybe that's what it means to bear each other's burdens.
My patients are too short. I'm stretched too thin and overexposed. I want nothing more than to lock myself away for at least a weekend, without interacting with another human soul. I don't want to dry tears or clean boo-boos or find lost things. I don't want the Weight. But it's mine and by God's grace, I'll get up again to shoulder it tomorrow.
How can I help you shoulder yours?
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