On Being a (Working) Mother of Two Young Children During a Global Pandemic

Let me just start out by saying this:

I actually love being a mom. My husband wouldn't believe that, of course, because he hears so much complaining these days. But it's true: I love being a mom. I love my children. I love them more than anything.

The thing is, I love them when I have the freedom and space to have a life for myself, too.

If I do not have that time--to work, to hone my own crafts, to connect with and serve a greater community--I start to feel like I am disappearing. I start to feel resentful.

This is not good for me, and it is certainly not good for my kids, either. I vowed a long time ago not to have kids unless I felt like I had space for my own life within that, too--I just didn't want to "martyr" my way through motherhood, which is the model that so many of us women are given about how to be a "natural mother."

This expectation, that we are supposed to not only offer all of ourselves up for our children, but that we are supposed to want to do that, has been internalized, too. I notice myself judging myself for being resentful. Then, on a day when I've had enough sleep (and with a three month old, those days are of course few and far between) I catch myself and say, "Hey, wait a second, you are doing your best."

Perhaps that's the biggest issue--that we are not told, as mothers, how much we are doing. It's not acknowledged. It's expected, and therefore a lot of that work is invisible. Even a well-meaning partner can miss this. It's just so culturally embedded. We are just supposed to show up and do it. Period.

When COVID started almost two years ago (right?? Two years already, WTF) I remember being stressed beyond belief about how to figure out work. My partner's work is just not as flexible as mine, and he works 70 miles away, so it's just expected that more of the burden of childcare is on me. So I had to piecemeal together a schedule that could "sort of" work for my math teaching. I hid out in my bedroom, teaching classes while my two year old spent time with our thirteen year old babysitter, who, god bless her, worked 20 hours a week, and between her help and the help of my mother-in-law from heaven, I was able to actually keep working.

We lumbered our way through a good six months until my daughter's school opened back up later that year. But, of course, there were always closures. And they came (and still come) with no warning. So, on any given morning, I am not sure whether or not I will be able to work, or if I am going to be home with my child (and now children). And if I am home, it is likely that it will be for at least a week, maybe longer.

Like so many moms, I am about to lose my mind. I feel scattered, unable to perform well as either a mom or as a teacher, and just generally lonely and worn down. I try to send a few emails between the endless verbalizations of my toddler and cries and poops of my infant. My husband helps for one day out of the five. I know it's all he can give, but I am just at my wit's end.

The school is currently closed again (for probably the 10th? 12th time?) for at least a 10 day period. I have no clue how to piece together even the next week of my classes, and my semester has literally just started. I haven't even met my students after a full week of campus being open.

And to top it off, my toddler may have COVID. She had a negative home test, but we are waiting on PCR results.

And I know that this story is just a broken record. So many of us deal with it. So many of us are lonely, ragged, raw, and fed up.

Being a mother was already challenging. But I found my way to thrive within it when I could rely on some semblance of structure and boundary for it--I could leave my kid(s) and take care of myself, take care of my students, find a way to feel my identity in the world--and then when I came back to see my children, I was refreshed, clear, centered.

I am not sure when any sense of a reliable structure will come back. All I know is, I am seeing very clearly right now that this is starting to affect my mental health. Even the thought of teaching a yoga class for one hour each week sounds like a freedom that I want to dance and sing about in a complete wave of bliss. The thought of being alone, with a friend, having an adult chat, without any interruptions, feels like a possibility that is a hundred miles away.

I know that COVID is hard on each of us in very different ways. I have friends who live alone, and I see that their version of "hard" is very different than mine. I just want to say this--if you see a mother having a hard time right now, trying to reign in her kids, looking weary, doing her best--please, please just know that she is probably really, really in need of some support. If it feels right, you could even tell her that she's doing a great job. Oh lord, how those words would melt me if I heard them. Just that--"You're doing great. This is super hard, and you're awesome. I know it's impossible. Thank you for being a mom right now, and a working mom at that."

Perhaps the hardest thing of all is the lack of community--we can't just get together and vent about our struggles. This one has hit me so, so hard. I miss seeing my friends so much it hurts. And we can't even take our kids to all the places they used to love. We are so much left just to ourselves, at home, or in nature (thank GOD for nature) to keep our kids entertained.

And if you actually have some time to yourself right now, cherish it. I wish I could go back and infuse all of my lonely years with the knowing that I have now--that quiet time is sacred, and that I could have cherished it a lot more back then. Oh, just to sip a cup of coffee alone (forget about the fact that I can't even drink coffee right now because it upsets my breastfeeding son's tummy--that's just a whole other article about another kind of sacrifice).

I also know this--I will miss these days when my children were young. And every day, I have beautiful moments with each of them. I see my daughter talking and playing and saying the most hilarious shit, or telling me things like, "I want Zander (her younger brother) to die when I do, so that we can be together and not miss each other," or giving me a kiss goodnight in the sweetest, most earnest way. Or saying things like, "Mama, the dinosaurs were real! They were here a long long time ago, and we didn't even get to say bye bye to them." I watch my tiny son learning how to roll over and giggling about it, fluffing up his feathers with pride. I watch him start to look at the world with eyes that find everything new--he watches our cat in awe like she's a giant dinosaur, roaming around him magically.

But I also have the grief of knowing that when I am so entrenched in my role as a mom, I lose sight of so many of these beautiful moments because I am so tired, and so worn thin, from too much time with them, too little sleep, with no boundary. Just hours upon hours of fulfilling needs, without a chance to really center back in.

And then I add the guilt to this--the internalized narrative our culture holds, that "moms are always supposed to want to be with their kids." So there's the judgment that I am a bad mom because I need space. Thank god I know, somewhere deeper down, that this is bullshit, and that I absolutely need and deserve time to be me, so that I can fill my cup and come back as a better mother.

I write all of this because I know I am not alone. I see you mama's out there--it's just absolutely impossible. I cannot wait to go back to work, but even then, I know that on any given day I could be figuring out the next 10 days because I have no childcare. It's not even that the rug could be pulled out at any moment--it feels at this point like there's not even a rug at all.

My way of releasing stress is usually to be completely fine, and then to have a huge meltdown for a couple of hours. Then, I feel fine again. Well, today was my meltdown day. I sobbed, pitied myself, drowned in the weariness of another long, amorphous day in the land of COVID motherhood.

But now I am starting to see the horizon a little, and it helps to write it all down. It helps a lot to know that I am not alone in this struggle--that other mothers understand me so well. I can imagine you all nodding your head and maybe even shedding a tear or two in camaraderie with me. I love you, my fellow mama's. It's all nuts. So here's my version from a quaint little Earthship in northern NM. Thank you for reading it!