There are some things mothers don’t say out loud.
Not because they’re not true.
Because we’re terrified of what people will think if we say them.
So I’m going to say one of mine.
Sometimes, I resent this life.
I love my daughter.
I love her more than I could ever put into words. I would fight for her, protect her, advocate for her, and choose her every single time.
But sometimes, I resent how hard everything has become.
And those two things can exist at the same time.
My daughter is autistic and nonverbal. She needs me for things that other children her age are beginning to do on their own. Feeding. Bathing. Changing. Communicating. Sleeping. Staying safe.
There are days when I feel less like a mom and more like a 24-hour caregiver who happens to be running on caffeine, anxiety, and four hours of sleep.
And then there are five other children.
Five other little people who need me too.
They need rides, meals, clean clothes, help with homework, bedtime stories, discipline, hugs, attention, patience, and someone to listen when they’ve had a bad day.
And sometimes I feel like there simply isn’t enough of me.
That’s the part that hurts the most.
Because when one child needs so much, you don’t stop loving the others.
You just start feeling guilty that you can’t give everyone the version of you that they deserve.
I feel guilty when I’m focused on my daughter and one of my other children needs me.
I feel guilty when I’m giving my other children attention and I’m not watching my daughter closely enough.
- I feel guilty when I’m exhausted.
- I feel guilty when I get frustrated.
- I feel guilty when I think, I cannot do this today.
- And sometimes I even feel guilty for wishing things were easier.
Because I know how blessed I am.
I know how much I love my children.
I know my daughter didn’t choose any of this.
None of this is her fault.
So sometimes I don’t even know where to put the resentment.
I can’t put it on her.
So I put it on the circumstances.
- On the exhaustion.
- On the constant noise.
- On the appointments.
- On the therapies.
- On the meltdowns.
- On the lack of sleep.
- On the feeling that my entire life revolves around keeping everyone else okay while quietly wondering who is taking care of me.
And then, somehow, in the middle of all of it, she’ll look at me.
And I’m reminded that she’s just my little girl.
My baby.
The same child I would give anything to protect.
And I remember that I don’t resent her.
I resent how hard it can be to be her mom.
There is a difference.
A very important one.
I started this blog because I don’t want to pretend anymore.
I don’t want to paint motherhood as perfectly coordinated outfits, clean kitchens, matching siblings, and grateful hearts every single day.
Sometimes motherhood is beautiful.
Sometimes it is hilarious.
Sometimes it is absolutely heartbreaking.
Sometimes I am patient and gentle and proud of myself.
And sometimes I hide in the bathroom for five minutes because I need everyone to stop touching me.
Sometimes I feel incredibly strong.
Sometimes I feel completely broken down.
Sometimes I look at my six children and think, How did I get so lucky?
And sometimes I look around my house and think, How am I supposed to keep doing this?
I’m learning that being honest about the second thought doesn’t erase the first.
So this is where I’m going to be honest.
- About autism.
- About raising six kids.
- About sibling guilt.
- About exhaustion.
- About the beautiful moments that make everything worth it.
- About the ugly moments that make me want to scream into a pillow.
- About the things people don’t understand.
- About the things I don’t always understand myself.
I don’t have all the answers.
I’m not an expert.
I’m just a mom trying to love six children with everything I have while figuring out how to still have something left for myself.
And maybe there are other mothers out there who feel the same way.
Maybe you’ve looked at your child and felt overwhelming love while simultaneously wishing life could be easier.
Maybe you’ve cried in the bathroom.
Maybe you’ve felt guilty for being tired.
Maybe you’ve wondered if you’re failing everyone because you can’t possibly give everyone everything.
If that’s you, I want you to know something.
You’re not a bad mom.
You’re human.
And so am I.
Welcome to Six Kids Somehow.
This is the honest version of motherhood.
The beautiful parts.
The messy parts.
The parts we celebrate.
And the parts were usually too afraid to say out loud.
