Enough with the relentless rush.
Enough with the never-ending laundry.
Enough with fundraisers that only lead to bigger fundraisers.
Enough with people who can’t grasp the concept of turn lanes.
Enough with electronic invites and the endless reminders about them.
Enough with the guilt of having too many tabs open in my browser.
Enough with the shaming—both giving and receiving.
Enough with outrageous shipping costs.
Enough with overzealous music choices.
Enough already!
I’m feeling irritable. The pace of life is relentless. There’s no pause button. Even on a sunny Sunday morning, as I sit on my porch with a new book, there’s this nagging sensation that I should be doing something else. It feels like there’s always a deadline looming, something that’s needed, or something that’s lost. There’s an endless to-do list, and I often feel judged for what I can or cannot accomplish. But who is judging me? Honestly, who?
The answer is: “No one, really.” This constant feeling of inadequacy, of falling behind, and of guilt when I attempt to take a moment for myself is self-imposed, isn’t it? Enough!
I could delve into a lengthy discussion about the factors that contribute to this mindset—societal pressures, gender norms, and the self-inflicted standards we hold ourselves to. I could write extensively about the unrealistic benchmarks we set based on comparisons with others. There’s a pervasive culture of judgment where every woman feels like she’s in a performance review. I could even share insights on how no one can be the perfect mother, partner, or participant in the chaos of life. Yet, these discussions are already happening all around us.
Despite a wealth of advice encouraging women to release the burden of needing to have it all or do it all, there’s still this elusive idea of perfection that seems tantalizingly close—if only the kids would hurry into the car, if I could remember the laundry detergent, if I could file that e-bill correctly. If, if, if.
Enough!
Recently, while out with my kids after a neighborhood Easter gathering, I observed the scene around me. I felt frazzled while the kids enjoyed themselves. My children were among the oldest there, and I wasn’t behind the camera capturing every moment or fussing over their chocolate-covered faces. I felt a mix of joy and realization—I am now the mother of older children, looked at differently by the younger moms. I was the one with the big kids in the bouncy house, appearing distant while other mothers were engaged.
I wanted to shout to the new mothers that I am still attentive to my children. I care about their fun and safety, but I also realized that what I perceived as judgment from them might just be envy or perhaps nothing at all. Maybe they were lost in their own worries. Our fleeting glances don’t signify disapproval, and I regret that my first instinct was to assume the worst.
Enough!
On our way home, my youngest lagged behind, lost in his own world. As I felt my impatience bubbling up, ready to urge him to hurry, he suddenly held up a tiny leaf with a little creature on it. “I have to keep him safe,” he said, “He’s so small, I might lose him.”
In that moment, I was reminded of something vital: Each moment isn’t just a stepping stone to the next. They’re not all being scrutinized. Sometimes, the most significant part of the day is to slow down and appreciate the small things that can be easily overlooked.
Enough with the notion of not being enough. We must remember to cherish each moment, for those little things can be hard to find once they slip away.
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