I found myself crouched outside a public restroom stall, burdened with a bag of 30 library books slung over my shoulder (homeschoolers tend to accumulate books), desperately trying to soothe my screaming 3-year-old. He had insisted on venturing into the stall alone, mimicking his older brother, only to choose the scariest toilet imaginable, one that seemed ready to erupt like a volcano with the flush.
In the meantime, my 6-year-old had climbed onto the counter in a futile attempt to wash his hands, and my 2-month-old clung to my chest like a delicate baby sloth. Regrettably, I had left my trusty ring sling at home, as my morning smoothie had ended up splattered across the car, covering my beloved baby carrier in a blueberry kale mess—the very smoothie I had hurriedly prepared but never got to drink. I was trying to eat healthier, but it wasn’t going well. Later that day, I would find solace in my pantry, munching on handfuls of chocolate chips to cope with the stress. But I digress.
Back to the restroom scene. At that exact moment, the most stunning young woman entered the restroom. There we were: a frazzled mom with a baby and books, a wailing preschooler, a toilet on the verge of disaster, and an older boy engulfed in a mountain of soap bubbles, all while the floor was strewn with the contents of my impractical diaper bag. The beautiful 22-year-old, dressed in athletic gear, looked at me with wide eyes and asked, “Do you need some help?”
This was the third time that week a stranger had offered assistance. The first encounter had involved a windy day, a cart overflowing with groceries, and a runaway apple in a crowded parking lot. The second, strangely, also took place in a public restroom—this time with faulty stall locks and me juggling a bowl of oranges (don’t ask). Each scene featured the same characters: a frazzled mom, baby in tow, a distressed preschooler, a messy older child, and a heavy diaper bag, with a concerned stranger reaching out.
“Do you need some help?”
How helpless do I appear?
Each time, I felt a twinge of irritation at the implication that I was struggling. The mere suggestion that I might need assistance seemed to bruise my pride (because, as a mother, I should be able to handle it all, and a bit more if needed). I responded the same way each time: “No, thank you. We’re fine. Really, it’s okay.”
But deep down, I wasn’t okay. In fact, I often found myself retreating to the pantry to indulge in chocolate chips.
What if I had been honest?
Yes, beautiful stranger, please help me. Remind me that I was once 22, too. Help me connect with that version of myself, buried beneath the layers of motherhood, the diaper bag serving as my purse for the last six years, and those sagging maternity jeans I still wore two months post-partum. Help me see the beauty in myself amidst the chaos of diapers, books, and endless public restroom visits.
Yes, kind elderly lady offering to assist with my groceries, please share your wisdom. Tell me you’ve also felt exhausted and overwhelmed. Remind me of the times you cried in your car before finding the strength to go on. Tell me that self-doubt is normal, and that I will emerge from this phase, a stronger version of myself.
Yes, wise elder with the sharp suit and gentle demeanor, please shake me out of my pride. Help me understand that this challenging phase is temporary, and that the moments I wish away will transform into cherished memories, glimmering like jewels in my heart. I might soon find myself reflecting back on early motherhood with a smile, recalling that wild joy, as I help another young mom struggling with her own chaos.
What might have transpired had I embraced their kindness?
Accepting grace and compassion feels incredibly challenging. So many days, I feel like my wailing preschooler, trapped within my own ego and pride, striving to break free. If only I could silence my inner turmoil, even just for a moment, I might hear a gentle voice outside saying, “I’m here. Let me help you.”
This article was originally published on March 6, 2016.
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In summary, letting go of pride can open doors to unexpected support and connection in the challenging moments of motherhood, transforming how we navigate our daily struggles.