Some days, I genuinely wonder if I can keep going. Those are the days filled with shouting, tears, and more shouting—this time, even louder—followed by fresh waves of tears. I often find myself silently praying for a bit of sanity, mouthing the Serenity Prayer as my kids stare at me, questioning my grip on reality.
On these chaotic days, I find myself pleading with my children to settle down and work independently so I can tackle my own tasks. I urge them to stop bickering and just play nicely together. After weeks of constant sibling interaction, my older son, Alex, has reached his breaking point, while my younger daughter, Sophie, is ready to embark on her 5,000th game of hide-and-seek.
Now, I wear dual hats: a full-time employee and a full-time educator/caregiver. I finish a work call and immediately shift into teacher mode, helping Alex with his assignments as outlined in his IEP. I set up organizational tools for him, creating a step-by-step guide to tackle his tasks with minimal support. I let him take breaks just like his teacher would do. Thank goodness I have some experience as a speech therapist, which helps me navigate his needs and the learning strategies he uses.
Then, I move to assist Sophie with her remote learning. Is her assignment in OneNote or Teams? Why do these worksheets always seem to vanish within different apps? Did I check the class emails from earlier? Why can’t I access this link? What’s her password again?
Suddenly, my computer pings with incoming work emails that will have to wait. I realize time is slipping away. By 1:00 p.m., I retreat to my “office” to conduct telehealth sessions for the next two hours. My kids know not to disturb me during this time, yet they often slide notes under the door: “Can I use my iPad yet? I’m hungry! Sophie is bothering me. Alex won’t play with me (angry face)!!!”
In the middle of a session, I hear the note fall. My clients and my children both need my attention. I feel like I’m being pulled in two directions, embodying two different roles in one exhausted body.
Like many of you, I am both physically and emotionally drained. The reality of juggling a full-time job with kids at home feels overwhelming. I worry about what the summer will bring.
Yet, strangely, I feel a sense of acceptance. It’s not because I have a background in mental health or have spent time in therapy, but because my current situation mirrors the chaos I experienced pre-pandemic. I was already worn out. My mental load was heavy. I felt overworked and neglected.
Before this crisis, I managed a life filled with countless responsibilities. I would prepare breakfast, do laundry, and pack school bags before rushing off to work. I would juggle picking up kids from activities, cooking meals, and helping with homework—all while maintaining my professional commitments. I often found myself reciting my “mental list” to ensure I didn’t miss anything crucial.
Though I share these burdens with my supportive partner, I still struggle to prioritize my own well-being. It’s a realization I’ve had to confront during this trying time: I need to start placing my own needs higher on my mental checklist—not just indulging in occasional self-care, but making significant lifestyle changes. Because I am not superwoman; I’m just Laura.
If there’s one takeaway from this challenging time, it’s the importance of self-care. For more insights on managing stress and wellness, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination. And for those interested in additional tips, you can visit this link to explore more.
Summary
In this reflective piece, the author expresses the exhaustion and emotional strain of balancing work and parenting during the pandemic, drawing parallels to the challenges faced before COVID-19. The narrative highlights the importance of self-care and recognizing personal needs amidst the chaos of family life.