The house is eerily quiet, perhaps too quiet. All my kids are peacefully asleep, but I’m running on empty—exhausted to the core. I long to dive into my bed, cocoon myself in blankets, and slip into a deep, restorative sleep. But my mind, that pesky thing, refuses to cooperate.
It’s as if my brain is on overdrive, churning thoughts and worries that keep me wide awake. If only I could tone it down just a notch, I might finally find some peace. But alas, that’s not the case tonight—or most nights, for that matter.
After my son was born, I stumbled upon a commercial that sparked a twinge of jealousy. It featured a couple nestled in a chaotic heap of sheets, with a tagline about sleeping like you did before kids. I remember thinking how much I missed that blissful state of rest, where my mind could actually relax.
Fast forward fourteen years, and I still crave the well-rested version of myself I once was. The worries don’t fade away as the kids grow older; they seem to multiply. I’m learning to accept this reality, but wow, it’s tiring.
I’ve attempted gratitude practices and meditation, both of which fill me with appreciation but do little to lull me to sleep. My mind immediately rebounds, and the mental checklists start piling up. Chamomile tea? A fleeting solution, as it only leads to countless trips to the bathroom. Reading usually helps until my anxiety kicks in the moment I think I can set the book aside and drift off.
Thoughts about my son swirl in my mind: he’s been unusually quiet. Is he spending too much time with his girlfriend? Has he been eating enough? Are they intimate? How long has it been since I discussed respecting boundaries with him? Was it last month? No, I think it was two weeks ago. I could look at the calendar tomorrow, but should I wake him now? What if I forget? Does he know how much I care? I hope so.
Then there’s my daughter, tangled in friendship drama. I find myself simmering with anger for a girl I barely know who hurt her feelings days ago. She’s my sweet little girl, and I want to protect her. But I remind myself to step back and check in with her tomorrow.
Am I ensuring they have everything they need for school? I feel guilty for opting for the cheaper lunchboxes rather than the ones they truly wanted. At least I splurged on the expensive sneakers—shouldn’t they be grateful? Am I spoiling them? Am I too lenient? I need to set firmer boundaries, yet sometimes I think I should lighten up.
Suddenly, guilt creeps in about not giving enough love and attention to the dogs. They deserve it too, but I’m constantly rushing around, and I worry they feel neglected. Great, more guilt.
I let my kids spend too much time on their phones, and I’m labeled the “mean mom” for saying no to most sleepovers since I don’t know the other parents well. Do I enforce too many chores? Should I ease up on the sleepover rules?
And then there’s my friend I haven’t texted back about lunch; she’s probably fed up and ready to cut ties. Oh, and what’s that on my forehead? Is it a spider? No, just a strand of hair falling out because aging is relentless, and soon I might be bald. I need to look for a shampoo to combat that—tomorrow, of course.
Here I am, already stressed out over what tomorrow holds. It’s nearly 11:00 PM; if I could just fall asleep now, I might squeeze in a solid seven hours. But sleep eludes me. I guess I’ll just stew in my worries for a few more hours and face another groggy morning.
As night falls and we’re left alone with our thoughts, worries tend to magnify. Is it that we always envision the worst-case scenarios when there’s no one around to talk to? Does reason take a vacation after dark?
I can’t quite wrap my head around why a mom’s brain goes haywire at night. Perhaps it’s our chance to catch up after being on autopilot all day, but when we finally have a moment to unwind, we forget how, and our minds spiral into chaos.
The more we fret, the less we sleep. The less we sleep, the more drained we feel, perpetuating a cycle that seems to come with the territory of motherhood. I wish I had a magic solution.
I can’t provide a foolproof method to silence those nighttime monsters that want to wreak havoc in our minds, but I do know that our kids are worth every sleepless night and ounce of worry. Your concern for those you love is a testament to your dedication as a parent. So, the next time you find yourself lying awake, stressing about bills or your kids’ vegetable intake, remind yourself that you are enough. Give yourself a break.
Then, close your eyes and tell yourself that you can put off the worrying until tomorrow night—because let’s be real, it will still be waiting for you.
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