There are days when I feel overwhelmed by the weight of keeping everything in place. I may sound ungrateful, but that’s not my intention. I cherish every moment of motherhood and appreciate my partner’s support. He is incredibly generous, endlessly encouraging, and exceptionally helpful—but he’s not me.
He doesn’t experience the constant pressure of managing a household while simultaneously caring for a toddler and an infant. He doesn’t worry about whether the upstairs carpet has been vacuumed in weeks or if our youngest has pajamas to wear at night. For him, when things slip, it’s merely life unfolding. I admire that mindset—it’s the perspective I strive for. I know that if I could let go of certain responsibilities, I would likely feel freer and more content.
But what becomes of the family when the person holding everything together decides to take a step back?
Recently, our family embarked on our annual ski trip with my partner’s relatives. It was a four-day adventure, and as usual, I had my work cut out for me when it came to packing. My partner packed his own essentials: a small duffle bag filled with clothes and gear. I, on the other hand, had the responsibility of packing for everyone else: my clothes, winter attire, diapers and pajamas for our baby, snacks and outfits for our toddler, and a cooler full of groceries. I also packed two portable cribs, various chargers, and multiple pairs of mittens. The list felt endless.
About an hour and a half into our journey, I realized I had forgotten the spices for the beef stew I planned to prepare for dinner. They were still sitting in my spice rack at home, completely overlooked. Just as we crossed into New Hampshire, I remembered that my snow pants were still tucked away in the attic, the single item left unchecked on my lengthy packing list. When my partner casually asked if I had remembered the Bluetooth speaker, I had to admit I hadn’t.
In those moments, all I could fixate on were the items I had neglected, completely overshadowing the countless things I had successfully packed. I see myself as the organizer, the planner, the one who ensures everything runs smoothly. If I drop the ball, it impacts everyone—sometimes in minor ways, like a forgotten speaker, and sometimes in more significant ways with broader consequences.
This inner conflict isn’t new to me; it’s a recurring theme in my life as I oscillate between extremes. Some days, I embrace my responsibilities with pride and confidence, feeling empowered in my role as a mother. Other days, the burden feels crushing.
On days when the latter prevails, I often receive well-meaning advice about “letting it go” and prioritizing what truly matters—my children. “The dirty floors can wait,” they say. “Children won’t.” They’re correct; my boys are growing up quickly, and I want to cherish these fleeting years. But I struggle with reconciling what happens when the person who keeps everything running smoothly decides to simply stop.
Do we all give up on clean clothes? Do we ignore the dwindling supply of toilet paper? Would I cease making doctor’s appointments or paying bills? Would dinner become a chaotic free-for-all because planning and cooking take too much time? How do I discern what to release and what to maintain?
Surely, there are mothers out there who have mastered the art of balancing chaos and structure. They can overlook a messy living room because it indicates their children are enjoying life. They don’t worry when appointments slip through the cracks or meal plans go awry midweek. They seem to manage to drop a few balls without letting the entire act collapse.
I aspire to reach that level of balance, but as of now, I still have a long journey ahead of me.
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In summary, while I navigate the challenges of motherhood and the balance between chaos and structure, I recognize the importance of letting go sometimes to enjoy the moments that truly matter.