Is it morning already? I hardly slept last night, and my body feels heavy with fatigue. The alarm is about to go off, reminding me of the responsibilities that await. My bed is warm and comforting—nobody needs me just yet. Perhaps I could turn off the alarm and sleep in? No, my partner has to work and can’t manage the school run for our oldest.
There’s no real reason to shower; the only destination is school drop-off, and that feels like too much effort. Mornings are tough. They symbolize fresh starts—a chance to begin anew. But the day ahead promises to be just like any other, weighed down by decisions and insecurities.
Is it alright for my son to buy lunch at school? There’s no bread at home, and his yogurt is expired. I really need to get to the grocery store. I’ve neglected the laundry, leaving him with only a pair of ripped jeans and a shirt that doesn’t fit. Why haven’t I picked up new clothes for him?
I should probably make him a proper breakfast. Is oatmeal from the microwave good enough? I dread carpool—my car is a mess. Can they tell I haven’t brushed my teeth or hair in days? Do they know about my depression? I haven’t volunteered at school or joined the PTA; I feel like I’m failing.
I wonder if my youngest will allow me to lie on the couch while he plays. Thank goodness he’s potty trained, so I don’t have to deal with diapers. Oh no, I haven’t taken him to the park in weeks. He needs social interaction. But what if someone tries to talk to me? Libraries are quieter spaces; I’ll avoid the playdates.
Maybe I’ll set up some paper and washable paint. That should keep him occupied for a bit. When does he nap? I desperately hope he will, allowing me to catch some rest. Perhaps he’ll lie down with me while watching a movie. He wouldn’t get out of bed if I’m asleep—at least I can hope.
I really should unload the dishwasher; the sink is full, and it’s been days since I last swept. Is my house starting to smell? Oh! My friend shared a photo of a Mommy and Me cooking class. I should consider signing up. No, I did that once before and it was too expensive—$200 for classes we never attended because the drive was too long. We’ll bake cookies tonight instead. Do I have the ingredients? Is the cookie sheet even clean?
Did I remember to return the field trip form for my oldest? They know I’m a stay-at-home mom, and I didn’t sign up to chaperone. I regret saying I’d volunteer at the parent-teacher conference; it feels like I let him down. He should start taking the bus home. The carpool will see that I’m still in my pajamas. Maybe he can stay home tomorrow and help me with his brother. But that wouldn’t be fair to him—he needs to go to school.
I’m so exhausted from helping with homework. Why does he need me to sit beside him as he writes his spelling words? I just want to lie on the couch and finish my show. I forgot to get cookie dough for tonight. Maybe I’ll let them have popcorn instead. That’s easy, and they’ll be entertained for a while.
I need to figure out dinner. Since we’re having popcorn later, I can’t make anything heavy. Maybe scrambled eggs? That’s simple and requires just one pan. I’ll unload the dishwasher tomorrow. Coffee cups can serve as bowls, and they’ll think it’s funny. I haven’t made a real meal in days. Maybe my partner will take over cooking, but he worked hard today. I could ask him to pick up something on the way home. I hope he doesn’t notice the laundry pile or the toys scattered everywhere.
It’s bath time. How can I bathe my child when I can’t even care for myself? It requires focus. My arms ache just thinking about it. I wish they would shower without needing my watchful eye. It would be nice to soak in the tub for a while without interruption. Why are they so demanding?
Finally, it’s bedtime. Please, go to bed on time; I need some rest. I want to watch a movie with their dad. And for heaven’s sake, sleep in your own beds tonight. I’m so tired of being touched; it’s been weeks since we’ve connected. He’ll want to be intimate, but why doesn’t he see that I haven’t showered in days? Maybe he’ll fall asleep during the movie, and I won’t have to turn him down again. I can always say I have a headache.
Someone needs to read them a bedtime story and start the laundry. No one has clean clothes. I wonder if I can get him to do both tasks. But that’s not fair; I should have handled the laundry. I’ll just wash what we need for tomorrow.
My youngest is up again; he won’t go back to sleep without me. It’s always me they want. I’m never alone. Why are they so selfish? I can’t do everything. I wasn’t ready for bed yet. He’s going to wake his brother. I’ll just put on Netflix; he’ll fall asleep. Of course, he wants to watch that same show again. I can never have a moment to myself. It doesn’t matter; I’ll just go to sleep.
Sleep takes its toll. There are always new worries to dissect and failures to dwell on. The struggles of each day repeat in my mind, and tomorrow already feels daunting. The weight of this burden feels heavier, and the battle becomes increasingly difficult.
It seems impossible to be a decent parent while grappling with these feelings. Every failure is magnified, the harsh light of reality almost blinding. I feel like I’m losing the ability to thrive. I can’t manage this on my own anymore. I hope my partner won’t judge me. Will he encourage me to seek help? Maybe my mom can take me if he’s working.
But deep down, I know I might not go. Yet, I need help, I need assistance. Please, I need support. Don’t let me face this alone.
As I finally drift off to sleep, I know my depression will still be there when morning comes.