Drowning in Gratitude and Exhaustion

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“I’m so exhausted, I need help,” I said to my mom—my voice cracking before the sentence even finished. Not the kind of tired a nap could fix. The kind that wraps around your bones, that makes your muscles ache, your soul heavy, and your brain foggy. The kind of tired that feels like you’re walking through life wearing a weighted blanket you can’t take off.

This season? It’s beautiful. It’s sacred.
But it’s also breaking me in places I didn’t know could break.

I fought so hard for this little girl of mine. I prayed for her. I dreamed of her. I ached for her before I even knew her. And now that she’s here.. my daughter, my miracle, I’m still fighting. But now, some days, it feels like I’m fighting for myself.

The naps, the feeds, the physio appointments, the cleaning, the cooking, the laundry – oh the endless piles of laundry, the playtime, the walks, the singing, the rocking, the comforting – it’s holy work. It’s magical. And it’s utterly exhausting.

I had no idea motherhood would feel like this.
And I definitely didn’t know that having a premature baby – born two and a half months early – would come with all the extra layers. The physio. The exercises. The medical check-ins. The constant wondering if I’m doing enough, if I’m doing it “right.” Add adoption into the mix, and I overthink it all ten times more. Is she securely attached? Is this normal? Will this cause her more trauma? Will she feel safe, seen, secure?

Motherhood, for me right now, feels like I’m drowning.
And the only one who could maybe save me is my husband…
But he’s drowning too.

And that’s the part no one really talks about.
The way the world keeps spinning, family lives abroad, friends are busy, and suddenly it’s just the two of you. No village in sight.
Just two people, clinging to each other, tired and overstimulated, trying their best not to unravel.

I told my mom, “I think I’ll only be okay again when she starts school.”
And then I exhaled, paused.. because I don’t want to wish this time away. The Lord knows, I don’t want to wish it away.
I just… need help.

My mom’s getting older. Cancer took its toll. She helps when she can – and I’m so grateful – but it’s not the way I remember the aunties and grannies stepping in when I was growing up.
And even saying that feels like betrayal.
Like I’m ungrateful. But I’m not. I’m just tired. And I miss what I never had.

I don’t have the answers.
But I understand now why women lean on nannies, daycares, au pairs – whatever it takes. Because truly, I don’t know how we were ever expected to be everything to everyone – mothers, caregivers, providers, nurturers – all at once, all the time.

I heard someone say once,
“They say it takes a village – but then they shame us for what our village looks like.”
Especially when our village comes in the form of paid help.
But what else are we meant to do when there’s no one else around?

We’re all just trying to survive.
We’re all just trying our best.

So here’s what I do know:
We need patience with ourselves.
Buckets of grace.
We need to know it’s okay if they had frozen nuggets again, if Ms. Rachel was on way more than we’d like to admit, if we sobbed in the kitchen while breathing deeply to keep ourselves from snapping.

It’s okay.
It really is.

And if no one has told you today –
You’re doing beautifully.
Not perfectly. Not always calmly. But beautifully.

I don’t have the answers.
But I’m here with you.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for today.