Disclaimer: This post is not going to contain a pretty bow at the end
Warning: This post will not end with a hopeful verse or a theological encouragement.
Not because life isn’t full of pretty bows and certainly not because there aren’t a bounty of theological encouragements that help us make sense of the monotonous and hard, but simply because there are a lot of things in life that just need to be recognized for what they are. HARD.
This is that kind of post.
The kind of post that empathizes and says, “Hey, me too!” The kind of post that normalizes your place and says, “I hear ya, girl!” The kind of post that simply recognizes that though being a mommy is a boatload of blessings and a pile of privileges, there are also a whole lot of moments which feel like a whole lot of trench-walking.
It’s that kind of post.
And I write this post because yesterday, I wearily rang the doorbell of my dear friend’s house and simply said, “Friend, I am tired.”
And ya know what her response was?
“Me too, friend. Me too.”
And though this friend and I are known for spurring one another on to good works and Jesus…yesterday, we stood at the front door of her house and shared about the trenches.
We talked about the monotony of house chores and to-do lists.
We talked about the burdens of school work and schedules.
We talked about the long days and the tiring nights.
We talked about the exhaustion and the repetition.
We talked about the frustrating and the down-right difficult.
We talked about the sibling bickering and the daily discipline.
We talked about the difficulty of balancing work life and home life.
We talked about the drama-valleys and the tantrum-deserts.
We talked about the weary feelings and the less-than-hopeful feelings.
We talked about the scarcely-glorious and the hardly-notorious.
We talked about our gritty realities and our tiring experiences.
Friends, we talked about the “mama trenches.”
And in those sweet moments of honest sharing underneath the arch of her entryway, I felt heard; I felt known; and I felt understood.
I felt like someone was standing in the trenches with me.
Wearing our “mama fatigues” and donning our “mama dog tags,” I felt like we were on the same side–doing the same work and fighting the same battles. I felt like we were in some kind of unit…part of some kind of brigade…a member of a collective infantry… a soldier in some kind of special-mission, combat team.
I didn’t walk out with new tools or new ideas, and I didn’t leave with more energy or with less work. Yesterday, I left with the peaceful encouragement of knowing there are other weary mamas walking in the tired trenches.
Yesterday, it made all the difference for me. Today, I pray it does the same for you.
Keep on, mama.
Find your people, mama.
You are not alone.