Mom guilt. Bleh. Just bleh. Its “solutions” have been summarized in memes traveling the globe. Drown it in wine and chocolate. Bury it with more Netflix. Joke about it in your own funny video. While these clever quips offer us some empathy, knowing that we’re not the only mom experiencing a hurdle doesn’t feel like enough to ease our pain.
I have worked with kids for years (and particularly preschoolers), but things got real when my own daughter turned three. Lyla, my daughter, has taught me a lot in the last three and a half years. Some lessons have been easier than others. Like that I really can’t draw Elsa very well or that coffee can be reheated an infinite amount of times. Some lessons have been harder to swallow.
My mom has given me a lot of good advice over the years. Some of my favorites include making sure I’m careful walking in the mall parking lot (even if it’s at 2 PM in broad daylight) and teaching me the value of blush. (My skin tone is classified as “porcelain” which is the nice way of saying “ghost-like,” so blush is definitely a necessity for me.)
I have served on the Council Road staff the past six months, and every Monday I sort through the prayer requests from Sunday services to bring to staff meeting where the staff prays. It is a rare week that we don’t get a request from a concerned mother asking for prayer for her struggling child. Some sign their names, others are anonymous…
“Please secure your own oxygen mask first.” Virtually every time I hear a flight attendant voice those words, I have one thought: Could any piece of advice be harder for a Mom to follow? As intentional Moms, our first inclination is to care for others. So what happens when Mommas care and care and care for everyone else, without first breathing in the help they need?
