Just for a day

Just for a day, I’d like to be okay with me.

Just for a day, I’d like to not feel like I’m failing, or falling short of the mark as a mother.

Just for a day, I’d like to stop beating myself up for not being the sort of mother I envisioned I would be.

Just for a day, I’d like to stop beating myself up for not being like other mothers I see around me (and to remember that they all have their struggles, too).

Just for a day, I’d like to stop those words that play in my head on a loop: “You’re not doing it right, this motherhood thing. You need to be kinder. No, you need to be more consistent. You need to be more organized. No, you need to relax your standards.”

Just for a day, I’d like to figure out a way to allow myself to just breathe. To stop and smell the roses. To savor the little things. To just be.

Just for a day, I’d like to find the joy in motherhood that I used to feel before I became so overwhelmed by it all. Because a little voice keeps telling me, “They’re going to grow up before you know it. Yes, it’s hard, really, really hard sometimes, but someday you’re going to miss this time.”

Just for a day, I wish I could see me and my kids and my family as others seem to see us – as something pretty special.

Just for a day, I wish I could figure out how to be a friend to myself. The kind of friend I try to be to others. The kind that listens, reassures, comforts, and sees the good in. Why is it so hard to be kind to myself?

Just for a day, I wish I could do all these things, these little, but enormously difficult things.

Because I think, maybe, if I could do it just for a day, then I could do it for a lifetime.