These days I call my Mom a lot; often begging her for the hidden code to not only surviving motherhood in the early years, but to freakin killing it the way that she did.
Somewhere in between denying her perfection and reminding me of the great job I’m doing raising my trio, she will say to me, “Brea, you just mother in a completely different world than I had to.”
And she’s right.
Mothering in our generation is just different.
The pressure. The expectations. The social media brainwash. The busy-ness. The new dangers in our world.
They become bricks that we carry on our backs while we try to hold up “everything else” in the too-few arms that were given to us as mothers.
Some days I brick-bear like a damn superhero, ya’ll. Other days that bag is so weighed down on my back that I’m almost flat against the ground with little energy left to even lift up my head and experience all of the good.
I’ve always viewed that backpack as an accessory that just came with the territory…and that it was an obligation to start to build enough muscle to bear it the minute that I saw those two lines on the stick.
But recently, I’ve been wondering why it’s all so freakin heavy. There are days I remind myself that it’s simply the phase of parenting life that I’m in. On others I challenge myself to recognize how much of that burden is there because I am letting outside influences tell me I SHOULD be bearing them.
