Being a mother is both hard and easy. Or perhaps motherhood is, in fact, a continuous oscillation between the two. One moment you feel like you can handle everything, and ten minutes later you're searching the fridge for something you just put in the cupboard. And, ironically, you're still the one wondering why you're tired.
I've noticed that the difficulty doesn't always come from caring for children. Many times it comes from our stubbornness to do everything. We meticulously craft a beautiful and organized list in our minds for the day ahead, but the list doesn't know we have children. Children, on the other hand, have their own schedule. And their own emergencies. Usually, right when you've started something important.
That's how we end up running from one side to another, solving things, doing chores, tidying up, cooking, answering, mediating, searching for the missing sock, and somewhere among all this, forgetting to stop. I think one of the lessons I'm still learning is precisely this: to know when to stop.
And it is precisely here that I have seen, so many times, how God provides. It is a great blessing to have a husband by your side who sees your tiredness and carries it with you. Sometimes, his help comes through a long-awaited conversation. Parents with multiple children know well how it is: you end up exchanging more WhatsApp messages with your husband than face-to-face words, even though you live in the same house. “Did you get bread?”, “What time are you bringing him?”, “Has he fallen asleep?”, “Don't forget about...” become, unintentionally, a good part of the day's conversations. And when, finally, the house is silent, the children are asleep, and you get a few moments just for yourselves — even if it's well past midnight — sitting next to your person and talking about everything under the sun becomes a true indulgence. Sometimes it doesn't even matter that the alarm will ring mercilessly the next day. For a few moments, you are no longer just mom and dad, the ones who organize, solve, and distribute tasks. You are yourselves again. Other times, it means taking over the children for a while, solving something in your place, or simply telling you: “Leave it, I'll do it.” And, on certain days, these three words are worth a great deal.
But I experienced something else special after the birth of each of my children. Every time I attended Holy Liturgy and received communion, I felt like I was receiving strength I didn't have before. And it's not a figure of speech. I felt the help both physically and spiritually. The tiredness didn't miraculously disappear, the children didn't suddenly become less like children, and the chores patiently awaited me at home. But I returned to them differently. More settled. More strengthened. With more peace. Here is the secret: God doesn't always take away our burdens, but He gives us the strength to carry them without losing our peace. And what a great thing that is!
Every day I pray that I can be a blessing to those around me and not lose the peace of my heart amidst the small things that seem, at the moment, huge. I pray for my loved ones and try to enjoy them now. Not after I finish work. Now. Today. Because this day too, with its noise, disorder, tiredness, and laughter, is a gift. And to mothers who are bone-weary — and I know well that such days exist — I would just say this: leave something to do for tomorrow. And, above all, stay close to Christ.
Andreea Macra