Often, when our household descends into the challenging space of the “witching hour,” I find myself retreating to the laundry room.
There I hide out with my phone, scrolling through Instagram pictures that look so much more beautiful and peaceful than my life feels.
Pictures hashtagged with #motherhood or #momlife that look a lot more coifed and snuggly (and clean!) than almost any of my motherhood/momlife has ever looked.
And I think it is fine, sometimes, to camp out somewhere quiet, mama.
Maybe Instagram isn’t the right companion to take with me, but with four kids constantly clamoring for my attention, it can feel like a lifeline to just sit quietly and breathe.
Without having to answer any questions. Or weigh in on any arguments.
Or just, you know, be climbed on.
The Electronic Escape
The problem, for me, is that I don’t always retreat just to breathe.
More and more often, lately, I find myself pulling out my phone in the middle of the day, because I’m anxious, or lonely, or just plain old bored.
I swipe through Insta stories and tap out a few lines to add to a photo I post in my feed. I read through way more posts on Facebook than I actually care about. I google stuff, and check my email (again), and when I can’t think of anything else to do I sort through my camera roll and delete duplicate selfies my one-year-old took of her forehead.
And while I’m doing all this stuff, fooling myself that I’m now “connected” to the outside via social media or that I’m being “productive” by checking (but not responding to) my email, I am missing the actual life that is happening all around me.
This is Not “Cherish Every Moment”
I don’t want us to get caught up in guilt over this. That’s an easy road to take, but it’s not an uplifting or empowering one.
Guilt and shame tend to make us feel less able to change, and that’s not what we’re after, here.
So let’s not fall into the cliché that well-meaning grandmotherly sorts preach to us in the Target checkout line, when they make us promise to “cherish every moment.”
Some moments we will be trying to find the politically correct way to bodily pin our toddlers down so we can buckle them into their darn car seats already, and it’s okay to not cherish that.
Really.
I asked all the other moms–we agreed. You have our support in not cherishing that at all.
But–again, guilt free–I think it might be nice to focus a little of my (very precious) energy on cherishing the actually cherishable moments.
The New FOMO
As I was sitting in one of those disconnected hazes, wishing away the hard and mundane stuff that sometimes gets me down, the thought popped into my head:
We have all this “FOMO” (Fear Of Missing Out) when we see our friends’ photos of perfect sunshiny beach days and tantrum-less Disney trips and healthy-and-delicious home cooked meals, but…
What if I had FOMO for this exact moment?
An opportunity to test that question it presented itself almost immediately. (A little too early for my personal taste, honestly, but c’est la vie, I guess.)
That afternoon, my littlest woke up early (and screaming) from her nap.
I was zero percent in the mood to stop doing my own solo-during-nap-time thing. (I treasure nap times. Always.)
But I thought I’d try my out my new perspective shift.
I’d try to have fear of missing out on that moment, the one when I walked into her room and lifted her out of her crib.
And redirecting my attention changed the experience for me.
It made me stop thinking about how I wasn’t reading a book in luxurious silence or eating a cookie without anyone asking for a bite, and think instead about what I was doing.
What I would be missing out on if I dwelled on my free-time-cut-short.
The Almost-Missed Moment
Usually, I would have slung her over my hip, and carried her downstairs. I would have handed her a cup of milk to get her to stop whining, and probably pulled out my phone while she sat on my lap.
But that day I carried her to the rocking chair in her bedroom.
We sat together, the warm golden light of afternoon filtering in around us, and I focused on the warm weight of my almost-not-a-baby in my arms.
Her curls were damp from sleep, and she laid her head on my shoulder, nestling close so I could rest my cheek on her hair.
As the rocker swayed soothingly beneath us she grew heavier, relaxing into my arms, trusting that she was safe, looked after, and so very loved.
Slow, Slow, Slow
I’m not good at this, mama.
I’m anxious, Type A, and always thinking, moving, doing something.
I’m not good at stillness or focus or being present right here, right now.
But I didn’t used to be good at rocking babies to sleep, or staying calm during toddler tantrums, or even trusting myself enough to say brave things out loud, and practice has worked those into natural, real parts of me.
So I’m trusting that, slowly, this will work in me, too.
That maybe I can even turn it from fear of missing out, to “joy of living in” the places, the moments, and the life in front of me.
xo,
Jamie
p.s. If you’re struggling, if you feel not good enough, and if you want to feel God in your motherhood.
Pin images by Dakota Corbin and Jordan Rowland
