I love my kids hard. I love them in the kind of way that rearranges your entire nervous system, like literally.
It’s the kind of love that makes your chest ache when you look at them. The kind that fills you up with every possible emotion in a flood— protective, proud, and terrified all at once. I never knew fear like that until I had kids. I never had so much to lose.
I guess I always felt that a love that big should be all conquering. Love is all you need, just like the song says, right?? So why does motherhood still feel so hard sometimes? Why isn’t that super mega big love enough to silence all the inner noise that comes along with such immense responsibility?
On hard days, it’s more than overwhelm for me. It’s more than that overstimulation buzzword, although there is plenty of that. I’m talking the kind of hard that can stop you dead in your tracks, it lands deep within your bones and oppresses your spirit. The kind that makes you look around and wonder if everyone else got a manual and you were out sick that day or something.
Motherhood cracked something unexpected open inside of me. It brought old fears to the surface that I had long forgotten. Old grief that I never allowed myself to process. Old wounds that were never properly tended to, suddenly reopened.
When my child experiences disappointment, my chest tightens like it is happening to me. When they feel rejected, my mind races ahead, trying to protect them from every future hurt I can imagine. When they are struggling, I don’t just see it………I absorb it.
Then I do what so many mothers do quietly: I wonder what is wrong with me. I wonder how to change myself.
Why does this hit me so hard? Why can’t I just let it roll off? Why do I feel exhausted by things other parents seem to shrug off?
Here’s what I’m learning, slowly and imperfectly: Love doesn’t erase sensitivity. It amplifies it. For whatever reason we can’t just pack the lunches and wash the laundry, we feel we must also carry the whole emotional load of the household.
We notice every single minute shift in mood as if it were as noticeable and dramatic as the rise and fall of the tides. We track the emotional undercurrents that have the power to pull us away as quickly as a riptide. We feel responsible not only for our children’s safety on the surface level, but the unseen ocean depths of their inner worlds.
It doesn’t mean we are doing it wrong. It doesn’t mean we have to change. Attunement and connection are extreme strengths in parenting. I didn’t realize for a long time I was trying to “fix” that. Now I’m learning instead to name it. It’s about figuring out how to turn that inner dialogue from “What’s wrong with me?” to “Why do I want to change this?” and when you redirect that tone, the world softens. Change is not necessary because you are attuned. The problem is attunement at this level is heavy. I’m working on figuring out how to set the weight down from time to time, distribute the load, to fight that urge to “save” them so they can grow into trusting themselves.
Motherhood feels hard sometimes because you love fiercely. You aren’t broken. You’re human. Crappy moms don’t turn decisions over in their minds from every possible angle wondering if they are doing this right. Embrace that truth and set the weight down for a minute. We’ve got this. We are not alone.
