Sarah Nigbor

I’ve written before about how I believe the feeling of relief is underrated and deserves more recognition. Relief is a wonderful feeling, one that to me is up there with happiness and joy. My favorite definition comes from Oxford Languages: “a feeling of reassurance and relaxation following release from anxiety or distress.”

Well, I’ve been feeling some of that delightful relief lately and I’ll tell you why.

One emotion I despise is guilt, and I have felt way too much of it over the years. I wouldn’t call this a New Year’s resolution, but I’ve made up my mind that I’m done with guilt.

I can’t speak for my male readers, but I do know that I’m tired of feeling “mom guilt” and I bet a lot of women out there are too. As a working mother and wife, I feel like I’m expected to do it all and do it well. When I don’t fulfill those expectations, I feel like a failure. I feel like I should be able to do it all and do it well, but honestly, it’s impossible. There are not enough hours in the day.

My female ancestors probably had a perfectly clean house and cooked and baked and weren’t behind on laundry because they didn’t work jobs outside the home (I am not saying they didn’t work hard or have a lot to do. It was just at home). I work sometimes 60-plus hours per week between two jobs. They didn’t have to haul kids to practices, tournaments, games, 4-H, etc. SEVEN DAYS A WEEK years ago. With four kids, there is never a free day. It hasn’t lessened much with one away in college. Some nights we don’t get home until 10 p.m., when the day starts at 5:30 a.m. I barely have time to breathe let alone find time for myself. Which is why I feel like I’m running on empty so much. And when I do take any time for myself, I feel terrible. I feel like I should be cleaning, or doing the bills, or laundry, or this or that or one of the 500 things on our never-ending to-do list. I should be spending time with the kids or Hubby when all I want to do is read a book and take a nap. No one should feel bad for wanting a little time to themselves.

What brought about this epiphany? I spent most of December very sick. I had one autoimmune (Ankylosing Spondylitis) flare after another: infections, fevers, shingles, iritis. I had 15 doctor appointments in December, trying to get everything under control Fifteen! I couldn’t see out of my left eye for days because the iritis swelling was so bad. I worked with one eye shut in a dark room away from bright light. I dragged myself out of bed feeling like I’d been hit by a semi, wishing I could sleep all day, to bring my kids to school, appointments and practices. I couldn’t go grocery shopping, so if Hubby wasn’t able to, I ordered them to be delivered. I couldn’t work my second job because I was too ill. It was this month that I finally learned a lesson: to give myself grace. That is hard for me to do.

All the Christmas decorations didn’t get put up. We didn’t decorate at all outside. I didn’t send out Christmas cards. I barely baked any holiday treats (as you read last week). I did my shopping two days before Christmas because I couldn’t get out of the house before that and I don’t like to order everything online. The house was semi-clean and I tackled a little here and there when I could. It wasn’t perfect. And you know what? It was fine.

I don’t have time to cook a homemade, nutritious, beautiful meal every night of the week. That’s hard to do when you’re not home. And that’s fine. My bedroom might look like a tornado hit it some days, but it will get picked up and cleaned. I might not get around to organizing the laundry cabinets the way Hubby wants me to right away and that’s fine. My daughter might not get to buy every single little thing she wants and that’s fine. I might forget to buy my son’s favorite cereal and now he’ll have to eat something else God forbid. It’s fine. I might decide once in awhile to shut my bedroom door instead of listening to kids argue and read a glorious book in silence. It’s fine. I might not have time to make my own homemade sourdough bread and grow and can all my own vegetables like my friend, but it’s fine. I am doing the best I can and that’s all I can do.

I am done feeling like I’m not good enough, that I don’t do enough, that I’m not enough. I am done feeling guilty because I am human and I am doing my best. Mom guilt can kiss my you know what.