When my kids were younger, I wanted to enjoy being a mother more, but I was exhausted.
For years, I was a single mom who was suddenly juggling way too many things on her own, including a full-time job, learning to walk again after hip replacement surgery, and healing from the wound of heartbreak. I worked as hard as possible to ensure the weight of it all didn’t find its way toward my then-toddlers, but I’m human, so it seeped out here and there.
My kids are now teens, so these moments are getting smaller in the rearview of time, but I’ll never forget a morning when I was doing my best to pry my eyes open and get my kids their breakfast. My then-four-year-old daughter was trying to pour herself some cereal and was struggling to get her tiny fingers around the box to hold it upright.
I exhaled dramatically, snatched the box from her, and poured it with a not-so-loving look. Her little heart sensed my mood, and she whispered, “I’m sorry, Mama. If I could do it myself, I would.”
That was nearly 13 years ago, yet as I type that, my eyes are filling with tears, and I’m right back in that run-down rental home, wondering how I would survive. I am fighting both instincts to hug that tired, alone version of myself and also punch her for losing her patience. She deserves both.
But that’s what happens when we give too much of ourselves while we care for others. We can run ourselves into the ground until there’s no more left to give, and what’s left is someone who is grumpy and resentful.
My daughter’s words felt so heavy and wise to me that I knew I had to change the way I was approaching my life. I still had to keep all the balls in the air, but I knew I had to start doing a better job of finding the joy in it all instead of getting stuck on the struggle.
It was a small act, but I put a post-it note in my tiny kitchen on the cabinet that said, “Leave the dishes. Go play with your kids.”
I couldn’t shirk any of my responsibilities, but I could lower the bar of what I was expecting of myself. I started routines that put us all in healthy rhythms each night like nature walks and listening to fun music after bath time. Those things became my litmus test for success over how clean the house was.
I did as my post-it note directed and left the dishes and played with my kids. As I diverted my attention to better habits than caring about a spotless house, I felt myself breathing more easily. I was enjoying being with my kids more because I was enjoying myself more. I gave myself the space to heal and receive the love I was also doling out to my kids. I would have missed a lot of it, had I kept pretending I could do it all.
Care for Yourself to Best Serve Others
As we care for others, it’s so easy to not care for ourselves. Our intentions are often wonderful to put others first and do whatever it takes to love them, but sometimes “whatever it takes” means our sanity, joy, or health, if we’re not careful.
I lowered the bar of expectation, and I’ve been going by the mantra I created ever since then: “Lower the bar of expectations, so you don’t choke on it.”
Here's a question for you: As you serve others, are you running yourself into the ground to do it perfectly? Is there any area where you can relax and chase after joy and laughter rather than completing a to-do list?
This lowering of the bar doesn’t mean we’re inserting excuses to not give others our best—it’s the opposite. It’s asking ourselves how we can cut back on the stress of wanting to keep it all together and focus more instead on enjoying those we love. When we do this, we give them our best selves because we are at peace with the imperfections that come with the inevitable chaos of life.
I learned to do it then because I didn't want to parent my kids with an undercurrent of angry exhaustion that I could feel slowly starting to bubble up. I wanted instead to create more traditions that would only happen if I lowered the bar. I know they don’t remember a spotless house from those years, but they remember the laughter, even during a time when I assumed it would be difficult to find again.
In fact, I also began asking them what they needed from me instead of assuming I knew. I asked them if they could feel I loved them and how. They always—and to this day still answer—that they could tell I loved them by the way I did things with them (not just for them).
Take a step back as you care for others and see how you can care more for your own well-being. Step into the joy of living and out of the grips of elusive perfection. Ask those you’re caring for what they need from you and if they can feel your love for them. Take moments each day to feel the love they give you as well.
Put a post-it note wherever you need to to remind you life is fleeting and be in this moment to pay attention to the most important parts, even when they’re emotional or difficult moments.
The dishes can wait, but this can't.
Comments