A letter to myself to read in times of struggle

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Dear Miranda,

If you’re reading this, it means that this has not been your finest day or week as a mother.

Your children probably haven’t slept. No amount of concealer can adequately cover the bags under your eyes. All of you are tired. You and Dan find yourselves snapping at each other over silly things thanks to the lack of sleep in your lives.

Showering every other day seems to have become your new normal and four-day hair is your friend. Getting dressed every day is more about function than form. And if Emma’s still an infant there’s a good chance that something you’re wearing reeks of dried spit-up. If she’s older, well, there’s probably some disgusting bodily fluid that doesn’t belong to you crusted somewhere.

You’ve probably used your angry voice. You know the one where your teeth don’t separate when you speak? That one. Your words were probably harsh. Harsher than you intended.

Your children have probably cried and as a result, you probably have, too.

You have no doubt been worn thin meeting the demands of the two small people entrusted to your care.

The days may have been long. They may have seemed never ending.

But you persevered. And you survived them. You all did. Even when you thought you wouldn’t.

And those long days? They aren’t forever.

In your Mama Heart you know just how quickly time passes. That children grow too swiftly. That you will long for the quiet moments with one or both of them snuggled on your lap. You will ache for the feeling of their tiny hands in yours. You will wish you could read them just one more story, tuck them in one more time.

In your Mama Heart you know those days are just choppy waves in the giant sea of motherhood.

Your children? They’ve thrived in spite of all that you have perceived as failure.

They are thriving.

You have not failed them.

You are not a failure.

Be more kind to yourself. Forgive yourself for what you see to be faults. Give yourself grace for the days when you feel less-than.

Look at these children whose lives have enriched your own and let your heart be happy. They love you when you cannot love yourself. Even with four-day hair.

Love,

Me