One thing my husband has taught me is that I need to carve out time for myself. It’s not going to happen all by itself.
After a long day, it’s really easy to start feeling sorry for ourselves.
I haven’t been alone yet today.
There are too many words.
Too many wants.
Too many needs.
Too little of me.
I need a breather, but I don’t always know how to make that happen when it doesn’t seem possible.
Ever so often, my overwhelm spills over into a full-blown adult style tantrum. The other day, for the first time in all of my adult life, I stomped my feet in frustration just like my preschoolers have done. Stomp-stomp-stomp-stomp. The wide-eyes watching were wondering what alternate reality they had just stepped into.
It wasn’t over anything big. Just some globs of smoothie dropped in a trail across the kitchen by a kiddo who didn’t understand how to fix the smoothie vs. dropped straw dilemma they found themselves in.
A sure-fire sign the mama needs a break is when the smallest thing lights a great big fire in her.
Too often though, I have every excuse as to why I simply can’t take the time I need for myself. And I’m not even talking about shopping, or girls’ nights, or date nights, or coffee dates, or an outing by myself. I’m just talking everyday care. Of myself.
Showers.
Food.
Prayer.
Getting ready for the day.
God’s Word.
Talking with my spouse or a friend.
Books.
Quiet.
A show that brings joy.
A favorite drink.
