Always Behind

being poured out, feeling my lack, seeing my need

I hadn’t found time to squeeze in a work out in a week, but that day I was determined. My planking and shaking body hovered over broken pretzel sticks on the living room floor. I should have vacuumed those yesterday. Letting out a grunt, I shifted into another position and, behold, a thick layer of dust on the TV stand. I haven’t dusted in weeks.

As I did my first set of crunches, I swear I heard the living room closet yell, “Just tidy me already!” That’s been on my to do list for months. I pulled my knee in close for a stretch and that’s when I saw the withered dill plant waiting to go in the ground.

My toddler jumped on me, still in his pajamas, and I remembered that even though it was 10am already, I still needed to brush my teeth and wash my face. As he giggled at my groans from his weighty body on my belly, a memory passed through my mind like a leaf blown by the wind—me from the day before, sitting on my bed, folding a week's worth of laundry. My husband helped me; I wouldn’t have finished without him. I felt ashamed all over again.

//

I stepped on the scale and peered down to read the numbers my toes pointed to. How did I gain two pounds?! Discouragement tugged on my heart as I got dressed. The jeans that fit last year now looked as though they could explode like the can of biscuits that blew up in my sister-in-law’s grocery cart last week.

“I can’t breathe,” I said to my husband as I slumped down on the couch. After bullying myself with words I’d never say about someone else, I finally caved and ordered the next size up. And then, when those came and didn’t fit, the next size.

I’d been working out nearly every day for months but it didn’t seem to matter. This new weight still hangs on to my abdomen like a squirrel clings to a spinning bird feeder. Just get off already! I recall my youthful body and long to be wrapped tightly in it again. All along, forgetting my true clothing, purchased for me by precious blood.

//

Trying to calm my breathing, I uttered a prayer to God, “Please help me,” as I walked toward my son’s room. I was angry. I was weary and worn out from drowning in dysregulation and discipline. I was desperate to be freed from my exasperation and exasperated that I was so desperate.

As I conversed with my child, everything I longed to hold in my heart and hands came up short: answers, wisdom, gentleness. Interrupting my gospel attempt, he held up a toy stethoscope in front of me. “Why is this broken?” He’s not listening. More frustration and weariness hardened my heart. I bowed my head to pray, begging God to soften both of our hearts, to help us be kind, to help us choose love. We head back out to the living room where another sibling fight breaks out.

“I feel like I’m drowning in discipline and I’m exhausted,” I say to a friend. I’ve been looking for the shore. I see other moms over there; they seem to have made it. What am I doing wrong? Am I just a slow swimmer or is this current too strong? When will God part the sea and let me find my footing again? I forget that he alone is my solid ground.

//

When the speech therapist’s text reminder came through that morning I felt shame quicken my heart. It was the fourth time I’d forgotten to write down the appointment on my calendar. In fact, I also forgot to write down two other appointments this month. And I missed one of them altogether, not realizing it until days later.

“I’m an idiot! I can’t believe I just forgot that appointment,” I told my husband. “What is wrong with my brain?” I’ve repeated this question many times since our second son entered our family pictures. I gained a baby, but lost my brain in the process. It feels consistently scattered, and foggy, always foggy. No matter what I do, I can’t keep up. I’m that car with a donut tire you see on the highway, always lagging behind.

How do other moms do this? I wonder to myself. I’m just not built to be a mom. I barely notice the prompting of the Spirit, “I equip you for that which you are called.” Can the God of the universe not overcome my broken brain? Can he not somehow use these battles for the good of both me and my children?

//

The food went everywhere—the table, the chair, the floor, and my toddler. “What happened?” my husband asked. “My wrist just gave out. It’s too heavy.”

This has happened many times since that day—shooting pain and severe weakness strikes and the tray falls to the floor. Pain inflicts various parts of my body when I pick my son up, when I get out of bed, or when I walk a little too fast. My heart races and dizziness floods my body when I kneel down and stand back up or while at the store. I look around and wonder what the woman next to me will do if she sees me fall to the ground. It hasn’t happened yet, but I’ve had two close calls this week.

And goodness, I am so fatigued. By 9am I desperately want a nap. My boys crawl on me as I try to finish my coffee, willing myself toward energy I know I don’t have. The coffee spills and it reminds me of how I feel inside: poured out.

//

I feel like I’m constantly behind. Unwaveringly exhausted. Emotionally weary.

Even when I consistently work out, I still gain weight.
The cleaning is constant and abounding.
The opportunities for discipline are unyielding.
Adequate words are often lacking.

I’m drowning in my not-enoughness. And yet, I know that these things—being poured out, feeling my lack, seeing my need—they all push me into Christ. They call me to look away from myself, to say to my God, “I’m not enough, but you are. I’m always behind, but you hem me in.”

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ICYMI
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