Soul Care for Moms

For January 2018, Kindred Mom is kicking off a Self-Care for Moms series that explores various facets of how mothers might invest in the health of their whole family, beginning with themselves. This series is comprised of engaging essays and podcast episodes, and we hope it is an encouragement to you. 

Please subscribe to join in the conversation. We don’t want you to miss a thing. 

I was a real go-getter in my younger days. Mom to a young child, worked a full-time demanding job, ministry leader on the evenings and weekends, robust social life, large extended family to be involved in. I kept an orderly home and car, and walked the dog regularly. I got haircuts when I needed them. I had enough fitness in my life to appear passably healthy. I based my worth on my accomplishments and how well I could get things done. I did enough crafts and fun activities and extracurriculars with my child to feel like a good mom, and to satisfy myself that I was one. I made enough stellar meals and grew herbs in an adorable window box outside my kitchen window and satisfied myself that I was a good wife. It all worked great as far as anyone knew. Then I started to fall asleep at stop lights on my morning commute, jerking awake when the car behind me would honk impatiently. Then came the anxiety, and the self-loathing, marching through my haze of exhaustion. I didn’t recognize those things for what they were, because I didn’t take the time to slow down and reflect on my thoughts or feelings. I simply carried a mostly vague but nagging (and sometimes insistent) feeling of dread and of not being enough, wherever I went. It drained my energy from the time I started my day. The undercurrent of self-rejection manifested itself physically, and I developed a stubbornly persistent stomach disorder that refused to be diagnosed or controlled. I lost my temper and snapped at my daughter sometimes without knowing why, or bothering to find out. Still I refused to slow down…..It all worked so well…until it didn’t.

I had been raised to push my feelings aside and do what needed to be done. To not have boundaries, to not say no. I had been raised (without realizing it) to not value myself. Other than serving others, I didn’t have personal hobbies, because who had time for that? I read whatever my book club was reading, but I never picked up a good book simply because I wanted to. I went running somewhat regularly, but I even made that about other people too—I reasoned that I needed to stay somewhat slender to keep the husband interested, or to appear attractive so that my clothes would fit right. I ran a half marathon at one point, and then did a 60-mile walk for breast cancer—because girlfriends wanted me to. I enjoyed those events and considered them to be like hobbies, but they were never about me. I wasn’t pursuing my dreams and goals, because I didn’t even know what they were. Life picked me up and carried me along. I thought I was living a good life, but other people were setting my sails and charting my course.

In 2014, I was diagnosed with an advanced, extremely aggressive eye disease. Major surgery was imminent. Each eye was operated on, one at a time. Each surgery had a two-and-a-half month long recovery period. It was excruciating. I was supposed to stay off my feet as much as possible, to aid the healing process. The hustle and bustle of normal life came to a halt. I couldn’t do much of anything. I sat in a rocking chair on the porch on summer afternoons. I wallowed in a hammock in the woods near our pond. When we traveled back and forth to my follow up appointments, I nestled down in bed in a quiet hotel room. The days ticked by. It was torture. I felt so isolated and alone. It was the most peaceful time of my entire life.

I nearly lost my vision. I found myself, at last.

Life isn’t meant to be a duty; it’s meant to be a delight. We need, as Howard Thurman writes, to stop asking what the world needs. Instead, we each must “Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it.  Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” What our families really need, but can’t express to us, is a mother and a wife who has truly come alive. But please don’t do it just for them. Do it for you—for the one and only precious, wild and beautiful you.

It starts with holding space for yourself. Space where God can meet with you, and you can’t tell where you stop and He begins. Start there, my friend. And then, hold space for yourself to dream, think, ponder, nap, grow, rest, stretch, create, learn, try, fail, and try again. Become a student of the beauty of the world around you, and within you. And of all the people that you will be kind to today, remember to be kind to you.

Helen Gentry is a business coach who writes and blogs from her home in the mountains of North Carolina where she lives with her husband and daughter.  She loves trail running, cooking, reading, travel and fitness. She drops everything for a mountain sunset or a cup of good coffee. 

Subscribe and receive a free Self-Care Questionnaire and Action Items Planning Worksheet to help you create a Sustainable Self-Care Plan!

For January 2018, Kindred Mom is kicking off a Self-Care for Moms series that explores various facets of how mothers might invest in the health of their whole family, beginning with themselves. This series is comprised of engaging essays and podcast episodes, and we hope it is an encouragement to you. 

Please subscribe to join in the conversation. We don’t want you to miss a thing. We would love to send you a free Self-Care Questionnaire and Action Items Planning Worksheet to help you create a Sustainable Self-Care Plan!

Getting rid of 90-percent of my clothing helped me discover a dysfunctional relationship I let go on for way too long. I’ve always loved clothing and imagined they were working to enhance my self-confidence. However, I’d never considered the emotional baggage they collected as they sat idle in my closet.

The First Signs of Trouble

I was pregnant with baby number three when we moved into the forever home. You know, the one you dream about raising your babies in. You imagine watching their first steps across the living room carpet and later posing on the stairs for their junior high dance photos. That kind of house.

The only problem with the forever home is that we moved all our past junk into it.

I remember touring our home before purchase thinking how our walk-in master closet was the largest I’ve ever seen. Well, once my boxes of clothing were moved in, it seemed to close in around me. I did what any reasonable woman would do. I ran to the Internet for answers.

After ogling hundreds of Pinterest photos of gorgeous closets, I came across one that stopped me in my tracks. The photo didn’t stand out because of the row upon row of identical shelving waiting to organize all the clothing I could throw at it. It stopped me in my tracks because it was so simple.

This ladies’ entire wardrobe fit onto one bar. Above the bar was a shelf with a piece of pottery and a framed canvas painting. This lady didn’t even need half of her closet! She had room to decorate it too!?! She deemed her closet’s contents a “capsule wardrobe.”

Boy did that phrase send me down a Pinterest rabbit hole of no return. I saw rectangle after rectangle of carefully curated collections of clothing, all perfectly coordinating. You could mix and match 10 items into 64 different outfits combinations! Never repeat an outfit!

Well, that was all well and good for those chic, not pregnant girls, but a capsule wardrobe obviously wasn’t going to work for me and my mommy life.

I tossed the idea of a beautifully-curated wardrobe into the mental trash bin. I thought there was no way I had the time or money to deal with that.

The Breaking Point

Several years (and several pant sizes) came and went. My baby was born and grew to be a toddler. I was engrossed in home improvement projects and decorating my forever home in all the ideas I collected and pinned.

I stumbled upon that old pin of the capsule wardrobe. For the last several years, I’d organized and reorganized my closet every way possible, never content with the results. I’d obtained color-coded bins and hauled them up and down from the top shelf, creating hours of work each season.

I still didn’t feel ready for a small, curated capsule wardrobe, but I was tired of the emotional wasteland that had become my closet. It was shoved full of clothing from when I was a working mom, from before baby, from several dress sizes ago. I was tired of looking at clothing that didn’t feel like “me” anymore. In desperation, I decided I needed to live with less.

Cutting the Fat (Clothes)

The first thing to go was the bin of “fat clothes.” Yes, the label literally said that. Those were the post-pregnancy, not-quite-in-regular-clothes-yet clothes.

The next to go were the blazers and the dress pants – all the professional items. Even if I were to re-enter the workforce, it was clear to me that the days of matching suits were over.

I was on a roll now. Next, I dug into all the pre-first-baby clothing that hadn’t fit since – you guessed it – before my first pregnancy.

Eventually, all the bridesmaid dresses, free event T-shirts, old uniforms, and super high heels were gone too.

And then, for the first time in recent memory, all that remained was the clothing that actually fit and I actually wore.

Swipe Right for These Clothes

It was a revelation. I hadn’t purchased anything. I hadn’t coordinated anything. The clothing that hung in my closet is what fit my body and my lifestyle.

I had to get rid of all the excess to reveal the treasure that was there all along. The clothing that actually fit me, that I actually liked, that I actually felt good wearing.

The clothing I kept isn’t magazine spread-worthy. No one else might consider them treasures, but they are my personal gemstones: my favorite jeans, a comfy sweater, and slide-on shoes that live by the front door because I wear them so often.

To me, they are treasures because I relish wearing them day after day. The beauty is in the function, the fit and the fabric. We suit each other. You could say we have a healthy relationship.

Afterglow

Like the glow of a new relationship, weird things started happening:

I walk into my closet and smile.

I get dressed in 2 minutes flat (including decision-making time).

I don’t second-guess what I am wearing or feel self-conscious.

I am comfortable literally and figuratively.

I never imagined that changing this one part of my life would make such a huge impact on the rest of it. I didn’t just physically get rid of those old clothes, I also got rid of the mental baggage they stowed away. I gave myself permission to be who I am now and dream about the future.

It’s a simple concept really but one that sometimes escapes many mamas. With the changes happening to our bodies, our closets start resembling time capsules more than dressing rooms. We add clothing but don’t get rid of what no longer works, and the things that represent our past lives.

I no longer feel guilt over the pretty heeled shoes that sat dusty at the bottom of the closet. I don’t have to shove that two-piece swimsuit farther back into the drawer to avoid thinking about my midriff. I don’t have to acknowledge the new skin bulges in the old clingy workout tops, nor do I have to bypass the pair of jeans that fit me at the same number on the scale last time (but mysteriously not this time).

Like a bad relationship, I had to break up with my clothes to feel freedom.

Those clothes can now have a lovely second life with someone else.

They have moved on and now, so can I.

Megan Ericson lives with her capsule wardrobe (and family) in suburban Ohio. She helps other mommas create their capsule wardrobes at meganericson.com. You can also find her on the Minimalist Moms Podcast talking about adventures in motherhood, minimalism, and mindfulness.

Subscribe and receive a free Self-Care Questionnaire and Action Items Planning Worksheet to help you create a Sustainable Self-Care Plan!

For January 2018, Kindred Mom is kicking off a Self-Care for Moms series that explores various facets of how mothers might invest in the health of their whole family, beginning with themselves. This series is comprised of engaging essays and podcast episodes, and we hope it is an encouragement to you. 

Please subscribe to join in the conversation. We don’t want you to miss a thing.

There I was, in the middle of the disaster zone also known as my kitchen. A toddler screaming to be let loose from his high chair, the spilled milk from my 4 year old dripping onto his lap and puddling on the floor, the mountain of laundry looming to the left, the dirty dishes piled to the right, and me. No one ever told me about this part of motherhood; the part where emptiness consumes, loneliness magnifies, and the overwhelm of daily life is crippling.

As someone who defines myself as a mother, a moment like that meant I was doing something wrong. Only the social media worthy moments meant I was doing something right. All of the parenting books, magazines, and blogs helped feed my unhealthy striving towards “perfect” motherhood. Furthermore, the expectations I placed on the behavior of my children was akin to asking them to hike to the summit of Mt. Everest. When they couldn’t reach it, I was angry and disappointed.

Being a mom had become my unhealthy, life-defining passion.

Growing tiny humans to be contributing members of society is filled with purpose. It is a wonderful thing to be a mother, but the trouble comes when it’s the only thing. It became clear to me when my first two kids were past the toddler stage that my purpose for 5 years had been motherhood alone. I had lost my identity in the middle of toddlerhood. Every ounce of self was hidden under layers of diapers, snuggles, tantrums, and story times. I had been set adrift in a sea of mothering with no anchor keeping me grounded to life outside of it.

Was I a bad mom for wanting to claim some time back for myself?

The restlessness between mama and self was starting to consume my mind. The outer signs of it being an inability to focus, frustration, and a short temper. I began to recognize that I was not modeling the most essential life lessons I wanted my kids to learn. Be true to who you are, dig for the gifts you have, use them to love others, and sink deep into who you were uniquely created to be.

How could I live a purposeful life with my mama side as an essential part but not the entirety of my being?

The wake up call came one day when I pulled out my sewing machine from the abyss that is the downstairs closet. Immediately my boys were interested in it. They wanted to see what it could do and what it was for. I don’t remember what we made that day, but I do remember how excited they were to see what I was doing and if they could do it too.

I realized something important that day. To inspire my kids to pursue a life of purpose and meaning, I had to be brave enough to step outside the mama box and show them I was a woman pursuing the things that light up my soul.

By sinking deep into my own individuality, the essential bit of who I am that isn’t defined by mom, they started to see new life. Perfect mamahood didn’t matter so much anymore because I wasn’t being defined by that alone. The sewing machine released a flood of creative energy that filled my soul and because of that my children were being released from the shackles of unrealistic expectations. Freedom surrounded our family like a restorative balm on the abrasions of never enough.

Perhaps the most common roadblock to these delightful bits of self-care is the dreaded mom guilt. Guilt still tries to imprison me when I take time for myself, but I shut it down with the truth. Allowing time to pursue my individual passions doesn’t diminish my purpose of motherhood, but amplifies it to new heights. The more I use my gifts and talents, the more motivated I am to guide my children to do the same.

It seems counterintuitive that time for my own life-giving interests would decrease selfishness, but soaking in the overabundance of joy that comes from remembering who I am washes selfishness away. It is easier to love, easier to give, and easier to live with a focus on others when I continually fill myself too.

Jen Fletcher is a writer and artist who loves to help busy mamas find purpose and cultivate rest in the everyday mess. With a focus on the themes of faith, growth, gratitude, and unity, her blog Simply Rooted supplies much needed encouragement for the seemingly ordinary days of motherhood. She lives in North Carolina with her husband and four children.

For January 2018, Kindred Mom is kicking off a Self-Care for Moms series that explores various facets of how mothers might invest in the health of their whole family, beginning with themselves. This series is comprised of engaging essays and podcast episodes, and we hope it is an encouragement to you. 

Please subscribe to join in the conversation. We don’t want you to miss a thing.

My head against the glass of our fifth story window, my eyes lingered on that row of rental bikes near our Ronald McDonald House across the street. Yet again we’d found ourselves sequestered post-operatively with our daughter at a children’s hospital miles from home. By day eight, my bike riding daydreams were quite vivid.

As the parent of a child with complex medical needs, this life wasn’t new to me. My knees were familiar with prayer time, and my heart, mind and body accustomed to being poured out on her fragile behalf.

But then came Sunday. Rounds were complete, my daughter comfortable, my mom sitting with us, and the staff at bare minimum. As we clicked on “Annie” for our eleventh viewing, I looked out again at those bikes shining in the summer sun. I’d left her bedside many times for naps or laundry, but for joy rides?

What if I miss the surgeon? What if she cries? What if they forget to give her pain meds on schedule?

“Go,” my mom urged, so I slipped out of the room.

As I pulled out my credit card, and the bike unlocked, something within me unlocked as well. I pumped the pedals fast and I meandered slow. My hair blew and my heart pumped. My soul responded with a flood of emotion, from elation to angry tears.

When I returned, with new breath in my lungs, my girl smiled wide. And instead of clicking onto that next movie, we pulled out the paints we’d set aside and turned on some music. Soul care. It was long past time for both of us.

That joy ride shifted my thinking. Yes, my first priority was my family. Yes, life was hard and full. But I’d remembered the value of attending to the soul.

///

If my soul could choose, it would travel the globe. It would take the beginner’s pottery class at our local art center or rent a mountain cabin for writing and creekside hiking. Unfortunately, my soul care has limited parameters right now.

The reality is, I am a medical mom of four children. We’ve got loaded to do lists and places to be. There are multiplication tables to memorize, dishes that need scrubbing, book reports to complete and Cub Scout meetings to attend.

But still, the tea towel in my kitchen beckons me, “Do something each day that brings you joy.”

I might not be spinning pasta onto my fork in Venice today, but I can take mini “joy rides”. I can jog in my subdivision or take a bubble bath behind locked door. I can pull out my “mom only” fancy pens and coloring book or exercise for twenty minutes with a phone app while the kids play. I can sip tea and read a Psalm in a rocking chair for ten minutes before the day starts. If I pop in my ear buds and pour myself a glass of wine while I cook, I de-stress from the fussing around the homework table, and my soul will be reset for better dinner conversation.

None of this is productive in the to-do list sense, but highly productive in maintaining the health of my soul. It might feel silly, or wasteful, to let your soul take a mini joy ride, but consider it just as important as exercise and healthy eating. When we attend to our souls, the whole family feels it.

Soul care helps settle a home, and it’s also a gift I want to give my kids. I want them to know how to multiply and make a bed, but I also want them to discover what makes them come alive. I want to help them increase their capacity to both survive and thrive. If they see me do it, I hope they’ll learn to take their own joy rides.

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How about you? Grab a pen and head out alone for some sun on the front step for a moment.  Consider what little and big things could bring you joy in 2018. What makes you feel alive? Push yourself to boldly list them.  Could you plant flowers? Register for a 5K? Try a new recipe for just you and your husband after the kids go to bed? Grab a deck of cards and play Solitaire? Visit a museum?  Cheer at a baseball game? Do a hand lettering workbook? Sing at the top of your lungs with the car windows down? Jump on your kids’ trampoline? Invite a friend to a movie?

Now you’ve got yourself a 2018 soul care bucket list.

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After that Sunday bike ride in the hospital, came Monday. The new day brought my girl discomfort and agitation. For hours, to no avail, I tried everything I could think of, from holding her, to distracting her with SnapChat. Then I remembered my joy ride, so I dimmed the fluorescent lights, pulled a chair and tray table close to her bed, and dumped out a 100 piece puzzle. I hummed as I sorted through the pieces. She was annoyed at first, but I kept humming and sorting. Then slowly, as I settled, so did she, so I moved the tray closer and asked her to help me find all the sky pieces.

Soul care. As it turns out, as we moms attend to our souls, the whole family settles.

If you find yourself dragging frazzled into 2018, I hope you’ll add joy rides to your resolution list. Write yourself a permission slip to seize a little slice of joy every single day.

Rebecca Radicchi, with her husband and four small people, lives outside Atlanta, where the summers are hot and the tea is sweet.  She used to be a perfectionist with a life plan, until God used parenting, adoption, cancer, and being a medical mom to turn her life right side up.  Today, with the help of English Breakfast Tea and a handful of dark chocolate almonds, she lives twenty-four hours at a time surrendered to the God she’s found faithful.  She writes about the realities of adoption over at No Hands But Ours.  And, as she writes about the wild, salty sweetness of her family’s life on her blog, she hopes you too will experience the freedom and wonder in one day at a time living. 

>>  Episode 30 of the Kindred Mom Podcast on Self-Care for Moms is now available!  <<

For January 2018, Kindred Mom is kicking off a Self-Care for Moms series that explores various facets of how mothers might invest in the health of their whole family, beginning with themselves. This series is comprised of engaging essays and podcast episodes, and we hope it is an encouragement to you. 

Please subscribe to join in the conversation. We don’t want you to miss a thing.

January. Flooded with indulgent memories of November and December, the notion that I am not good enough comes bobbing to the surface. Guilt curls her cold fingers around my shoulders hugging me in close-to-whisper fearful words. Impossible to ignore, messages bubble in my head chastising me for letting myself slide, lacking discipline.

Remember when you were in the habit of getting up before your kids to exercise, write or just sit in the dark and quiet?

Remember when fitness was second nature and the number on the scale or your abdomen shoved into a pair of jeans didn’t scream at you? 

Those were the days. 

The days you received compliments, so you knew you were on the right track. 

The days when you felt confident as a woman, mother, and person.

The mountaintop….you’ve fallen off.

Guilt and her sinister truth-lies visit me every year. The successes, challenges, and triumphs constituting a year of my life, my journey, are undone with one turn of a calendar page. For me, January is a time filled with an urge to hustle to outrun guilt. I feel pressure to change to find happiness or fulfillment or something elusive and harder to define. Disguised in innocuous shiny wrapping, self-improvement beckons: “A new year dawns and with it a new chance to start over again.”

Irritating.

Here’s the rub, the idea of starting again adds to the overwhelming feelings of fear because it leads me to believe that since I am “starting over,” I must have failed at something. I can’t stand failure.

It is true that I have fallen off of a mountaintop I was very proud to have scaled. I have splash-landed in January, a rushing river of constant change, discipline, comparison, the allure of perfectionism, being well, and starting afresh. From the bank, the current of this river looks dazzling; the water is smooth as satin, graceful and seemingly kind. But as I dip my hand into the icy torrent to grasp at one of these sparkling ideals, I realize it is not gentle but punishing, and I get sucked under, void of air, and choke.

Most years, I reach into the icy barrage of January and end up being dragged along by some raging rapid of self-reformation that I half-heartedly glom onto in the few days between Christmas and New Years. After all, everyone seems to be doing the same thing, chasing down some dream to do better. I fight with the current, giving parts of myself to the newest most convincing quick fix, thinking that the way to the top of the mountain must be farther down-river, and I’m drowning.

In all honesty, I do want to be the best version of myself. But I have to stop and wonder about the motivation that pushes me; Am I trying to change because I don’t like myself?

This year I’m pushing back, realizing that I don’t have to be carried away in the current of Resolutions, Goal-Chasing, Self-Improvement, and It’s-Going-to-be-Different-This-Time-Around. I remember that I am a rock, a fallen piece of that mountain I once scaled. Down in this river, I realize it is perfectly fine to be a rock, large and immovable. I don’t have to rush with the current. Slipping past me go the daggers whispering “failure.” I stay cemented in this place where I’ve landed, sure that regardless of where I am, mountaintop or raging river, I am still made up of the same rock-solid sediment. Valuable, steadfast, strong.

You, too, can be a rock. You can stand still in quiet rebellion while the frenzy of January goes sailing around you. Self-criticism will push against you, coaxing little pieces of you to break off in pursuit of improvement. You don’t have to fix all of the flaws you might see in yourself. You are not failing when you choose to pause instead of burning rubber at the starting line. Begin something when it makes sense, because you are genuinely ready, because you are starting from a place of worthiness rather than defeat.

Honor the journey you have made to be at this very moment in time without adding qualifying statements that you are “Bad” or “Good.” It doesn’t matter how you ended the previous year because change is inevitable. There is no starting over; there is only moving on, moving forward.  Stop and realize that being in the river in the first place is changing you. You don’t need to grab onto the latest craze floating by promising change just because it is January. You can let the momentum of the new year be something that inspires you. Inspiration-driven change is kinder and more lasting than the sort that comes with a bunch of kicking and screaming.

Rebel and hold your ground until you are ready to move. The mountains may quake in response. Let’s see what shakes loose.

Jennifer Van Winkle lives in Seattle with her husband and three children (twin boys and a baby girl).  She is a teacher, musician, and currently a stay-at-home mom.  She loves fueling the imaginations of her children with creativity, songs, all things science, good food and lots of play indoors and out.  She blogs at Pepper Sprout Home and you can also find her on Instagram.

>>  Episode 30 of the Kindred Mom Podcast on Self-Care for Moms is now available!  <<

For January 2018, Kindred Mom is kicking off a Self-Care for Moms series that explores various facets of how mothers might invest in the health of their whole family, beginning with themselves. This series is comprised of engaging essays and podcast episodes, and we hope it is an encouragement to you. 

Please subscribe to join in the conversation. We don’t want you to miss a thing.

Over-dramatic wails and cries cut through the peaceful quiet of my light-dimmed bedroom. He’s not quite two years old, over-tired, and thrashing around while I try to calm him for a much-needed afternoon nap. I draw him close as I attempt to sing one of his favorite simmer-down songs, but he won’t have it. His back is arched and he claws at me while kicking off his blanket, desperate to escape the clutches of sleep. With screams in lieu of words, he is very clearly saying to me, “No sleep, Mama! Anything but sleep!”

Despite his protest, I know he’s at the end of himself and pushing sleep aside is no longer an option. He fights me until there is nothing left to do but give in to sleep.

This scene is familiar to many moms of toddlers. There is a point at which a child needs sleep before there will again be any peace, joy, or delight in the day ahead. It seems toddlers are content to run themselves ragged until their tanks are past empty. Sadly, so are moms.

As I laid there with my son thrashing in my arms, I first thought, “Kid, why are you fighting it? This is what you need right now. Sleep is not optional,” and my second thought was, “You respond to your body’s cues and needs the very same way, Emily.”

Guilty, as charged.

Like my overtired toddler, I ignore the early cues that I am depleted and running out of steam. I fight off the more insistent signs that I am approaching the end of myself as I become easily irritated by the chaos around me. Inevitably, I reach a fateful moment when I do my own bit of thrashing—losing my temper, or breaking down with a heavy cry over the dishes in my kitchen sink, or ducking out of the action to scroll on my phone to escape my reality but not really rest—completing one more trip around the constant cycle of inadequate self-care.

For years, I have spent my physical and mental well-being like a credit card, often charging more than I pay back into the system. I’ve been racking up a personal debt of depletion in a self-perpetuating cycle that hasn’t been easy to break. My perspective about self care has been skewed by the (erroneous) belief that it is just some buzzword; a trendy or luxurious pursuit that is beyond me. Until recently, I’ve thought of self care as something that may be great when you can squeeze it in every so often, but is ultimately something non-essential to mothering well. I carried around cliche mental images of pedicures, bubble baths, and a nightly glass of wine that haven’t matched up with my desire for a deep sense of peace within myself and satisfying rest. As a result, I wrote off the term, and accepted the out of bounds exhaustion, broken down postpartum body, and sometimes soul-crushing loneliness as part of the job. I have ignored the cumulative effect of twelve years of gestating, birthing, and nursing six babies, in denial about the stress I’ve put on my body and mind. Although I have made small investments in my overall health, my attempts at self-care have amounted to little more than occasional escapes from reality, that have served to distract me from dealing with the debilitating depletion I am currently experiencing. Until now, I have had no vision for how to engage substantial, meaningful self-care habits that nourish and restore me.

True self-care is about recognizing my deep, personal need to be physically and emotionally replenished, so I can serve my family with patience, perseverance, and love. I am learning that if I don’t take personal responsibility for my self-care, for my overall well-being, no one else can do it for me. I can’t wait for my husband to recognize what I need from non-verbal cues and shove me out the door for some personal time. I can’t expect my children to cease needing my care, and if I want some rhythms of rest into our days at home, I’m the one that has to establish them. Momentarily escaping the responsibility of motherhood is not the same as investing in my present and future wellbeing.

There is no way around the reality that my family needs me to arrive to my roles with energy and vision. My husband longs for a joyful companion and a generous lover. My children depend on my gentle guidance and encouraging words. Someone has to lead the charge for nutritious meals and an orderly home where we can find peace in the midst of a tenuous social landscape. And me? I must begin to see that in order to do all of those things, I can’t “give it my best shot” and resign myself to a dramatic crash-and-burn every few months. I have to value myself as a human person who has real needs, real limitations, and real desires that long to be fulfilled. I must build my life around wholesome and restorative habits that allow me to be a strong and steady presence for my family without ignoring myself in the process.

I know that other people live busy, exhausting lives as well, but moms are the only ones I see who are consistently, willfully, and repeatedly railroading themselves through the parenting years because they think there is no other way. There is another way, mamas. I’m not claiming that it’s an “easy” way, because I am finding that some of the habits required to become truly healthy in mind and body are not all fun, nor immediately gratifying.

Successful self-care requires attention, constant re-evaluation, and the self-awareness to know what we need at a given time in order to be replenished. It requires resolve to keep the promises we make to ourselves that will lead to a pattern of flourishing we can sustain through whatever ups and downs we encounter in our marriages, families, friendships, and careers.

I want to ask you to re-examine the role of self-care in your life; what it has looked like up to this point, and what it could look like going forward. This call is not meant to be an ideal foisted upon already-weary moms, but my hope is this series—this conversation—will help you identify the cycles and habits in your life that are not serving you or your family well. My hope is that you might emerge with a new or renewed perspective about how worthy you are of being nourished and rested, whatever chaos and challenges that are tucked in around that.

I want you to recognize that deeply restorative and nourishing habits are not out of your reach, and that self-care is merely the daily, faithful, and flexible-but-committed pursuit of stewarding your life well. It is an invitation to make thoughtful, strategic choices to live within your personal limitations, cultivate contentment with the life you have, and understand that you have the potential and the power to change your life one ordinary day at a time.

I want you to see that self-care is essential and that engaging it is not as costly, nor as complicated as many of us make it out to be.

Emily Sue Allen is the founder of the Kindred Mom blog and podcast and is passionate about helping moms flourish in motherhood. She is a contemplative, creative soul who celebrates the beauty of a humble, handmade life and deeply values the power of encouragement. She lives with her husband and six kids in the Pacific Northwest, and personally blogs at lightandloveliness.com. She invites you to connect with the Kindred Mom community on Instagram or Facebook.

>>  Episode 30 of the Kindred Mom Podcast on Self-Care for Moms is now available!  <<