My Only New Year's Resolution as a Mom Is to Survive

Here we are again, friends ... at the start of a new year. My newsfeed is full of positive manifestations for the next trip around the sun. Resolutions to run that half-marathon. Cook dinner more often. Hit the gym with regularity. Read more. You know, the usual.

Most years, I’m right there with them. In my mind, I’ve conjured a list five miles long — of all the things I hope to accomplish in the next year.

Versions of my best self. Habits to make me a better mother, a better wife, a better friend, and a better fit for these snug jeans.

But this year, I’m laying it all down.

I can’t.

The truth is, I’m in the weeds. I’m in the when-will-my-kids-sleep-again weeds.-placeholder

Momstrosity

The truth is, I’m in the weeds. I’m in the when-will-my-kids-sleep-again weeds.

I’m in the lots-of-little-kids-with-lots-of-big-needs weeds.

I am knee-deep in picky eaters, dirty diapers, temper tantrums, health issues, and repetitive dinners.

This is not my year to run a marathon. This is not my year to drink two gallons of water a day or to make healthy, home-cooked meal every night or serve on all of those committees. It is my year to survive.

Talk to moms about mom stuff. And make money doing it.

This is my year to sleep when I can. To give myself grace, always. To embrace the mess.

I think, as mothers, we put a great deal of pressure on ourselves, whether we realize it or not. Small imperfections during the day equate to our shortcomings in our own mind.

Messy house? I should clean more. No clean socks? I’m way behind on laundry. Kid acts out in school? I let him watch Frozen too often.

We need to stop. I need to stop.

The reality is this: My kids don’t need a mom who looks great in leggings right now.

Or a mom who makes individualized quiches for all the kids in class. They need a mom who does her best to love them well — imperfections and all.

So this year, if you need it (spoiler alert: you almost definitely do) — give yourself grace. Some years aren’t meant to be record-breaking. Some years are meant to survive.

This post was written by Eliza Morrill of Momstrosity and reprinted with permission.

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