I have come to the conclusion that whether you're a willing stay at home mom or a reluctant one, it doesn't really change the fact that you bend over backwards, cutting yourself in half trying to crowbar everything that needs to be done into the small amount of time you have, and at the end of the day there is still no time to yourself and you end up feeling exhausted and drained, crashing on the sofa with a book if you're lucky, ending up in front of the TV, if you're unlucky.
The difference is that if you are an reluctant SAHM, chances are that you have even less time and that you are even more stressed out, bordering on cardiac arrest, developing high blood pressure.
It becomes evident that it is absolutely impossible to do a mother's work (however "un-involved" one might be, because I am a self-confessed non-involver who doesn't need to get my kids attention 24/7, but think that they are perfectly capable of amusing themselves too) and try to cram in the evening-course at the open university, have time for homework, try to go for a run, see some friends, be nice to my husband, try to engage in conversation with husband, and sometimes, because sometimes it's all I'd like, to just sit and surf on the internet for beautiful pictures of flowers or google the name of everyone in my old high-school class, because sometimes, one needs that kind of stimula as well.
When the day is gone and peace and quiet is almost about to ascend upon my home, I pick out that book I've meant to read for every and of course, end up feeling guilty that I'm reading my own book, instead of listening to Kate when she's reading out aloud from whatever Rainbow Magic she might be in to, and if I go on the computer thinking that I will just engage in some frivolous and completely selfish Facebooking for a bit, I get torn up that I don't use the time to look for music-groups and toddler-fun for Leopold, which I have been meaning to do for so long now that he will be a freshman in college before I get around to it, and definitely the oldest kid in the group who's shaking a maraca to Mary had a little lamb.
And when I try to concentrate on my school-work, that course that I am so passionate about, which won't lead to me suddenly becoming a career woman making tons of money, but is simply only for the benefit of making me feel good about myself and letting me do something I have an interest in outside of the home, I feel so, so, so guilty because I try having a life outside my family.
No, wait, that's not true. I don't feel guilty at all, what I feel is frustration over the fact that I don't have enough time to really devote to what I really enjoy doing, and then I feel guilty, because my kids should always come first, right?
If it had comforted me, I would have at least given myself the option: You know, you could try to become one of those women who don't really want to do anything except be their kids, you could become one of those women who doesn't have a craving for activities beyond the four walls, instead of wasting the prescious time you have on silly stuff like courses and hobbies and stuff, then at least it would be up to me, but I know for a fact that those women have no more time that I do. They too feel incredibly over-whelmed on the verge of breakdown trying to make everything fit without a heart attack on top.
Why is it so hard for us? Where is this pressure coming from? And what do we do with our time? It must disappear of somewhere?
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