I Can't Do It All: Confessions of a Mom Who Thought She Could

When I came to grips that Marshall had developmental delays, I was instantly on a conveyer belt.  The ground beneath me began moving backward, slowly at first and picking up speed as reality set in with each passing month. 

At first, I panicked a little.  I looked around, like I imagine all moms do.  My friends were not on the conveyer belt.  All around me were women walking through motherhood at a leisurely pace with their typical children.  And I was drifting further and further away, scrambling.  It wasn’t their fault, and I’m not sure they noticed. Mostly because I tried my hardest to pretend it wasn’t happening.

Fear and a hint of denial told me to shake off my emotions-- if I worked hard enough, we would catch them.  We could hop off of the conveyer belt if we picked up the pace and put in enough work.  Moved a little faster.  Did the homework.  Started the therapy.  Completed the exercises.  But as time marched on, I came to terms that the pace of the world was not our pace.   

Our conveyer belt is permanent.  It is not man-made, it is not a state of mind, it is not anyone’s fault.  It’s just reality.  Sometimes the pace of the belt quickens, and it’s easy to feel that the world around us is drifting further and further away.  Sometimes the speed tapers a bit, and the resistance feels manageable.  But it never stops moving. 

Have you ever tried to go to the grocery store without a cart or a basket?  You think, I can handle this—I’m only getting a few things.  But as you reach for the bananas you remember you need an onion.  As you walk by the bread you remember that you need peanut butter.  And then, disaster strikes.  Your heart stops for a minute.  You need milk.  You look at what’s in your already packed arms.  You frantically scroll through the items mentally: What can I set down?  The bananas?  The granola bars? Do I really need this onion, or could I come back for it later? You have to make room for that gallon of milk, and a difficult decision is before you.

You hands get full when you’re parenting a child with special needs-- while you’re on the conveyer belt.  Stop and picture that for a second.  I’m not giving you this metaphor for sympathy or as an exaggeration: in my experience, that’s exactly what it feels like.  Life is still moving forward, time pressures you to make the right call, and your hands are overflowing with essential components of raising your child.  You are constantly faced with a difficult decision: what can I set down and come back for later?  What can I carry while still keeping pace with the belt below my feet? Your child needs to be fed, clothed, bathed, cared for, nurtured, enjoyed—holding those essentials as a parent is difficult to begin with!  Now add therapy schedules and cost, phone calls to insurance companies, and a wealth of helpful information on what to do to help your child.  Your arms sometimes overflow with good things as the parent of a special needs child: the problem is, there just aren’t enough hours in the day to grasp them all in every season.  And so, the balancing act of choosing the right things for right now is never ending.

As a working mom, it was easy to give myself grace.  After all, the evenings are only a few hours long, my kids at school needed me in an entirely different way than my kids at home, and we were in a constant cycle of work, picking up and dropping off kids, grocery shopping, therapy appointments, laundry, etc.  We were staying afloat, but it was easy to cast the blame on working full time.  I couldn’t possibly be the best mom ever and do all the things when I was working. 

I’ll let you in on a secret, though.  I honestly thought I could do all the things if I stayed home.

That’s the truth.  I had a vision of who I would be on sabbatical this year.  My house could be clean!  We would do all the things!  We would eat healthy and budget well.  I would work on all of the skills I was supposed to with Marshall every single day.  We would go on adventures and visit the library on a regular basis and everything would be magical.  You’re laughing, right? We all know that’s not how this story ends.

I’m here to tell you that my kids have learned a lot and that this year at home has profited us greatly in every aspect outside of finances.  But.  The gains we’ve made and the successes we’ve had and the things we’ve accomplished have been at a slow, uphill, often erratic pace.  Nothing has been linear.  Nothing has felt complete.  The juggling act continues.  The conveyer belt still runs.  The air just flows a little more freely around me. 

I will never have it all together.  Maybe you’re wiser than I am.  Maybe you’ve already recognized this reality.  But I think, if we’re being honest, we all have that deep down, deep-seeded thought that if we could just ­­­­­­­_____________, life would be easier, more manageable, stable. 

If I could just pay off my debt.
If I could just make it until our kids are in kindergarten.
If I could just lose 15 pounds.
If I could just keep our house clean.
If I could just find a better job.
If I could just _______________.

The reality is, there’s no statement in that list that would make life perfect.  There is no magic ticket, no escape from the balancing act or the conveyer belt.  The only truth in all of this is that the hard work does pay off, whether we see results right away or not.  And that the grace of Jesus is for everyone. 

This year, as I turned my focus to my kids and set aside my career, my kids learned new things.  They became more independent.  We laughed more.  We played in every snowfall.  We stayed in our pajamas and read book after book after book after book.  Our days passed quickly with grocery trips and school drop offs, rest times and sensory bins.  The mundane was my reality this year, and I couldn’t be more heavily steeped in peace. 

As I head back to work in the fall, our pace will quicken and the crazy will increase.  I will mourn the absence of this quiet year, but I’m ready to step back in with open hands.  I’m breathing in the relative calm before the inevitable storms ahead, and I’m packing one of my favorite quotes for the journey:

“The smallest deed is better than the greatest intention.” –John Burroughs

It’s a great reminder that even if I can’t do it all, I can do something.  And that something is better than nothing.

No, I can’t do all the cute activities I see on Instagram.  But I can do one every now and then, with the supplies I have on hand or a quick trip to the store. 

I may not be able to make it to the library weekly with my kids.  But I can go on occasion when it makes sense in my schedule. 

I may not have the best boundaries with screen time every day.  But I can plan differently for tomorrow.

I may not be able to handle all of the homework for therapy this week.  But I can focus on one small skill at a time, instead of trying to tackle them all at once. 

So if you’re wondering what I learned this year at home, that’s it in a nutshell.

My name is Lindsay and I don’t have it all together. 

And I never will.

Praise the Lord for his unending grace—on conveyer belts, in juggling acts, in motherhood and in whatever we will walk through next.