Dear Mom,

You know how people talk about the calm before the storm? Well… I’m currently experiencing the storm. I’m in the middle of it. The eye of the hurricane is hovering. It’s windy and treacherous and feels like it will never end. I see the calm approaching. I see the stillness on the horizon. I know the storm will pass. Yet, it feels like I’m drowning in the waves. About to be swept into the current. Something about tides… OK, enough of the storm metaphor…

What I’m really trying to say is that life is chaotic at the moment. Like super stressful. My very existence is like a Jenga stack piled so high I can barely see the top and if I pull one item at the wrong angle the whole thing will topple over. It feels like my entire life is about to collapse.

The good thing is that I know why. I know what’s behind this feeling. I place full blame on my job. My crazy, dramatic, stressful, exhausting job of being a mom. And not just being a mom but existing as a mom during the dreaded month of May. Or as the internet likes to call it, Maycember. This is the month when breathing is a little more labored. When backs feel a little tighter. When sleep seems a little less effective.

This time of year truly sucks. This time of year marks the dreaded end of school. Recitals, birthday parties, class parties, field trips, talent shows, staff appreciation, and PTA meetings. Thankfully, neither of my kids are in sports right now so no tournaments or championship games for us. Still, the list is never-ending and because of this I’ve had no time or energy to do basic cleaning in my apartment. I’ve been barely writing. Barely sleeping. Barely working out. Barely eating right. This is hands down the most exhausting time of year. And it’s not even over yet.

But I know this is an inevitable moment in parenting. I know this will happen each year around the same time. I should be prepared for it. So why is it so difficult to get through? Why am I struggling to simply stay afloat? It feels impossible.

Can I tread the waves long enough to make it to the shore? Can I manage to survive?

At the moment, it doesn’t feel like the calm is attainable.

It feels like I’m waiting for my world to implode. I’m anticipating an eruption. I’m almost welcoming a tsunami. Anything to bring an end to this chaos.

My mind goes straight to my to-do list. As I am sitting here writing this letter, I can see out of the corner of my eye a bed full of clean laundry to fold. I can also see the full hamper of dirty clothes as well as the cluttered desk. And when I turn my head and look directly at all that laundry my mind fills with the basketball registration that’s due and the jury duty coming up next week and the concert tonight that is blowing up my normal schedule. All I see is the chaos. And with it brings a spark in heartrate and a shortening of breath and this familiar knot in my stomach.

But because this all feels inevitable, and my job as a mother will only get more challenging as my kids get older, I think it’s time I find a way to truly survive amidst the chaos. Perhaps even thrive. What if I don’t have to wait for the storm to pass to breathe? What if I can flourish within the madness?

What if I can avoid losing myself in the storm?

Perhaps I need to stop striving to get through it. To stop fighting it. To stop swimming against the current. Could it be more helpful to hold my breath and dunk my head under water? To open my eyes and see the beauty beneath the surface? Is it possible to get to a point where I can even enjoy this moment? To relish in the mayhem? To welcome the chaos?

In a way, it’s sort of exciting. My life is full. My schedule is robust. I am alive. So alive. And I don’t have to fight the rip current and exhaust myself even more. Instead, I can allow the wave to take me on a ride and to trust that I’ll find my way back. Suddenly, the sky doesn’t look so dark. The storm doesn’t feel so daunting. Suddenly, I’m able to breathe deeper. To see more clearly.

I think what I need to remember is that storms aren’t by definition bad. Sure, they can be unsettling and at times frightening. But they could also be seen as thrilling. There is a certain beauty in a storm. And seeking out that beauty can only help me settle into the chaos. To allow it to wash over me so I can finally relax. And perhaps I can remember this feeling for the next time life gets too big and too fast.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I love you, Mom.

Love,

Rachel