Not Just a Mom

7am, I pry my eyes open with my two year old bouncing on me while simultaneously nursing; it’s impressive. I manage to free myself and blindly stumble to the bathroom. I barely have two minutes to myself to de-sleep then off to the challenge of cajoling my seven year old into getting ready for school. Make her a pb&j and impatiently wait for my decaf to finish brewing. Off to school, feed the beasts, put on ‘beep beep’ aka Thomas the Train or ‘bop bop’ aka Mary Poppins. Work. After school chaos, dinner, exhaustion, girls fighting, dog on the couch. In short, losing my mind and my self in this routine of Mom, Professional, Wife, Household Manager.

It’s your average American household; the hustle and bustle of raising children, earning an income and maintaining a home and a marriage.

So last night I’m numb. I’m exhausted. What do I do? I walk silently in a eerie fashion that even made the dog’s ears perk up. And I emotionlessly drive to the gym. Put my earphones in and then as if Lady Gaga waved her magic wand through my ear canals, I’m a person again. I’m Holly. I’m strong. I’m a bad ass. I’m challenged, focused, sexy and proud.


We have to step off our Crazy Mommy Train. It feels like torture sometimes, laced with guilt and lethargy. But once you take the first step out the door, pump your first reps, have that first cocktail with your girlfriends – all is right as rain. We find our identity again; no longer muddily fused into a series of responsible selves. We can breathe again and recharge.

Recharge for the next day’s challenges of sleepy pb&j sandwiches and deadlines. ❤


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