The Quiet Summer

An examination of mixed emotions between grief and joy. A look at how chronic illness affects motherhood in a season of expected fun.

In a way, I have been hibernating in plain sight.

All of my creative juices are being squeezed out for work right now. All of my energy is being spent on caring for myself and my family. All of my patience is geared toward staying calm about my 3-year-old not sleeping until 10 pm (Lord, please help us handle this heat-wave insomnia).

There is an unending desire to write, but the actual writing has been quiet. I am in full marketing mode for 8 hours a day, and then I stay at work another hour (off the clock) to market the Mental Health & Motherhood Virtual Conference. Then, I go home and pull myself together to survive the responsibilities of parenting/adulthood.

The desire to write is present, but the mind is somehow blank.

In the past weekend, I turned 32, and we took a cheap-as-could-be-managed trip to Bellingham. The three-hour drive was all blue skies, hot sun, and quiet talks with my husband.

We forgot my clothes at home, but it reminded me that we were blessed enough to afford new clothes for me. I missed buying farmer’s market cookies, but we bought food I could make that fit my dietary restrictions.

We wandered two bookstores for hours and I walked out empty-handed. My husband seemed bewildered and I felt quiet. So quiet.

“It’s hard for me to look in bookstores right now because the book I’m looking for doesn’t feel like it exists. I need to finish my own.”

It’s not totally due to a lack of trying. Writing feels time-consuming, and, quite frankly, I don’t feel like I’ve got the energy or time I wish I had. I can barely find ten minutes to read before my child wakes up, and my night-time reading has been curbed by the sun’s persistent presence. Reading is something I can do in the dark with my e-reader. Writing is a different beast.

I recently saw a piece of writing by

Krista Steele

that spoke of what this summer holds for her. She invited others to chime in on what they were holding onto for this summer (a lovely practice in being in the present moment, by the way). I tried to write something simple but felt like my words failed me. Again.

Braids, Gardens, Guacamole, Yoga. All great things people wrote…I wrote:

“This is the summer of sitting on my butt while my daughter runs around me WITHOUT guilt.”

Does this mean I am incapable of experiencing or witnessing small joys? I asked myself, but I don’t think that’s why it felt hard. I have pondered over this for a weekend and am trusting myself that I know what I need most is rest. For some people, this list of things is a joyous recognition that summer doesn’t have to include big events to feel like a success. For myself, I looked at this list and felt a personal sense of grief.

I am not the mother I thought I would be.

I dreamed about running barefoot in the grass with my daughter and eating ice cream under a hot sun. In my head, I was going on evening walks and having dance parties in the living room.

I didn’t think I’d be resting on benches or sofas with my feet up every 30 minutes or watching my heart rate on a particularly hot day. I never imagined I’d be on such a restrictive diet when I always thought my love language (for myself and others) consisted of cooking foods that brought satisfying smiles to the forefront. Late-night conversations with my husband have turned into me crashing into bed without wanting to continue my day’s long parade of noise. I do these physical things but they come with a cost every day that bring either pain or fatigue.

I am holding onto the present moments as much as I can, but there is grief in the gratitude. It’s not a grief that I’m not doing enough for my family but an acknowledgment that there is sacrifice in the life I live now.

I am picking up my cross daily and looking at the Lord, saying, “I’ll gladly let you help with this.”

This includes the mental weight of being vigilant with my diet choices and resting my body even when I don’t want to.

This including the prayers of trust that He knows what he’s doing despite the hard months ahead, as my husband leaves for work until Thanksgiving.

This being the faith that he loved me despite knowing all the ways I’d trip up in life and he continues to love me.

Perhaps this feeling of quiet is not a negative thing but a lessening of myself that is from trusting in His process. What else is there to say? He knows all my groanings and my desires. Perhaps this grief is coexisting with the peace that is happening despite my circumstances. The bitter mixed with the sweet. The fruit of the spirit working in me.

Will it be enough for my daughter that I’m not running through sprinklers every day or participating in the physical activities that Daddy can do with her? Will it be enough that Momma stayed on the sidelines to watch and rest until their walking continued?

It might not be. But it’s enough for Jesus. With my pouring out of love and teaching of what grace is, I can only hope that it will be enough for her too.

One of many photos I took documenting my need for rest between activities.

If you are currently struggling to keep up with your energetic family OR you have a loved one you’d like to support during their own mental / physical health battles, check out this piece on low energy activities.

Hot summer nights and brain fog mean I often use this as a reminder to myself that there are things we can do together in the midst of chronic illness or mental health struggles.

Was this helpful for you? I’d love it if you interacted with this newsletter to help moms not feel so alone in the midst of their own struggles mixed with the blessings.

Registration for the 2024 Mental Health and Motherhood Virtual Conference is now open. Tickets are $25 USD. Hear from 12 speakers and learn about resources for maternal mental health October 11, 2024

Registration Is Open: A Virtual Conference For Moms and Maternal Mental Health Advocates