The Never Ending Ruthless Grind of Motherhood

or Fatherhood

Have you ever felt crushed by your own responsibilities?

Not just tired. Not just overworked. But flattened—like you’ve been carrying the weight of motherhood so long, you can’t even remember what it feels like to put it down.

Some days, it’s just so fucking hard.

The constant motion. The constant noise. The endless Mom? Mom? MOM?! Shouted from another room like I have a GPS tracker on everything they’ve ever misplaced.

Someone is always hungry. Someone always needs help with something. Someone is always talking—asking questions, telling me about a YouTube video I don’t understand, repeating a story I already heard yesterday but have to pretend is new.

The never-ending list of things that need to be done:
✅ Find the missing shoe
✅ Pack the lunches
✅ Repack the lunches because someone suddenly hates peanut butter
✅ Sign the forms
✅ Wash the uniforms
✅ Plan dinner
✅ Un-plan dinner because now that meal is “gross”
✅ Make sure everyone is alive, fed, clean, and in bed before collapsing into a heap and doing it all over again tomorrow

I love my kids—so much it physically hurts. And after everything I’ve been through and lost, I am so deeply, painfully, overwhelmingly grateful to have them.

But that doesn’t make it any less exhausting.

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And since I stopped smoking weed, I don’t even have that small escape—no way to dull the edges, no way to quiet the noise inside my head. Because it’s not just about being tired; it’s about the mental load—the weight of keeping everything together, knowing where everything is, and anticipating everything before it happens.

It’s about always being on.

Even in the rare quiet moments, my brain won’t turn off. I’ll finally sit down, and then suddenly, I’m running through a checklist of things I forgot to do. I can hear the washing machine beeping from the other room. I can feel the weight of tomorrow pressing on my chest before today is even over.

And I know I’m not the only one who feels this.

So why don’t more moms talk about it?

Why do we all pretend like motherhood is supposed to be effortless?

Why do we scroll past the Pinterest-perfect packed lunches, the color-coded calendars, the moms who always seem on top of it all—and quietly wonder if we’re the only ones drowning?

Let’s be honest—raising kids isn’t always beautiful. It’s not just sunshine and giggles and perfectly curated Instagram moments. Some days, it’s fucking brutal.

Some days, it’s standing in the kitchen at 7 AM, staring at the coffee you’ve reheated three times but still haven’t had a chance to drink.

It’s eating half a sandwich over the sink because there’s no time to sit down.

It’s doing everything for everyone all day and then feeling guilty for wanting five minutes alone.

And if your child is medically complex, neurodivergent, or just going through a hard season? It’s twice as hard. Maybe three times as hard. Maybe infinitely harder.

So to the parents out there who feel buried under the weight of it all:

I see you.

I know it’s exhausting. I know some days, it feels like too much. I know how heavy it gets.

But I also know—you’re doing better than you think.

It won’t always feel this heavy.

And until it gets lighter, I just want you to know: you’re not alone.

All My Love,
Taylor Cecelia Brook

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