Holistic Woman

“HAPPINESS IS NOT THE DESTINATION, ITS THE JOURNEY” 

I’ve been a stay-at-home mom for about six months now. It’s a dream come true, though I never anticipated the mental gymnastics that’s come with this beautiful life. Transitioning from picking up overtime to make ends meet to standing still, staring at a wall, summoning the motivation for never-ending chores has been an adjustment, to say the least. I’ve gone a little mad, if I’m being honest. Running a household, I’ve learned, is much like running a small business.

Three of my six children are still relatively new to me, they are my bonus kids, and for the first time in my life, my home is not solely my own. I moved into an already established household, something I had never done before. Being handed anything has always felt foreign, even unsettling. Making this home mine, while learning myself within it, all while loving and bonding with six children equally, has been no small task. They leap from banisters, then return with tiny offerings of flowers and rocks. They shout instead of speak, race through the house, scatter their belongings, and require endless repetition to learn even the simplest skills. Everyone talks at once. They spin like Tasmanian devils. The hunger is relentless. Some days it is impossible to get them to dress them properly, or to feel I have any real control at all—but I do my best! Also, I pray in hidden corners of the house, quietly begging for serenity. This is not a battle for sanity I’ll lose; it’s a slow, steady molding, shaped by age-appropriate expectations from sunup to sundown. Atop of all this- my marital relationship must remain paramount!

It’s been just over a year since this chapter began, and I’m finally sensing a rhythm. The house is somewhat organized, routines are in place, and I’ve learned to fully embrace a certain looseness. But in my fourteen years of parenting, I’ve learned one thing well: just when you think you’ve mastered it, everything changes. Soon, I’ll have half a dozen teenagers. The groundwork I’m laying now—learning to breathe, to release control, and to trust God—matters deeply. There isn’t much time for the wounded feelings that so easily stir, but there must be time for myself. Time to think my own thoughts, to exist beyond utility. Without that, I risk disappearing entirely, and I cannot tolerate that in this already loud, sometimes cruel, alcoholic mind of mine.