Parenting is hard. It’s physically and emotionally exhausting. The days can feel endless and, perhaps worse, the nights can feel even longer. Is there anything longer than endless? Yes. Webster defines “longer than endless” as nights spent with children who don’t sleep and also as the time it takes children under the age of seven to get dressed in the morning.
I know I’m not saying anything new here, but when you’re a parent, especially a stay-at-home parent who spends most of the day looking after your kids, boredom and routine can obscure the deeper truths. Children are special. Being a parent of children is special. I’ve been a mother for over ten years, with three children, and when I take a moment to reflect on how far we’ve come together, I’m still amazed.
These little people growing, learning and thriving before my eyes are a part of me. They are funny and charming. They never cease to amaze me with their insight. However, all of these good qualities can get lost in the frustration of dropped crayons and stubborn stubbornness at dinner.
Sometimes days go by where I don’t appreciate what I have. Instead, I focus on completing tasks and checking them off my mental list. Wake up. Get the kids out of bed and feed them. Dress them. Take them to school. Pick them up. Get them to do something that doesn’t involve a screen. Snacks. Do homework. Play. Dinner. Bath. Pajamas. Bedtime. Wash dishes. Do laundry. Go to sleep. Repeat.
Because I’m addicted to getting chores done, any irregularity in the routine can frustrate me. And if I’m not careful, I often get frustrated. I get upset because my kids don’t get dressed fast enough, eat, or stop watching TV. I get upset when they get too dirty playing outside or refuse to come inside when a Florida rainstorm suddenly hits. I often realize in the moment that I’m frustrated for no good reason, but recognizing that isn’t enough. The frustration remains, even if I can name it.
Telling myself that I have to do better doesn’t help. What helps? Writing.
I tend to write at night, long after the kids are in bed. I stay up too late and am always tired as a result, but it’s worth it because writing helps me process the day’s events and refocus. The little annoyances I experience usually seem funny when I write about them. And the sweet moments that I barely notice as they happen often make me cry as I put them into words, type them into my laptop, and protect them from the whims of an unreliable memory.
When I write, even if it’s just a hundred words, a quick anecdote, or notes about a day lived, I feel different. Better. Stronger. The next morning, when my day begins, I’m usually a little more patient. A little less susceptible to the creeping demons of irritation and frustration. Well, at least for a few hours. Writing doesn’t make me an enlightened yogi, it just helps me remember that there is a forest, not just trees. And despite all the boredom, I experience something transcendent when I’m with my kids. Even when there are crayons all over the floor and forgotten bananas hidden in the playroom.
If the task of parenting is making you depressed, maybe try writing it down. Or if writing isn’t for you, find something that helps you see more clearly. You’ll feel better. And your kids will feel better, too.
Author and father. Founder and editor of Frazzled, a humorous parenting magazine on Medium. Author of the novel Love’s a Disaster (2024) and the humorous essay collection Fatherhood: Dispatches From the Early Years (2016). He’s probably falling off the trampoline right now.
