The Martyr

A martyr is one who would give his/her last breath for a cause or for someone else they care about; self-sacrificing in all the ways.

I’ve seen it written in negative connotation after negative connotation, yet it’s what we continue to do. It’s what I do in motherhood and nearly any position I have had in my life. It wasn’t until recently that I realized the gravity of being the martyr.

Let’s rewind just a bit…

I’ve been feeling down lately- the past few weeks, especially. I haven’t been able to find enough time to write which is one of my favorite hobbies. I haven’t worked out like I should: another favorite hobby that lifts my mood and quality of life.

I’ve put myself on the back burner by putting off dyeing my hair by 2 weeks later than I usually do- forcing me into wearing hairstyles I wouldn’t typically do to cover it all up. To other people, this is too silly of a “sacrifice” to even mention. But, to me, it’s an important self-care ritual. It makes me feel good, it boosts my mood. So, you see, it matters to me.

Aside from my personal favorites, I’ve also let the house fall more ragged than usual. Since I had babies, I’ve always made it a priority to keep the house nice and as tidy as I can. But, sometimes, it’s not always easy to fit that into the schedule of doing everything else. So, it backslides on the priority list.

The laundry has slipped too and my poor husband has put on a pair of twice-worn work jeans a few times here and there. God bless him, because he never bitches about it. But, I feel bad, just the same.

Everything had started crumbling around me mentally and for reasons I can’t even explain. I have such a good husband; he’s good to me even when I’m not being so nice. We have 3 beautiful babies whose laughter is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. We’ve been blessed. You would think that would outweigh whatever mental funk I’ve gotten myself into. And having them really is a reminder that I need to check myself. But, it’s easier said than done.

I’ve thought about my papa more than ever. Every little thing has reminded me that he’s gone and it’s heartbreaking to a heart that already feels less than whole at the moment.

So yesterday, when I was dangling on the cusp of mental crumbling, grasping for a last strand, hanging from the rope of a mental life preserver…that one shred of me-time to wrap lightly around me and pull me to clarity.

Yet…

I decided, instead, to make my boys some French bread from scratch for Pain Perdue (French Toast) in the morning.

What can I say?

I really needed that meditation or those 10 minutes of quiet or tv time…but, with the strength of a lion, I overlooked my needs to give my boys everything they could want.

A childhood of memories. Filled with clean pool-playing and homemade French toast in the mornings. Days filled with fun knock-knock jokes I’ve heard about 22,000 times and popsicles melting on every surface they can touch, fingerprints on all the windows and frogs they’ve let in the house.

A childhood of fun- of love- of memories.

“And if that means I have to be a martyr, I will be a martyr. For the martyr is the mother.” I think stubbornly to myself.

But sometimes the martyr realizes too late that you can’t give much of yourself at all when you’re already teetering on empty.

That is precisely what happened to me last night as a minor disaster occurred in the kitchen.

Carefully I had added all of the ingredients into the dough pan and locked it into place. The time on my bread machine was set for 3.5 hours. I finally got to sit down and watched a show with my husband- with 15 interruptions minimum from wrestling dragons- and then I took a bath before coming out to see that one of the kids had unplugged the bread machine mid-cycle. I was mad, devastated, annoyed…it was really not a big deal in the grand scheme of life. But it felt like what mental clarity i’d had left was suddenly made of glass and had just shattered at my feet. It was while I was crying silently in the bathroom, that I realized being a martyr would not benefit my kids because it would not benefit me.

It’s not healthy to give ALL of you and never rejuvenate. You can’t hand out fragments of your soul and expect your children to see you whole and fulfilled. And they desperately need to see you whole and fulfilled so they too can be the best version of themselves.

Cry in the bathroom if you need to. But, when you come out, find a new way to give to yourself too. Maybe relax a little because everything you’re doing is enough. You don’t need to do more, you don’t need to be better. You’re doing your best.

Come out of that bathroom with the mindset that you need to be their mother rather than the martyr.

Sometimes the martyr will give their entire lives for no sane reason. Being a mother is a good cause to give your life to, but, what can you really give to them when you have nothing left?

In case you’re wondering, I eventually realized this. My husband knew I was upset and tried to make me feel better, but, it just took a healthy mental-breakdown to come out of it.

My husband ⬆️.

I pulled my crazy together and the dough from the machine. I tucked my crazy in and wrapped the bread neatly in a loaf pan. I finished it in the oven. It didn’t turn out like it would’ve in the machine, but it was still good and pretty enough. And I was on the mend.

I woke up this morning with a fresh outlook and made the breakfast for the boys- happy to do so. They loved it; tore it up, even.

Sometimes you need to cry. Sometimes you need to fit more you-time into your schedule no matter what you’re neglecting chore-wise in the house. As long as your babies are safe, fed, loved…they will survive 10 minutes for you to deep-breathe or have a 15 minute workout. Whatever you need to do to keep yourself mentally right. This blog is as much for me as it is for you.

We all forget to care for ourselves because we are busy caring for others. And most of the time it’s fine, but, every human being has those days where it’s just too much.

And you need a break.

You deserve a break.

Give yourself a damn break.

Your child wants love and understanding. They want shelter and nourishment. Two arms to hold them tight when they’re sad or hurt. And a heart full of warmth and compassion.

So, you see, your child doesn’t want the martyr; they simply want their mother.

Be easy on yourself! Breakfast isn’t that serious. 😂