Exhausted

I have been thinking a lot about this word in the last two years. Before the baby was born, reading books, painting our new home, attending how to -fill the blank- classes and supporting my partner from morning sickness to emotional labor in the rollercoaster of pregnancy. 

I dealt a lot with my own fears and the emotional toll it took on me. In 2016, we had a miscarriage, a painful and scary experience. For me, a lonely experience. I found in female colleagues and friends the support to mourn and express my deep sorrow. A painful experience because I found men very reluctant to share their own feelings. This, in spite of how common miscarriages are. This is another clear example of how needed is for male folks to reconnect with their emotions. In facing something like this, it is easy to see how you can be broken in a thousand pieces inside. 

Last night, our toddler did not sleep, so didn’t we either. As I face the morning in a fog, I remember the early days of his arrival. The long days and nights writing down nursing times and pees and poops like registering the transaction of an empire. Losing track of what day of the week was or when was the last time I went outside. I made it a purpose to shower every day. It sounds like a very low bar for a functioning adult. I commend you to try and share the results. I did not succeeded. 

I am, exhausted. Physically and emotionally tired. I took the second shift as my partner rocked him for almost two hours. I ended up sleeping on the floor of his soon-to-be room, with a hand between the bars of his crib rubbing his back as a prisoner seeking the morning sun. The stuffed animals proved to be wonderful pillows and the hard wood floor proved to be good for my back. Go figured. 

I suspect that this is how high performance athletes must feel. The adrenaline of the training and competition and then, no matter the outcome, you get up next day and hit the training ground again. Parenting feels to me like training to make it to the olympics. You always try the best you can.

I feel dehydrated and drunk. Thought the last thing I ate last night was chocolate ice cream to get me through the last round of folding laundry. It reminds me of my days in college when I would party all night long but was always in class next day at 7 am. That was the agreement with my parents: you can do what you want as long as you don’t miss class or come back with crappy grades. In those days, I bounced back and recovered easily. Now it takes me about a week to recover for a sleepless night. At work, I can see how tired other parents look like. The world is being ran by sleep deprived parents. 

I considered myself a well trained diplomat. The one true moment where you can get someone to actually tell you what they think, what they really think it is not during cocktails or over dinner. Those who keep the secrets of the world are like fish on the ocean there. It is when people are tired, exhausted, when the truth comes up. The truth about what they really think. If you don’t trust me, try it. It is too much effort to keep the manners when you are exhausted. 

It is also a place of clarity. I have made deep connections about myself, my journey as a parent and what matters to me when I am in this thin space of clarity. Reflexity can emerge from a place where you don’t guard your own thoughts and feelings and you put them in front of you.  

I am exhausted and instead of taking a nap, I use the time to fiercely type this on my phone. I need to write to make sense of my world, to process it. I hope that someone, on the other end of this words will find solace, empathy or solidarity as we walk this journey of parenthood. I think about how single moms do it. I think about how my single mom did it. I feel upset about men who don’t put the hours and the effort and the heart that society expects women to do flawlessly day after day. I cannot imagine to be a single parent and work and be loving and gracious and keep doing it over and over. 

It is so hard to feel exhausted. I try to find strengthen in the struggle my mom endured and the struggle millions of women endure every day to raise the world. When I think about them, I don’t feel as lonely anymore.