When You’ve Reached Your Limit: A Hard Day in the Heart of Motherhood
Today, I am tired.
Not just sleepy, but soul tired. The kind of tired that makes your chest feel tight and your thoughts spin before they even finish forming.
My 8-month-old, Xayden, would not settle today. He didn’t want to nurse. Didn’t want to sleep, even when I bounced him until my legs and back ached.
He cried when I put him down. He continued crying when I sat and tried to play with him. He only wanted to be on me. All day. No pause. No break. No in-between. And by 3 p.m. my body couldn’t take it anymore. Neither could my brain.
Because the truth is, a mother’s mind is never off. Even in silence, it hums.
We track feeding windows, nap schedules, diaper counts. We anticipate needs before they’re spoken. We narrate, soothe, entertain, stimulate. We watch their cues, check their breath, calculate ounces, and question every decision we make.
We are the heartbeat, the anchor, the entire nervous system of our baby’s day.
Why Was Today So Hard?
I kept wondering, What is going on? He just got over a cold. He slept nine hours last night. Maybe that wasn’t enough? He has his first four front teeth, so why would teething be worse now? He’s usually okay playing solo for a little while. Usually, he can be bounced or nursed to sleep as a last resort. But today, nothing worked.
The rational part of me knows the possible reasons:
Separation anxiety spikes at this age.
Developmental leaps make their world feel chaotic.
Teething comes in waves, and some teeth are more painful than others.
Post-sickness fussiness can linger long after the fever is gone.
But knowing those things doesn’t make it easier to live them.
When You’re the Safe Space… But You’re Also Drained
My baby needed me constantly today. But here’s the part we don’t say out loud enough:
Sometimes being needed so deeply can feel suffocating.
Sometimes the constant closeness makes you feel trapped and overwhelmed.
Sometimes you’re so overstimulated by the touch, the sound, the crying, that you feel like screaming into a pillow.
And then the guilt sinks in. Because how could you feel that way when you love them so much?
But both things can be true.
You can adore your child and still feel like you’re drowning in the work it takes to care for them.
How I Got Through the Day (Barely)
I didn’t solve the day. I survived it.
Here are a few things that gave me just enough space to keep going:
I let myself say it out loud.
“I’m not okay right now. I’m tired and overstimulated.”
Naming it gave me just enough room to breathe. This doesn’t mean I’m failing. It means I’m human.
I sat on my deck for a few minutes alone.
I put my son down in his playpen, even though he cried, and I stepped outside. Just to breathe. Just to hear the wind and birds instead of whining. I felt guilty, but I felt better too.
I babywore and held Xayden while playing music in one ear and played fetch with our pup Peaches to get my mind off the current situation.
It wasn’t peaceful, but it was bearable. It kept us both from losing it.
I stopped fighting the naps.
I gave up on the schedule and rocked him in a dark room while we listened to lullabies. We went back and forth between rocking, bouncing, and giving up. When he did sleep, he didn’t sleep long, but we rested together.
I kept whispering to myself:
This is hard, but not forever.
He’s not giving me a hard time. He’s having a hard time.
I don’t have to fix it. I just have to stay gentle and present.
The Power of Being Held, Too
I vented to my husband throughout the day, just trying to make sense of my emotions and the constant fussiness. Even while he was busy at work, he texted back with calming advice and ideas that might help settle Xayden.
When he got home, he didn’t pause. He scooped up our son and immediately started trying to get him down for a final catnap. His gentle approach and understanding grounded me. I took a moment for myself; laid in bed, meditating then began reflecting, writing this blog post.
I’m beyond lucky to have a partner who shows up with compassion and without judgment. But I know not everyone has that. And that’s why it’s so important to build other forms of support. Whether that’s a trusted friend, a parent, an online motherhood group, or simply a moment of peace created by a calming breath, meditation, or mantra.
Find something that holds you, too because moms carry so much.
Mentally. Emotionally. Physically.
We hold the whole household together while keeping our babies not just alive, but deeply loved, nurtured, and stimulated.
And that takes more energy than we give ourselves credit for.
A Moment That Brought Me Back
After writing all of this, I stayed in bed for a few minutes longer. I needed the break. I needed the quiet. But as I finished typing and took a deep breath, I felt something shift. I actually felt calm again. Ready to rejoin my little world outside that bedroom door.
When I walked out, I saw my husband gently swaying with Xay while Timshel by Mumford & Sons played from a vinyl record. He was singing softly. The kind of moment that stops you.
I had heard the song before, but I had never really heard the lyrics until I saw the emotion in his eyes as he held our son and saw me walk out of the room. I kissed them both. He looked at me and said quietly, “It’s a really good song. You should read the lyrics.”
So I did. And this part stayed with me:
“You are not alone in this,
You are not alone in this.
As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand,
Hold your hand...”
“…And you are the mother
The mother of your baby child
The one to whom you gave life.”
And I broke.
In the best, softest way.
Because everything I had carried that day…the tears, the tension, the touch overload, the self-doubt, it all came undone in that one perfect storm of tenderness.
The music.
Xayden finally calm.
The man I love swaying gently, eyes watering.
The lyrics that felt like a hand on my shoulder saying, You’re not alone. You’re held too.
My husband is my rock. And in that moment, I didn’t feel like I had to be strong anymore. I just felt loved.
To the Mom Who Feels This Deeply
If you are in this place too, I see you.
If today your baby cried and you cried too. If you snapped, then apologized, then questioned if you’re good at this. If you looked at the clock and prayed for bedtime. If your brain feels foggy from the weight of overstimulation and nonstop decisions… You are NOT failing. You are just a mother deep in the trenches.
Your mind is working overtime to keep another human alive, safe, regulated, and loved. And that takes everything. Especially on the days when your baby can’t settle and neither can you.
So please, hear me when I say this.
You are NOT alone.
You are NOT broken.
You ARE doing enough.
We are growing together, and some days, that growth looks like falling apart and slowly piecing ourselves back together.
You’re allowed to break.
You’re allowed to breathe.
And you’re allowed to say, this is hard. Because it is.
And you’re still here for your child, at the end of the day.