“We All Have the Same Hours in a Day” is a Toxic Lie
Because, quite honestly, speaking as a parent? We don’t.
It’s 01:24am. I’ve just breastfed my baby boy and put him back down to sleep. My writing day began at 11 pm — slightly later than usual today, as my husband and I only managed to eat our dinner at 10 pm, after finally getting all three kids to sleep.
I’ll write for a little while longer because as a writer, I have to write. (And I’m pushing myself to make a couple of dreams come true at the moment, instead of collapsing, exhausted from parenting and the pandemic, in front of the TV for a couple of hours of respite.)
Then I’ll get myself to bed, probably around 3 am, be woken up every hour or so by my hungry/wanting-comfort-from-le-boob baby, and then be woken by the other two early in the morning for another day of home-schooling, playing and keeping them alive, until evening comes round again.
I’m not complaining about any of this. In fact, it’s quite the opposite — I know how blessed I am for the life that I get to live. But at the same time, I can’t deny how guilty I feel pretty much all of the time.
Guilt for not spending more time with the children. Guilt for not spending enough time writing. Guilt for our messy home. Guilt for not posting on the Instagram…
