![\"\"](\"https:\/\/wp-media.patheos.com\/blogs\/sites\/225\/2013\/01\/Cognitive-Dissonance.jpg\" "\\"Cognitive")
<\/a><\/p>\nTwo days ago, I was having another frustration meltdown. I have never had an infant who so vocally refused to be put down for longer than ten minutes, or whose sleep routine was so hands-on and time-consuming, and having one now, when I also have three other kids, a house to run, meals to make, a blog to write and really important things on the internet that I need to read, is difficult. I was telling the Ogre how unbelievably frustrating it is to have a million things to do and to have to keep stopping to feed, rock, change or play with the baby. My husband, God bless him, tried to make me feel better by sharing what I\u2019m sure he meant as \u201cempathy experience\u201d. He told me about his frustrations with having his dissertation looming and the difficulty he has in balancing teaching and writing, since he can\u2019t allow himself to shortchange his students on time and effort for his writing, but he can\u2019t ignore his writing if he hopes to have students in the foreseeable future.<\/p>\n
Big mistake. I got really quiet and wandered off to clean the bathroom. The Ogre assumed his tactic had just failed and sighed, picked up Angry Lincoln, and went to rock him. Meanwhile, here was the soundtrack my mind was playing while I scrubbed the bathtub and the toilet:<\/p>\n
Seriously, Calah, what is wrong with you? Your husband is over there killing himself to do actual work, important work, trying to find time where it doesn\u2019t exist to write his dissertation and re-vamp his curriculum and figure out how to help more students at the writing center, and right now he\u2019s rocking the baby (which is YOUR job) because you\u2019re freaking out that you don\u2019t have time to what? Clean the effing bathroom? Who cares about the bathroom? Who cares if you didn\u2019t have time to let the pie crust chill enough and it shrank and the quiche filling spilled all over the oven floor? Who cares that the Christmas tree is still up and that you haven\u2019t had time to blog in three days? All you write about is your latest motherhood non-epiphany or how one of your kids pooped on you anyway. Honestly, literally nothing<\/strong> you have to do is of any importance whatsoever in the grand scheme of things, and yet you\u2019re so upset that you can\u2019t get it done that your husband, who does actually important, real work, is spending his time helping you. Could you possibly be any more narcissistic and pathetic? <\/em><\/p>\n This morning, I read Leah\u2019s latest post on Ignitum Today, one more of the plethora of amazing responses written to my Fear, Prayer post<\/a>. This particular paragraph struck me:<\/p>\n I believe that the \u201cProblem\u201d that is silently present in Calah\u2019s piece is a sense of abandonment. At our most trying times we feel as if we are alone with our chaos and that no one cares about us because what we are doing does not seem to concern anyone else.We don\u2019t see our work as mothers raising good human beings as being valued.<\/p>\n (Read the rest here<\/a>)<\/p><\/blockquote>\n For me at least, it\u2019s more than other people not valuing my work as a mother. The real problem is that I don\u2019t value it. I\u2019ve written about it before, and it\u2019s a genuine struggle of mine. That funny meme I posted the other day actually isn\u2019t as sarcastic as I wish it was. Honestly, that pretty much sums up my feelings about the worth of my work, day in, day out. In short: it\u2019s worth nothing.<\/p>\n Intellectually, I know this is wrong. I know, with my mind, how important it is to the future of my children that I raise them to be good, that I spend time with them, that I provide a loving home, nutritious meals, cleanliness and order. I meant what I wrote in my post on the Massacre of the Innocents.<\/a> And yet, deep down, I still find myself doing what I did the other day. Holding up my husband\u2019s work as \u201creal\u201d work, as important work, as work worth doing, and sneering in disgust at the meaninglessness of my daily existence. Saying, aloud or to myself and for the millionth time, \u201cI wish I could go back to school. I wish I could get a job. I wish I could walk out the door and do something valuable with my time.\u201d<\/p>\n I spend way too much time thinking about the zombie apocalypse and the end of the world, and one of the things I\u2019ve realized is that if the world really ended and my family somehow survived, and we had to eke out a hard-scrabble existence while fighting off walkers, all I would want is what I have right now. A home. Food. Happy children. A peaceful place to raise my family. Tranquil days of rocking, babbling, cooking, reading stories, cleaning, and even laundry. But the cognitive dissonance of having what I know I really want while keenly wanting something else is crippling.<\/p>\n So there\u2019s that. That\u2019s much of what is at the root of the raw despair I expressed in that post. I\u2019ve realized in the past few years that I won\u2019t have one grand epiphany and suddenly be happier in my life as a stay-at-home-mom. It will take a series of epiphanies, endless tea parties, a thousand thousand nights of stories and kisses and prayers before I have peace about my vocation, if I ever do. I\u2019m happier now than I was when I started my blog, and I hope to be happier three years from now than I am now, but it\u2019s only through living my life (and writing about it, which for me are one and the same) that I will find peace.<\/p>\n And then there\u2019s the other thing, the doubt. The question mark that hangs over the heads of Catholic women who follow the Church\u2019s teaching on birth control. The absolute state of unknowing in which we live our lives. And for that, there is no answer. I can try the fertility monitor and hope. I can throw faith to the wind and go buy the biggest box of condoms on the planet. I can go to my OB and ask for all the birth control, and still there are no guarantees. Knowing my luck (and God\u2019s sense of humor), I\u2019d end up pregnant with twins and have only gained the knowledge that my faith is fair-weathered, and that I too would betray my Lord for thirty pieces of silver or a diaphragm.<\/p>\n I\u2019ve received so many offers of help, so many kind emails, and so much love and support since I wrote that post. I\u2019ve been amazed to watch the blogosphere unfold in discussion about the best way to help young mothers, without even the tiniest debate about whether we need help. I loved the Anchoress\u2019 suggestion for a ministry<\/a>, but when I thought about it honestly, I knew I would never take advantage of such a thing. It\u2019s one thing, writing about it to people I don\u2019t have to look at in the face; it\u2019s another, sitting across from someone and having the guts to say, \u201cI\u2019m drowning, and this is why.\u201d There\u2019s also a sort of immobility that grows inside a mother of many young children. We cocoon ourselves almost, struggling and suffering through this time, practically unable to break out of our shell daily life until one day, God willing, the shell breaks and our family emerges, refined by these early years together into something beautiful to behold.<\/p>\n I loved Jared\u2019s post, asking what husbands can do<\/a>. I think husbands can do a lot to help, but in the end they can\u2019t do everything for us, and when we\u2019re completely overwhelmed it\u2019s impossible to say, \u201cif you do the dishes tonight, that will solve all my problems.\u201d I agree with what Elizabeth Duffy said in her post<\/a>, \u201cI wanted him to do it all. I wanted him to do it my way. But more than anything, I wanted him to appreciate me, and how hard I was working. And he wanted the same from me.\u201d<\/p>\n I loved Dorian\u2019s post about what her parish does well<\/a> and Melanie\u2019s post about the meaning of Christian brotherhood<\/a>. And I loved\u00a0 <\/a>Jen\u2019s post at the Register,<\/a> especially the part about how nobody likes to accept help from strangers. It was easier, honestly, writing about my struggles; when people started to offer help I found myself dodging, looking for a way out, even absurdly insisting that I didn\u2019t really<\/em> need help. Having the humility to admit you need help and having the humility to accept it are two very different things.<\/p>\n And yet, Elizabeth Duffy\u2019s post resonated with me the most.<\/p>\n Time ultimately did the trick\u2013but I remember those years as sort of a dense fog with no good options. I had too many to take out and was too tired to leave home, but also too bored to stay there. I slept a lot, as I recall, and the kids watched TV. My prayer life languished.<\/p>\n Now, I\u2019m expecting my sixth, and my oldest children can be left at home for short periods of time. All the kids do pretty well at Mass. My biggest challenge is getting my own voice heard over the noise. I never would have believed anyone five years ago who told me six kids would be easier than three, but it is for me. The bigger kids are helpful. I\u2019m less stressed about leaving the younger ones in childcare when necessary, and most of my friends are the same ones I\u2019ve had since our kids were babies.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n I\u2019ve been thinking back over the years, and trying to figure out where exactly the Church would have come to my rescue. At the time I needed help the most, my needs were greater than anyone, even my husband, could have supplied\u2013much less a few elderly volunteers.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n