Evening Mom Confessions-

It’s 8pm and these damn kids are still up. Dishes are still in the sink from dinner, My body’s sore, my brain’s fried, and I’m staring at the same pile of laundry I’ve been ignoring for the past three days like it personally wronged me.

Today? Kicked my ass.

No poetic wrap-up. No silver lining. Just… straight-up survival mode.

I don’t know what it is lately, but I feel like I’m running on fumes — like I’m half a second away from just collapsing. Every part of me is tired: my hands from cleaning, my legs from chasing, my heart from caring so damn much. And still, the house stays messy, the food goes untouched, and I’m supposed to keep showing up tomorrow and do it all again?

I love my kids. God, I love them. But sometimes, I want to scream. I want to disappear to a hotel and just sleep. Or eat a hot meal. Or pee without someone yelling, “Mom! What you doing!?”

Part of me feels guilty even admitting this. Like I’m not supposed to say I’m over it. But f*ck it — I am.

I’m over the constant noise.

The never-ending mess.

The invisible workload that no one really sees but me.

The emotional tug-of-war between “be grateful” and “I’m losing my mind.”

Tonight, I didn’t fold the laundry. I didn’t read a bedtime story, I didn’t even shower the kiddos.

I just survived.

And honestly? That’s all I had in me today.

So if you’re sitting in the dark, scrolling through your phone while the baby is crawling everywhere and you’re merely making sure they don’t fall off the bed and your background noise is some toddler show and a baby whining and your soul feels a little cracked — I’m right here with you. Messy, burnt out, and still loving in the middle of it all.

Let’s stop pretending we’re okay when we’re clearly drowning. Let’s stop glamorizing burnout.

From a the Kitchen Floor —