You Always Look Tired, Mom
Still not in therapy. Still being roasted at breakfast.
It was 7:16 am.
The kitchen smelled like stale coffee and a trash bag no one had taken out this week – by “no one”, I mean me.
I was wearing a pair of decade-old leggings that sag at the knees, socks with a hole at the big toe. My hair looked like a rejected audition for Edward Scissorhands.
Outside, cars were starting, people were moving, lives were launching. Some even had the luxury of coffee and a calm breath before their day began.
Me?
I hadn’t even peed yet.
“You always look tired, Mom.”
The audacity.
His little voice wasn’t even fully awake when he said it. His eyes were still puffy with dreams.
He spooned cereal into his mouth and dropped the truth like it was weather.
Not unkind.
Just… factual.
Like saying, “Grass is green”, or “Dinosaurs are extinct”, or “You look like you haven’t know peace since 2014”.
And he’s not wrong.
My Brain: Now Buffering…
There was a flicker of indignation.
Then guilt.
Then the familiar internal shrug of another day in this world, another day in my messed-up mind.
I didn’t say anything.
Just made a mental note while pouring almond milk – because yes, I still want to believe I can fix my life through calcium alternatives.
→ buy under-eye cream.
And while I stirred that milk into something vaguely resembling a breakfast, my brain froze. Then crashed. Like a 2012 laptop trying to open tabs and also play Spotify.
The to-do list.
The mental tabs open.
The subtle ache in my jaw from clenching it all night.
The fact that I haven’t replied to that message. That I forgot to call back the dentist. That the towels smell weird again.
And then the shame spiral:
Why do I need a break when I only have one child?
Why am I tired when I’m not doing something heroic or visibly overwhelming?
But that’s the thing.
You don’t need a crisis to be on the edge.
Sometimes it’s just… living. And living without pause.
I’m Not Just Tired. I’m System Lagging.
This isn’t: “I stayed up too late scrolling” tired.
This is: “I forgot my own birthday last year” tired.
This is: “I caught my reflection in a shop window and didn’t recognize her” tired.
Existential. Hormonal. Situational. Global. Possibly genetic.
I have one child. Shared custody.
And still – I’m tired all the time.
Not because of motherhood.
But because I carry the entire infrastructure of our life in my head.
Because even when he’s not with me, the mental thread is still there.
(Side note: no, I don’t feel reassured when he’s at his dad’s – not really)
There was a day I forgot to eat.
Another when I had 3 dinners.
One where I opened Instagram and couldn’t remember why I came.
And another where I stared at my son while he slept and thought, God, I hope I’m not messing this up.
So I Bought the Cream
Not from a fancy pharmacy.
From the supermarket. Bottom shelf.
9,99 for a tiny tube that smells like chemicals and broken promises.
The label said “Anti-Fatigue. Illuminating. Revitalizing.”
What it meant was: This will itch your face after 45 seconds but give you the illusion of trying.
I bought it anyway.
Because maybe that’s all I needed: the illusion.
The illusion that I was doing something for me.
That I was still reachable.
That I hadn’t completely slipped through the cracks of my own life.
It sat in the bathroom next to the cotton pads. I dabbed it on the next morning. Did nothing visible. But I still did it again the day after.
Sometimes hope costs 9.99.
And sometimes that’s your entire beauty routine.
What I Wanted to Say (But Didn’t)
Yes, baby.
I am tired.
Not because of you. Never because of you.
But because I’ve been holding things for years without putting them down.
Because I try so hard to be calm, and soft, and consistent – even when I feel brittle on the inside.
Because I remember everything no one else does.
I’m the one who sees when your socks are getting too small.
Who notices the way you hesitate before answering “fine” when I ask about your day.
Who remembers the way you like your spaghetti cut up when you’re too tired to chew.
Who knows the exact rhythm of your breathing when you fall asleep, and the way your mouth twitches when you’re dreaming something funny.
And I wouldn’t give that up for anything.
But it doesn’t mean I’m not tired.
You, though?
You are my constant. My proof that love doesn’t need conditions.
Even when you call me out with cereal breath and half-closed eyes.
You are the reason I show up like this.
Because I do show up. Every day.
Leggings, dark circles, cereal breath and all.
Last night, I peeked into your room.
You were asleep, Baloo tucked close to you.
And I just stood there.
In the doorway. Staring.
Not in a poetic, Pinterest-mom way. Just… in awe. And in love.
You have no idea how much you save me.
Just by being here.
Just by being you.
(And still. You told me I look tired. Rude.)
Still not in therapy.
Still shopping in the sad beauty aisle at the supermarket.
Still showing up.
Even with the hole in my sock.
See you in the next overshare
♡
