This isn’t a blog I’ve wanted to write and to be fair, no one is forcing me to write it, but in all honesty, I feel God inviting me into a new level of honesty not only with Him, but also with you. Circling in the wind seems to be reel after reel of people crushing it at homeschooling and life and if you’ve ever lumped me into this category, let me tell you the truth.

For the last year, those two little words in my bio have haunted me.

They seem harmless and common enough these days, but to me they bore an impossible burden. 

Homeschooling mom.

You see, last year, halfway through the school year a mental health storm laced with unhealed childhood wounds eclipsed my life. To those on the outside you might not have noticed and for this I’m sorry. I’m still learning how take off the mask of “everything is okay here” and allow myself to be truly seen. The depth and breadth of such is a story for another day, but in the crosshairs of my storm were my three children, who were getting wet. My youngest was a year old and wanted constant attention, the other was in kindergarten and struggling to learn to read and my oldest was in second grade and excelling at a pace I felt I couldn’t keep up with.

I was overwhelmed and dreaded getting out of bed each morning.

I felt like I was drowning, not only in the sinking sand of poor mental health, but also in the realm of educating my children.

 I cried multiple times throughout the day, a lot of times in public.

I lived with a crippling sense of failing in every area of life.

 I wasn’t the joyful, easy-going mom my kids needed me to be.

I didn’t even recognize myself.

The day before thanksgiving, my husband came home and found me in the fetal position on my bed (while my kids watched a show on the couch) and made the executive decision to “put the kids in the cottage school for the rest of the year.” I can’t even describe how impossible this felt even though deep down it was what I was crying out for. Thankfully and miraculously, my older girls had been involved in a small, cottage school that operated as a "homeschool tutor" to either full or part-time students. It was about a half-hour away and tuition (although affordable) would still be a stretch. But deep down, my identity was so wrapped around my ability to homeschool that it felt like I was being split open if I couldn't be both mom and educator. 

One prevailing thought berated me: 

This means I’ve failed.

I’ve failed at the most important thing.

I’m quitting halfway through.

This decision felt impossibly difficult at the time and if it weren't for my husband I don't think I could have begun. Yet though it all, this process began to build a bridge to the person I wanted to be. Every day as I drove my big girls a half hour to a place full of Jesus, joyful education & safety, I literally drove through my own guilt and had to convince myself that this was for the best. But the gentle voice of God whispered through all the others, vying for my attention:

 I care as much about you and your wellbeing as I do your children's.

Let’s tend to you.

I’ll take care of the rest.