Day six of 'Christmas Break' officially felt like Groundhog Day. The elf was long gone (thank the North Pole!), the Christmas chaos had subsided, and even the rogue cold that had swept through our house had finally retreated. I should have been basking in post-holiday bliss, right? Wrong. I felt more like a deflated balloon.
I stared at the mountain of toys strewn across the living room, the remnants of breakfast still clinging to the counter, and the dryer obediently humming along, a constant reminder of the laundry that would inevitably need folding. "This is it," I declared to the empty house, "I'm officially over it."
I surrendered to the chaos and plopped myself into my favorite armchair. Social media seemed like the obvious escape, but even that felt pointless. I scrolled through job listings (despite loving my current job) and watched endless reels of impossibly perfect families, feeling increasingly inadequate. Two hours later, I emerged from the digital abyss, blinking in the sudden reality of the still-wrecked playroom, the untouched dishes, and the dryer that had probably finished its cycle by now.
Then, a memory surfaced: my friend Sarah, bless her soul, had once confided in me that when the overwhelm hit, she'd declare a "Momma Time Out." For 30 glorious minutes, she was untouchable. No demands, no interruptions, just pure, blissful solitude.
Initially, it was met with resistance. "But Mommy, I need help with..." "Can I watch TV with you?" "But it's boring!" But gradually, my little humans started to understand. Momma Time Out became a sacred ritual, a small act of self-preservation in the whirlwind of motherhood.
So, here's to 2025: the year of setting boundaries. The year of recognizing that it's okay to need a little time for yourself. The year of prioritizing my own sanity (and maybe, just maybe, getting that laundry folded before bedtime). "
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