By Esther Baxter
Parenting is exhausting at the best of times, but when you add anxiety, ADHD, and burnout into the mix, it feels like drowning while everyone else thinks you’re just floating, (maybe treading water if they're paying close attention).
I wish I could say I have it all figured out, that I’ve cracked some secret code to balance, self-care, and inner peace.
I'm not a perfect mum.
Heck, most days I don't even think I'm a good mum.
The truth is, most days, I’m just surviving. Just.
I wake up exhausted.
My brain starts running before I’ve even opened my eyes, ticking off lists, bracing for the next thing.
Did I book that appointment?
What therapist do we see today?
What script needs filling?
Will today be a meltdown day?
What if…
And that's all before I'm even out of bed.
That’s the thing about anxiety: it’s always running in the background, like a computer program that never shuts down, draining the battery even when nothing urgent is happening.
Burnout, though?
When everything feels like too much, even the small stuff.
Sometimes, I won't brush my teeth because it's just too much effort. I'm too tired.
I just want to lay in bed and doom scroll.
It’s when you’re so depleted that even answering a simple text message feels overwhelming - not that anyone other than my dad or sister text me anymore.
It's when making a meal feels impossible (hello takeout, for the third time in a week).
When you crave a break but can’t take one because you’re holding everything and everyone together, and if you stop, it all falls apart.
People love to offer advice.
They say things like,
"Take time for yourself!"
"You can’t pour from an empty cup!"
They mean well, but they don’t see the invisible weight you’re carrying.
They don’t know what it’s like to be the only one who understands the routines, the sensory needs, the medical complexities…
They don’t know that even when you do get a moment to breathe, your brain, the guilt, the fear, it won’t let you.
Some days, I’m just numb.
Other days, I cry or yell over something small; crumbs on the floor, a misplaced toy, the TV being too loud.
Of course, it’s never about the thing itself; it’s about everything piling up, unspoken, bubbling and brewing until it boils over like a pot of unwatched pasta.
And yet, I keep going. Because that’s what parents do.
Because it's what I have to do.
I’m not here to tell you how to fix it. I don't know how.
What I do have is this: if you’re feeling this way too, you’re not alone. If you’re stretched so thin, pulled so tight like a rubber band and you feel like you might snap, if you’re questioning whether you’re doing enough (you are): I see you.
It’s okay to not love every moment.
It’s okay to be tired.
It’s okay to admit that sometimes, this is just really, really hard.
It's ok to cry, yell, scream.
It's ok to say “why me?”.
© 2025 Esther Baxter
