A Lesson in Breathing

Breathe. It has two parts: inhale, exhale. Try as you might, it does not work to only do one. Which is better, to inhale or to exhale? Do not try to answer; it is a ridiculous question. Both are necessary. You just cannot survive if you only try to do one or the other.

At the recommendation of my sister, I recently started reading O2 by Richard Dahlstrom. I have not finished it yet, but just the first few chapters helped adjust my perspective to a healthier way of living. He talks about Christians who believe inhaling is the most important—spending time studying the Bible, in prayer, silence and solitude, etc. Then there are the Christians who believe exhaling is the most important—serving, ministry, evangelism, missions. Which is better, to inhale, or to exhale?

Stupid question. You need to do both.

It was not too far a jump to apply it to my life as a mom. I realized why I started burning out on the whole motherhood thing a while back. I was trying to exhale constantly. My children consumed all of my time and energy, and I did precious little to recharge, to inhale. I thought that was what good moms did. They served around the clock with no thought for themselves.

I have not actually gotten confessions from the moms who seem to pull that off, but I am guessing that most of them burned out at some point. Perhaps they had the strength of will to continue anyway, but I would wager that their joy and abundance of life was lacking.

Depriving yourself of oxygen will not make you a better mom. Perhaps for some moms, serving their children is inhaling in some way—some didgeridoo players can breathe in and out at the same time. I, however, cannot. I need to breathe in, then out.

Thankfully for me, I have a wise husband. When we realized I was precariously close to burnout, he helped me start creating time and opportunity for me to inhale. It was intentional—when you have two toddlers, time to inhale does not come by coincidentally. I began making a habit of getting up earlier than everyone else to have some time to pray and spend time with God, to journal and read the Bible. It meant getting to bed at a decent hour, even if I left the kitchen messy. Naptimes became sacred sanity-time. I would not do housework. I would inhale. Do art. Read, uninterrupted. Practice music, albeit quietly. Boulder. Write stories or poetry. Spin poi. My hobbies, the things that I love, that remind me I am more than a mom. Being a mom is a huge part of my identity—becoming a mom changed me on a profound level. But I am still me, and I do not want motherhood to consume all aspects of my life.

Once Kestrel was old enough and spaced out her nursing a bit, Robert began watching the kids and let me leave the house without them for a few hours. Actually off-duty. For real. While the other things helped, being out of sight and ear-shot of the kids was different. Generally, I get up early and go while everyone is still sleeping. Sometimes they are still asleep when I get back, but usually they have just had a few hours of dad-time. I go try out new coffeehouses. I go to creeks and practice my fiddle, whistles, and poi, or just string up my hammock and watch the dragonflies. I enjoy the silence. Sometimes I go to my parents’ and sit and drink tea with them and talk without bouncing a fussy baby or looking over my shoulder to see what Tiernan was climbing on now. A couple times I got to take a sister or two out with me.

When I return from one of those off-duty times, I feel refreshed. It is not hard to go back—I am excited to see my kids again. To hug them and help them. I want them. And you know, I bet they can tell, and like it better, when mom is loving being a mom.

Inhale, moms. Make a way. This is what works for our family. It will look different for you. But if you do not inhale, you will eventually pass out.

As a note, we also set aside hobby time for Robert. I take the kids out to the park or something for a few hours while he gets time to work on his music recording without interruption, or to crank his amp up and play his guitar as loud as he likes. Dads need to inhale, too.