Motherhood in the Middle of the Unknown

 

There are days I feel like I am holding my life together with caffeine, sticky notes, duct tape, and pure determination.

And then there are days when I’m not holding it together at all.

Right now, my brain feels like 37 tabs open. One is playing music somewhere, and I cannot find it. One is reminding me about school. One about activities. One about volunteer work. One about fundraisers for kids’ church activities/camps. One about dinner. One about whether I switched the laundry. One about whether I even started the laundry. And several are blinking red because I’m trying to make a big decision about one of my kids.

And the truth is, I’m tired.

I love being involved. I really do. I love showing up for my kids. I love supporting their school. I love serving at church. I love helping with events and fundraisers and all the things that build community. These things matter to me. They shape who our kids become. They shape who we are as families.

But sometimes I wonder if I’m doing too much.
Or maybe I wonder if I’m doing the right things.

Because underneath the busy is something heavier. I’m weighing the pros and cons of pulling one of my kids from school. And that is not a small decision. It’s not one you make because you feel like it on a random Tuesday. It’s one you carry around in your chest like a stone. Especially since we just put said child back in school this past year, because he wanted too. Like really wanted too. But things are not going well, and I need a plan to move forward. So its joggling around in my brain. 

I do not take this lightly. Im asking questions to help me figure this out.

Is this school the right environment?
Is there another school that would fit our needs better?
Are they thriving or just surviving?
Am I seeing clearly, or am I reacting emotionally?
What will this mean for their future?
What if I get it wrong?

Motherhood is full of these quiet, invisible crossroads. The kind no one sees because on the outside, you still packed lunches and signed permission slips and showed up with a smile.

But inside, you are researching until midnight.
Praying in the car.
Talking it through with your spouse in whispers after the kids go to bed.
Making lists. Crossing them out. Making new lists. (Don't get me started on my lists)

And here’s the part that ADHD makes louder: every possibility feels urgent. Every choice feels like it could change everything. My brain doesn’t just consider options. It lives inside them. It builds full futures in an afternoon and then grieves the ones that might never happen.

It’s exhausting.

But it’s also love.

Because no one thinks this hard about a child unless they care deeply. No one wrestles with these decisions unless they are trying, with everything they have, to do what is best.

Lately, I’ve been reminded that I am not meant to carry all of this alone. Scripture tells us to bring our worries to God, but if I’m honest, sometimes I bring Him my stress and then pick it right back up again. Like a toddler who asks for help but refuses to let go of the toy.

I want clarity. I want certainty. I want a neon sign from heaven that says, “This is the way. Walk in it.”

Instead, what I often get is peace in small doses.
A conversation that shifts my perspective.
A quiet moment in the morning before everyone wakes up.
A reminder that God loves my children even more than I do.

And that changes everything.

Because the weight of every decision does not rest on me. God is not pacing in heaven, hoping I don’t mess this up. He is already in my child’s future. He sees the path ahead when I can only see the next step.

So here is where I am today:
Still thinking.
Still praying.
Still balancing a thousand responsibilities and asking God to guide  me through. 

Maybe faith in motherhood doesn’t mean having all the answers. Maybe it means trusting that when we move in love and wisdom, God meets us there. That he fills the gaps. That he redeems our mistakes. That he guides even when our minds feel scattered and overwhelmed.

And maybe that is the real lesson. Not that I will get it perfectly right. But that my kids don’t need a perfect mom. They need a present one. A mom who is willing to slow down, even when her brain wants to sprint. A mom who listens. A mom who is brave enough to change course when something isn’t working.

If you are in a season like this too, where the tabs are open and the decisions feel heavy, you are not alone. It’s okay to take your time. It’s okay to ask questions. It’s okay to choose differently than you thought you would.

And it’s okay if the oven is on and you don’t remember why.

Because sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is pause, breathe, and trust that God is leading us, even in the middle of the chaos.