How I balance motherhood, self-care, and a deep-seated sense of guilt
My Son Calls Twice
My son calls me twice in a row that morning — right as I’m getting Rocky ready for training.
Twice.
That’s never just a casual “hey, what’s up.”
Later that day, he asks if I can come pick him up.
And just like that, I’m split clean down the middle.
On one side: that deep, instinctive pull — the one that says your child needs you, get in the car, go. It’s not gentle. It’s not rational. It’s tidal. It rises fast and urgent, like something alive moving through my veins.
On the other side: reality.
Can I physically make that drive to New Jersey on Memorial Day weekend?
Short answer: no.
Long answer: my back, my neck, my wrist — and let’s not forget my car — would all like to formally decline.
And I know it.
I know I need to stay home. I know I need to start being smarter about how often I make that trip instead of pretending I’m still capable of doing it like I used to. I also know that in a month or so, he’s likely moving into a Level I home, which means another long drive is coming whether I like it or not.
Still… I want to see him.
The Soundtrack of Loving Him From Far Away
Yesterday, I heard a song by Pink — “All I Know So Far.”
And it hit.
Hard.
I wanted to send it to him. Not just the song — the lyrics. The message. The parts that say all the things I’ve been trying to say to him for years.
Because this is what I do.
I build soundtracks.
I’ve been collecting songs for him forever — songs that explain how I feel, songs that say the things I can’t always find the words for, songs that carry lessons I hope stick long after I’m not in the room to say them.
It’s my way of still being there.
Even when I’m 210 miles away.
The Guilt That Never Packs Up and Leaves
Intellectually, I know I’m not a neglectful parent.
Not even close.
But try telling that to the part of my brain that believes, with absolute conviction, that a good mother is physically present. Every day. Every week. Not “when she can manage the drive.”
That voice doesn’t care about logistics or spinal alignment.
It just whispers:
You should be there.
And it doesn’t stop.
Reality Checks, Delivered by My Lower Back
I’m in the car with Rocky, heading home.
It’s been maybe 20 minutes. No traffic.
And my lower back lights up like it’s filing a formal complaint.
I breathe through it, try to relax, feel the pain travel through my hips.
And there it is — the answer, loud and undeniable:
New Jersey is not happening this weekend.
Not unless I want to arrive unable to stand up straight.
Meanwhile, in the World of Dogs and Chaos
A jogger crosses in front of the car.
Rocky launches himself toward the dashboard like he’s auditioning for a stunt role.
I yell — loudly — using a training command that, unfortunately, includes language I worked very hard to remove from my daily vocabulary.
The upside? It works.
The downside? I am now the person you hear in public aggressively swearing at her dog like a retired sailor.
Character development is not always linear.
Domestic Life, But Make It Slightly Ridiculous
Ten minutes later, we’re home.
Ella is in her crate, having miraculously not destroyed anything or peed in protest. She earns a piece of pepperoni, which she accepts like the tiny queen she is.
The dogs go outside. I head into the three-season room and kick off my boots — carefully placed there because one of these animals has a very specific hobby involving footwear destruction.
My husband calls on his way to Staples. He wants help figuring out how to connect his computer to two televisions as monitors.
Now, I can do this. I have done this.
But here’s the catch: I keep my tech current. He does not. Which means I would have to physically inspect whatever prehistoric ports exist on the back of his machine — and I choose peace.
I decline the mission.
The Life I Actually Built
I sit down, and my back reminds me — again — that I was supposed to ice everything last night.
It’s literally on my whiteboard. Right next to:
- Socialize Rocky
- Walk Ella
- Walk myself
- Write something
- Read something
- Duolingo (because apparently I’m learning Swedish now to read Fredrik Backman in the original language, like a completely normal person)
This is my life.
It’s structured, intentional, a little chaotic — and entirely mine.
I love my work. I genuinely look forward to it every day. That’s not something I take lightly.
But it exists alongside all of this — the dogs, the pain management, the guilt, the distance, the constant recalibration of what I can do versus what I wish I could do.
Choosing Not to Go Is Still a Choice Made Out of Love
I bring the dogs back inside — it’s too hot for them out there anyway.
Rocky practically puts himself to bed in his crate. He’s had a big day.
I head upstairs, boot up my computer, and start working.
Later, there’s a vet appointment for Ella (and yes, it’s exactly the kind of appointment you think it is, and no, I will not be elaborating further — because some things are better left implied).
And life continues.
The Truth I Keep Coming Back To
I didn’t get in the car.
I didn’t make the drive.
And that doesn’t make me a bad mother.
It makes me a human being with limits.
A human being who loves her son enough to stay functional for the long haul instead of breaking herself for a single weekend.
The tide still comes.
That pull toward him — it’s always there.
But sometimes love looks like showing up.
And sometimes it looks like knowing when you can’t — and finding another way anyway.
