A Farm Mother’s Try

Today feels like every kind of high and low rolled into one fragile heartbeat. There are moments I catch myself staring at my baby in awe—so much love it physically aches. But then, without warning, the ache shifts. And suddenly, I’m drowning in exhaustion so heavy, I can’t even catch my breath. I wanted this. I love this baby with everything in me. But I didn’t expect the crash after the climb. No one warned me just how isolating it would feel. How being surrounded by people wouldn’t stop the loneliness. How I could be so full of love and still feel completely broken. Everyone around me seems to have figured it out. The other moms look put together. They’re smiling in photos, posting milestones, making jokes about spit-up like they’re breezing through it. Meanwhile, I consider it a massive victory if I get a full shower without having to sit on the edge of the tub, shaking, because I’m that drained. But I want to feel clean. I want to smell like soap instead of milk. I want to not fli...

People often assume that being a stay-at-home farm wife and mother just means raising kids and cooking meals—as if that alone isn’t a full-time job. But what they don’t see is the reality behind closed doors. It’s spending days, even weeks, isolated with only the kids for company. It’s juggling a never-ending list of chores: meals, laundry, yard work, the garden, the house—and all while the kids are running at full speed, needing you every second, whether it’s to play, to cry, or just to be the emotional support horse and carriage. The day doesn’t end with dinner. Sometimes it’s eaten alone; sometimes your husband shovels it down before heading back to the field. Then it’s bath time, bedtime routines, stories, prayers, and tucking in little ones while you’re still covered in dirt, spit-up, and exhaustion. The dishes still wait. So does the shower. Shaved legs? Not even on the list. You just want to sit down, but there’s no time. So you keep going. You stay afloat. You smile. You wipe y...