Dear friend,
Pumpkin coffee is in my mug and my children have already been back in school for a month. As I’m feeling more of a rhythm emerging, I’m also struck by how expectations are surprising me this September.
It is one thing to know something is coming, and another thing entirely to feel it. I often find myself disappointed at how hard or heavy something can feel, as though knowing it was coming should have lessened the impact. I remember the many conversations my husband and I had, holding out the possibility of more children over these past few years, and one thing that always came up was the cost on our energy to add a whole new person to our family. Both my husband and I are lower energy, homebody kind of people, and we also value being present with our children. It felt tricky to look at this possibility together knowing these both things were also true.
When we were surprised to find out I was pregnant back in February of 2023, I was flooded with joy that my dream was coming true. I hadn’t even known how much I wanted this baby until she was gifted to us. I knew that this new life would cost my body, my time, my energy a lot, but the love I had, from the very beginning, outweighed that all.
Yet, here we are in September, and I keep bumping up against exhaustion and fatigue. My limits keep surprising me, as though they should only be here if I didn’t anticipate them or if I wasn’t feeling so utterly smitten with our precious girl. But the exhaustion is here anyway.
I thought I’d have more space to rest or get even a few more things done with my big kids at school, but I also have a mobile baby and increased vigilance, as she tries to walk and scale our stairs every day. In some ways, this new rhythm is just enough space to feel how tired I truly am. One of my mantras from the earlier days of postpartum seems to continue to be true, You are more tired than you know.
But if the mantra is still true, so is the gentleness I need to continue to offer myself. I’m reminding myself of the same things I tell my children or my dearest friends, and I’m working to believe they are true for myself as well.
It is okay to feel more than one thing at a time. I can feel exhausted and overwhelmed with gratitude simultaneously. I’m regularly checking in with myself and noticing how my baseline is much lower than it has been in other seasons AND I’m so incredibly thankful for the gifts of this season. I’m still not over the miracle of our Clover girl and the joy she brings us all and how we are all delighting in her being part of our family. I’m also worn out from all the emotional and physical needs from three people in different developmental stages, while still breastfeeding and trying to be a friend, a wife, a human.
It is enough that my body is telling me I’m tired. That’s enough reason to rest. I’m recognizing a familiar narrative that would like certain things to be true in order to feel like this rest is justified, like my baby not sleeping through the night or something that other people recognize as worthy of rest. I know this isn’t a new narrative for me. Eight years ago, I wrote a piece called “when you want to prove you deserve a rest” about being disappointed to not be pregnant, because that would justify how tired I felt in that season. I recognize the same struggle in my heart today. It is telling to notice how I would never expect others to prove a certain level of tiredness to deserve rest, but somehow I expect a certain understanding or explanation for my need for rest for myself. It is uncomfortable for me to listen to how tired my body is, especially when I don’t know why or my exhaustion has unseen contributors. I’ve done so much work here in offering and receiving the gift of rest for myself, and there is still work to be done.
I can be doing all the right things, and it can still be hard. I recognize a gentleness towards myself in this season of mothering that hasn’t been true before. It has created space to show up differently towards myself and those I love that I’m so grateful for, and I’m still finding myself empty regularly. I’m offering myself goodness and listening to the ways I need nurturing, and this is still hard (and good) work I’m doing.
I recently was spending time with Matthew 8:14-27 and was struck by how Jesus got ready to get into the boat and cross the lake after seeing the crowds. So often I feel shame for not knowing I’m depleted until I’m in a moment, realizing how empty I am. Suddenly and unexpectedly, I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel and coming up empty. I can’t fully foresee how much energy I'll need for the day ahead, and don’t know I’m running dry until I’m face to face with it. When that happens, I can easily feel shame for bumping into those limits and not being able to foresee them. It was such a gift to see Jesus responding in a similar way. Recognizing my need in a moment is just part of being human. Listening to my body and my limits is part of what a life of love looks like.
I also couldn’t help but imagine all the disappointment that Jesus met in this moment. People who had shown up to be healed, to listen to teaching, to have their children blessed watched Jesus step into a boat and go away from them. Even his disciples were disappointed to find him asleep when a storm was happening.
So often meeting my own needs means disappointing others, my children especially, but also friends and family members. It can feel that much harder to listen to my limits when it means disappointing others. I’ve polled hundreds of others who are the same Enneagram type as me (Type Nine, the Peacemaker) and 93% of us find disappointing others to be equal or worse than disappointing ourselves, and I’m very much in that boat. Some of my hardest, best growth work has been to not abandon myself and be willing to disappoint others. Even if cognitively I know that disappointing someone else will allow me to prevent resentment, get the rest I need and be able to pour out later on, it is truly hard work for me to push through the discomfort of disappointing someone else. I’ve been so grateful for the invitation to continue to do the work of listening to my limits, even if it means disappointing others. I’m trusting that this will allow me to love them and myself well.
I’m so grateful for the things that are bringing me life in this season, especially as I name how tired I am. Some are quiet, unseen treasures of our home life and moments with dear ones that I’m holding close. And here are a few that I’d love to share with you, and maybe they’ll inspire some rest for your current season too.
Pumpkin butter. We’re almost out of our second batch of this crock-pot pumpkin butter. It is tremendously easy (only 6 ingredients,) it makes your home smell amazing while it cooks and is a current favorite on toast, oatmeal, overnight oats and pancakes. If you like pumpkin, this is worth the (small) effort in my opinion. It also is a key ingredient in some of the best pumpkin cookies I’ve ever made.
Art night. Over a month ago, my husband and I decided to jump in on the trend to paint each others’ portraits. Although my suspicions that my husband is the better artist were confirmed, so there was no comical reveal the way you might have seen on social media, we enjoyed this so much. My husband kept saying how much fun he was having as we sat across from each other and painted. So, we added a weekly art night to our schedule and it has been the loveliest addition to our week. There’s no expectation other than making art. I have been taking cues from a few artists whose prompts are fun and simple, (I have been enjoying Shayda Campbell & Andrea Nelson in particular) while Jarrett is working on his face sketches. We’ve enjoyed having Lord of the Rings in the background while we sip tea and create something.
Beauty emergencies. As soon as I read this term in poet Maggie Smith’s writing (her book You Could Make This Place Beautiful is one of my favorites from this year so far), I knew it was something I wanted to add to my vocabulary. I’ve been using it for sunsets or flowers on the side of the road or anything that feels lovely and fleeting that I want to make time to pause and appreciate. I’m snapping photos and lingering with our sky stained pink on our evening walk or pulling over to admire a field of yellow on my way home from Costco. I’m amazed at how a few minutes to prioritize a beauty emergency fills me up. But isn’t this what beauty does? What a gift to have the opportunity to be nourished by these beautiful things. I don’t want to miss them.
Overnight oats. It has been wonderful to have a breakfast that I don’t have to make a decision about, that I like eating and that is already made. I love adding different toppings to mix it up (my current favorites are pumpkin butter or peanut butter with a few mini chocolate chips and pecans.) It nourishes me, is ready in the fridge and feels like a happy start to the day. Plus, it is easy to feed Clover too.
The Long Table Retreat. When I first heard that my friend, Summer Gross was going to be hosting a retreat near me, I was hoping to go, but wrestled with many of the reasons why it just didn’t feel like the right season for such an offering (breastfeeding & some changes in my husband's work/income being two big obstacles.) I'm truly overwhelmed with the way I've already experienced the Lord's care in very unexpectedly making a way for me (& Clover!) to get to attend. It has been the biggest gift to be pastored through Summer (by way of her new book, podcasts, small groups, Table of the Beloved, and even the Presence Project Facebook group) in recent years especially as we lost our local church community due to spiritual abuse four years ago. To be able to be physically present on this retreat after so much connection over screens feels so meaningful and precious.
If you’ve made it this far and you’re someone who prays, I’d be grateful for your prayers heading into this time away starting tomorrow. I'm coming to the retreat, weary from the fullness of this season, grateful to be aware of so many gifts of this time, nervous for navigating this retreat with an 11-month-old and expectant for how the Lord will meet me in the ways I need, even if I'm not able to participate in every session.
Dear friend, it’s such a gift to be back with you this fall. I'd truly love to hear from you. Feel free to just hit "reply" to this email. I read and savor every email that comes my way, even if I don’t always have the space to respond (which is often these days.) I’d be so glad to know if you struggle with receiving rest or disappointing others too, what you’re treasuring these days or if my words brought up anything to the surface of your heart today.
Warmly,
Alison
PS. I’m so glad to write you this letter for free. It is a joy to do so. It is such a gift for you to be here, and I don’t need more thanks than that. But if you find my words helpful and would like to support me even more, here are a few ways to do so:
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