Maybe They're Here for You: Hope for Home School Mamas

I suffer from clinical depression.  I home school my kids.  And before you go on, I need you to know that I'm what you'd call "high-functioning," which means I can fool most people into thinking everything's fine.  Even the kids don't usually notice my terrible days.  So don't worry, the kids are fine.  But I'm starting to see that the Adversary wants me to believe that it's a weakness to our family.

Two weeks ago, I had a really terrible day of home-schooling, and not really because anything in particular was going wrong.  I was just in terrible shape, mentally.

There are a few demons who like to buzz around my head when I'm tired, depressed or just weak, and they say the same things over and over.  "You're failing as a mom.  You're failing as a teacher.  Your kids would be better off in public school, just because they'd be away from you."  I bat at them half-heartedly, pushing through lessons, through power struggles with saucy tweens, through technology challenges, through messy rooms and undone laundry, and knowing that if I can hang on long enough, I can go to bed.

I'm not going to lie.  Depression and home school are unlikely and poorly-suited bedfellows.  When I'm really underwater, the people who love me most remind me that I can always send the kids back to public school.  If it provided me with a less stressful lifestyle, it might just help me stay mentally healthy more of the time.

Next year, my youngest will be old enough for kindergarten, and this brings my questions to the surface like nothing else could: is this really, really, really the very best thing for the kids?  Because, if not, I can see myself liking very much to spend six hours a day blissfully alone.  I see myself getting the groceries bought, the house cleaned, the budget balanced, and even having time to take a shower before they get home.  I see me staying on top of things that, lately, have been relegated to "Squeeze-it-in-Someday-Soon-I-Hope" list--like buying church clothes.  Ezra has been in need of church pants for at least three months, and finding the time to go with him to the store baffles me every week.  I see myself reading.  I see myself writing.  I see myself finally finishing my college degree.  I see myself finally getting good at yoga.  And I'm not gonna lie, I see myself eating a lot of food with gluten, eggs, and dairy.  So yes, I'd gain weight pretty quick.

This vision of complete introverted bliss tempts me.  The nasty mom-guilt torments me.  And some days I question why I'm even doing home school.  Maybe I should have sent them to public school this year, I think. Maybe it's too late for them and they'll suffer all their lives because their mother had delusions of grandeur. Maybe I'm wrong for home school and home school is wrong for me.

So, back to my story, it was a day to be endured.  I was batting at the demons, pushing for bedtime, and thinking, I'm not doing these kids any good at all.

And the Spirit said, "maybe you're not here for them.  Maybe they're here for you."

I felt free for the first time in many, many days.  And I saw my amazing kids more clearly than ever. God created them to be a joy to me, and they truly, truly are.  They are smart.  They are funny. They are compassionate.  They are wise.

What would my daily life be like if they weren't here with me?  Who would hug and kiss me when I felt hopeless inside?  And really, why would I even get out of bed on those hard days?  The love I have for these kids motivates me to fight my depression, to fight my demons.  I might not even try if they weren't here to try for.

Our culture talks a lot about the challenges of parenting, about the pain of parenting, about the stress of parenting.  And if you home school your kids, just get ready for all the pats on the back you get for being such a perfect parent.  You really start to believe that you are the most saintly martyr in the world for giving up so much for the sake of your children.

And it's true.  I've made sacrifices for these kids.  All moms do.  But I've fallen too often into the trap of believing that it's my job to provide them with happiness.  And forget about the fact that the weight of such responsibility is too heavy for any mortal shoulders, and that Christ himself is the giver of all good things--I have forgotten that my kids are here for me just as much as I am here for them.

I had a bit of a meltdown today, and the kids surrounded me with hugs, kisses, and offers of help with my work.  I hate being in that position--I really want to be the strong one for them, to be a good example of strength and courage.  But really, why?  In a world of entitlement and narcissism, my kids stand a chance a good chance of growing up with some compassion.

God knew what He was doing when He called me to this work, weak and mortal as I am.  In fact, maybe the calling was extended before this life even began--to the kids.