I’m a mom. And I’m also the chef, teacher, housekeeper, secretary, therapist, project manager and personal assistant for everyone in our house.
Every morning starts the same with each child:
– “Come on, wake up!”
– “Wash your face!”
– “Do you have your water bottle?”
– “Did you pack your lunch?”
– “It’s cold outside—put on your hoodie!”
– “Hurry up, we’re late!”
And once they finally head off to school, phase two begins: work.
I try to open my laptop and focus on my tasks at the job—but my mind is already scattered in ten other directions.
Did they do their homework?
Did they get to school on time?
Did they bring their sandwich?
Do they have their workout clothes for gym?
Meanwhile, I’m dealing with the house: laundry, meals, tidying, toys, the shopping list.
And somewhere between emails and spreadsheets, a pot on the stove and a message from school, I realize I forgot… something.
Where did I put the phone?
What’s the password for that account
And why did I open the fridge?
At first I laughed it off. Then I started to worry.
“Is this how Alzheimer’s begins?”
Because these moments of forgetting were becoming more frequent.
At work, if someone tells me verbally what they need—and doesn’t follow up with a message—my chance of forgetting skyrockets.
And even when I ask for clarification, sometimes I still have to say, “Sorry, can you explain that again?”
I felt more and more exhausted and confused.
I started losing patience with my kids—not because I don’t love them—but because it felt like everything depended only on me.
Ten times a day I remind them:
“In one hour you leave for school.”
“In half an hour you leave.”
“In ten minutes you leave.”
“Come on, we’re already late!”
Sometimes I feel like their personal secretary. I snap and ask: What would you do if I didn’t push you from behind?!
So one day I went to a doctor.
“Doctor, I think I’m starting to have Alzheimer’s. I keep forgetting what I was doing and where I was going—and if I know where I’m going, I don’t remember why I was going there :(.”
He looked at me calmly and said with a smile:
“Ma’am, if you had Alzheimer’s, you wouldn’t even remember why you came. What you have is called… burnout.”
I smiled, tears in my eyes. Because I realized he was right.
Too many thoughts, too many worries, too many responsibilities.
I am a mom who takes care of everything and everyone—except herself.
And since then I’ve started asking myself:
Maybe I don’t forget because I have a medical issue.
Maybe I forget because there’s no room left in my mind.
Maybe it’s time to let someone else make a mistake, forget, and learn. Maybe it’s time for me to stop being last on my own priority list.
And here’s the question that keeps haunting me:
Would I be a bad mom if I let them handle things on their own?
Or if, out of too much love, I end up – without realizing it – infantilizing them?
Because yes, it is wrong if we don’t let them grow. It’s part of development that they bump their head a few times.
Recently I listened to a children-behavior coach in a podcast. She shared that when her child started school, she told him: “I don’t do homework. Homework is your responsibility.” And the child believed her. And now does his homework himself.
And I asked myself then:
Am I wrong for being so involved?
Am I doing right by making sure everything is done — because they don’t show up with undone homework — but am I also doing them harm?
Because I’m not giving them the chance to have their own worries, their own moments of forgetting a homework, a drawing, a project.
Maybe in all this endless care, I forget that they have to learn to manage without me.
Maybe I should close some of the tabs in my mind and let them open their own windows.
Even if that means they might bump their head a few times.
Because that’s how they’ll build memory—and character.
I don’t know if I’ll ever learn to stop worrying about everyone.
But I know that maybe my brain isn’t betraying me—it’s telling me:
Remember that I’m just a mother with too many tabs open in my mind—and too much love that sometimes needs to take a break.
For the mothers out there who recognize this:
You are not weak for pausing. You are not selfish for prioritizing yourself sometimes.
It’s the only way you can stay whole—and present—for the ones you love.