Motherhood can feel heavy, even on days that look fine from the outside.
Nothing dramatic happened.
No meltdown.
No crisis.
And yet, there’s a quiet weight in your chest. A sense of tiredness that sleep doesn’t quite touch. A feeling that you’re always doing... even when you finally stop.
Many mothers assume this heaviness means they’re failing.
That they’re not coping well enough.
That they should be more grateful, more patient, more capable.
But what if the weight isn’t coming from motherhood itself?
What if it’s coming from the pressure we’re carrying inside it?
Motherhood is full of invisible rules, the kind we rarely choose consciously, but live by anyway.
You should be more patient.
You should cope better.
You should enjoy this more.
You shouldn’t find this so hard.
These “shoulds” don’t shout.
They hum quietly in the background.
And because they’re invisible, we don’t question them.
We just carry them.
Over time, they become a kind of mental load. Not just tasks to complete, but a constant sense of self-monitoring.
Am I doing this right?
Am I calm enough?
Am I enough?
This is where so much exhaustion is born.
Not from failing, but from never letting ourselves arrive.
There is effort in motherhood.
That’s real, and unavoidable.
But pressure is something else.
Pressure is the internal demand to always be better,
calmer,
more productive,
more regulated...
no matter how little rest or support you have.
Pressure is what makes small moments feel heavy.
It’s what makes rest feel indulgent.
It’s what makes you lie down, yet stay braced.
When we live under pressure, the body adapts.
Breath becomes shallow.
The jaw tightens.
The nervous system stays alert.
So when things finally go quiet, the body doesn’t feel relief; it feels unfamiliar.
This is why so many mothers say:
“I don’t even know how to rest anymore.”
“I feel guilty when I stop.”
“I can’t switch off.”
There’s nothing wrong with you.
Your body has simply learned to stay on guard.
Jon Kabat-Zinn writes that “wherever you go, there you are.”
Not as a demand, but as an invitation.
Presence isn’t about doing motherhood perfectly.
It’s about noticing what’s already here, without immediately trying to fix or improve it.
For many of us, that’s uncomfortable at first.
Because when we pause, we feel the pressure we’ve been holding.
The grief of unmet needs.
The exhaustion we’ve been pushing through.
But this noticing, gentle, non-judging, is where things begin to soften.
Not because life suddenly becomes easy…
but because we stop fighting ourselves inside it.
For a long time, I thought the work was to try harder,
to be more patient,
more regulated,
more “together.”
What I’m learning now is this:
The work isn’t to try harder.
It’s to notice the pressure.
To feel when the body is bracing.
To catch the breath when it shortens.
To name the invisible rules we’re living under.
And sometimes, the most supportive thing we can do is incredibly small.
Unclenching the jaw.
Dropping the shoulders.
Taking one slow breath out.
Not to fix anything.
Just to remind the body that it’s safe enough to soften, even for a moment.
If motherhood feels heavy, it doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.
It means you’re human, living inside a culture that asks mothers to carry far too much - quietly, competently, and without rest.
You don’t need another routine.
You don’t need to become someone else.
You don’t need to earn your rest.
Sometimes, what helps most is permission.
Permission to pause.
Permission to arrive exactly where you are.
Permission to set one “should” down, even briefly.
If you’d like a gentle place to start, I’ve created a free 10-minute Take 10 Toolkit, a short mind-body reset for moments when rest feels hard and pressure feels high.
No fixing.
No forcing.
Just space.
You can explore it here if it feels supportive:
👉 https://take10.clare-gent.com/