A group of lovely young ladies and I meet every Tuesday night for a book study centered around “The Worn Out Woman,” by Dr. Steve Stevens and Alice Gray. We laugh, we cry (well, we will eventually) and together we try to find ways to cope with the whirlwind of life while growing closer to Christ.
We’re all moms, all married, and all yearning to regain our joie de vivre–to be more peaceful, patient and put a little pep back in our step.
One common theme is our perceived lack of “self.” Once you’re a frantic, frazzled momma, what happens to the woman who used to take long bubble baths, spend hours chatting with her best friend or get completely lost in an addictive piece of fiction?
I catch glimpses of her every now and then. When a few precious uninterrupted hours (or minutes) magically appear, I might catch her idly thumbing through a glossy magazine, or giggling on the couch while watching episode after episode of Everybody Loves Raymond.
I begrudgingly approach her, and remind her in my best tough-love tone: “You really shouldn’t be doing this. There are three baskets full of dirty laundry, crusty dishes on the kitchen counter, and a stinky kitty litter box in the closet.”
Most of the time, she’ll pretend not to hear me at first, and then let out a long sigh as she hoists herself up off the couch. Sometimes, though, she pulls a pillow up over her head and closes her eyes. I like those days.