We do not have to be slaves to the culture of mediocre motherhood, which says, “I stank at motherhood today. You too?” We do not have to find solace in the knowledge that wine o’clock is coming (I am not objecting to wine specifically but rather the dependence on it). We do not have to find our identity in fist bumps of solidarity with similarly burned-out moms. Fist bumps are awesome and burnout is real. And there is nothing wrong with acknowledging the hard and seeking encouragement.
