The Unseen Seesaw: Navigating the Guilt of Overwhelm Vol. 15 — WordsByEkta🌿

🌱 The Seed Series // Vol. 15

The Unseen Seesaw: Navigating the Guilt of Overwhelm

The soft morning light spilled into the living room, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air — and the small, chaotic kingdom I now inhabited. My husband had left for work hours ago, his brief case-carrying departure a crisp, almost clinical counterpoint to the warm, milky scent of our baby and the quiet hum of the house. For a moment, just a fleeting one, a wave of profound peace washed over me. Here I was, a mother, in our cozy home, with our precious baby. This was the picture, right? The dream.

Then, the baby stirred. A tiny grunt, a squirm, and then a full-throated cry that sliced through the quiet like a forgotten alarm clock. Suddenly, the peace shattered.

The baby was fed. The laundry was not. And somehow both felt equally urgent.

It wasn't just the cry itself; it was the entire symphony of unspoken demands it represented. The feeding that would inevitably lead to a diaper change, then the endless burping, the trying-to-put-down-for-a-nap dance, only for the cycle to repeat. I looked around: a pile of laundry slumped in a forgotten basket, dishes glinting accusingly from the sink, a lone toy giraffe abandoned on the rug. The unseen chaos of our life, held just barely at bay by my constant vigilance, felt ready to engulf me.

And in that overwhelming moment, it arrived. Not frustration, not anger, but that familiar, insidious wave of guilt.

"You should only feel joy, a voice whispered, sharp and clear inside my head. Look at this perfect, tiny human. Look at this warm house. Look at those who can't conceive, who yearn for this very chaos, this very love. You're not grateful enough. You're not strong enough. You're not enough."

This wasn't the first time that voice had visited. It was a constant companion, a shadow to every challenging moment. It showed up when I felt my eyes prick with tears from sheer exhaustion, or when the endless loop of "Baby Shark" made me want to scream into a pillow. It was there when I envied my husband's quiet commute, or when a friend's perfectly curated social media feed made my unwashed hair feel like a personal failing.

The guilt was a particularly cruel twist of the knife, because it wasn't just about feeling overwhelmed; it was about feeling bad for feeling overwhelmed. It was a judgment passed by my own internal jury, deeming my emotions unworthy, ungrateful, and fundamentally flawed. This beautiful, desired life was supposed to be a pure, unfiltered wellspring of happiness. Any deviation from that meant I was somehow failing at the most important role I'd ever been given.

I remember one afternoon, the baby had finally fallen asleep, and I had exactly ten minutes before the next feeding. Instead of resting, or doing something for myself, I found myself scrubbing the kitchen counter with furious energy. My back ached, my head throbbed, and I felt a tear slip down my cheek. "What's wrong with me?" I murmured to the gleaming granite. "This is what I wanted. Why do I feel like this?" The answer, of course, was always the same internal refrain: You're not grateful enough. You're not strong enough. You're not enough.

This unseen seesaw — teetering between profound love and profound exhaustion, between fierce devotion and quiet resentment — is a lonely place. Because how do you admit to anyone, let alone yourself, that sometimes the most beautiful gift of your life also brings you to your knees? How do you confess that the joy is often interspersed with moments where you just want to disappear into a quiet room with a locked door?

The truth is, motherhood, especially in those early, isolating years, is a kaleidoscope of emotions. It's the profound, breathtaking love that blindsides you in the middle of the night. It's the inexplicable joy of a gummy smile. But it's also the relentless physical demand, the sleep deprivation that warps reality, the constant mental load, and the profound loss of your pre-baby self. To expect only one emotion — pure joy — is not only unrealistic; it's deeply unkind to ourselves.

What I've slowly, painfully, begun to understand is that feeling overwhelmed isn't a sign of ingratitude or failure. It's a sign that you're human. It's a natural response to an experience that is simultaneously the most miraculous and the most demanding of your life. The guilt, the self-flagellation — that's the real trap. It keeps us isolated, convinced that our messy, multifaceted emotional landscape is unique and shameful.

But it isn't.

Every single mother I know, if given the space and permission, has confessed to similar struggles. The friend who cried in the supermarket aisle because they were out of her baby's favorite yogurt. The colleague who admitted to hiding in the bathroom just for five minutes of silence. These aren't weaknesses; they are shared human experiences of intense, transformative love and relentless pressure.

The moment I started giving myself permission to feel the full spectrum of emotions — the joy and the frustration, the love and the exhaustion, the gratitude and the overwhelm — was the moment the internal voice of guilt began to lose some of its power. It's not about loving my baby any less; it's about acknowledging the immense physical and emotional labor involved in nurturing that love.

So, if you're reading this, sitting amidst your own laundry piles and scattered toys, feeling that familiar pang of shame for not being perpetually ecstatic, please know this: You are not alone. Your feelings are valid. This journey of motherhood is complex and messy and beautiful precisely because it demands everything from you, body and soul. The goal isn't to purge yourself of any emotion that isn't joy. The goal is to hold space for all of it — to recognize that the unseen seesaw of overwhelm and love is simply part of the ride. And by acknowledging it, we not only grant ourselves grace, but we also create a more honest, more supportive, and ultimately, more joyful community for all of us.

You are not alone. Your feelings are valid.
The seesaw is simply part of the ride.

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✍️ Written by WordsByEkta🌿
🖋️ Emotional Storyteller | Writing what hearts never say aloud

💌 If you connected with my way of saying hard truths — often overlooked but deeply felt — explore one of my free letters:
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