The Chronic Fatigue of the Trad Wife Life

She's Got the Whole World In Her Hands

This happened every day at 3 pm eighteen years ago. Because of the work I did, it also happened at 3 pm every day this week.

The fatigue starts the back of my throat, which is also the front of my cervical spine. My cheeks hollow as my mouth waters hot with the tang of anxiety. My shoulders droop. The wave of exhaustion progresses over my body like the lengthening shadow of late afternoon. I desperately want to lay down but there’s so much more to do. My stomach clenches back a heave and even though I’ve skipped another meal, I want to throw up. I can’t stand, I can’t move. Walking is like pushing through sludge.

My body remembers: He’ll be home soon. The worst thing I could do right now is let my guard down. The worst thing I can do is stop.