You Can Pour From an Empty Cup
It Will Only Cost You Everything
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Is it just me, or does life feel like the final scene of Thelma & Louise right now… minus the happy hoots and hollers?
Connection feels futile because everything does, and I feel like Indiana Jones running from a giant ball of emotion destined to flatten me to the ground.
I was talking to a friend about it, expressing my frustrations ill-timed with a schedule out for blood and raging perimenopause to boot. The conversation veered to the elusive self-care chatter, and I said something like, "We can’t pour from an empty cup.”
"You absolutely can pour from an empty cup: Mothers do it all the time," my friend said. And the words struck me like lightning.
Mothers do it all the time.
The aftermath of months and years of carrying the brunt of the mental load for our family often leads to layers of hardened resentment like thick coats of paint to cover a water leak. Layering on a fresh coat of color is easier, but we'll get better results if we chip away at lightening the load.
Alcohol was like a nightly fresh coat of paint for me. I could whitewash my mind and soul for a couple of hours and feel lighter and softer. An aesthetically pleasing brainwash to numb the anger and resentment. Only to wake up the next day to the cracks and clumps of a nightmare paint job hiding a leaky pipe I don’t have time or energy to find. A job I would need to paint over again and again.
I'm running this metaphor to the ground, but all this to say when it comes to resentment, we must play the long game. Look past what will help us get through tonight and consider what we can do today to help unearth the layers of buildup and get back to our foundation. No masks, no layers, less weight to carry or numb out each day.
A holistic approach to burnout requires more than refilling our cups. It requires a foundation that doesn’t feel like walking through wet cement, juggling responsibilities with the caveat that some will inevitably fall, and giving ourselves permission to fail or say no.
Sometimes, we do have to pour from an empty cup. As mothers, we are expected to and heralded for it, and soon it’s a habit that somehow seeps its way into our core identity. I am the mom. I am the fixer, the lighthouse, the cleanup crew. I make this mistake constantly, thinking my silence is simpler and cleaner than saying no.
Sometimes, the simplest way to reframe a problem is to ask myself, “What advice would I tell the younger me? Would I tell little Celeste to just bury her feelings in a bottle of wine?” Obviously not.
Working ourselves to the ground serves no one, ourselves included. If you are using a patch to fix a software bug when what you really need is a good software reboot, you’re painting over a wall that needs a good sledgehammer swing instead.
Grab the toolbox. Put on some safety goggles. It will be messy but the most rewarding projects always are.
Have you bought my book, It’s Not About the Wine: The Loaded Truth Behind Mommy Wine Culture? Buy it here. And please leave a review on Amazon when you’re finished!
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