When you’re standing in a towel with tangled wet hair and your chest is compressing because you’re close to experiencing an anxiety attack, you really know what stress is. You didn’t have time to clean yourself, but you also can’t remember the last time you took a shower so you had to devote just 5 minutes to yourself to feel human. The house is a complete disaster full of unfinished projects and chores. Of the four beings living in your home, you are the only one that is able or willing to clean up the inevitable mess that results from daily activities. Tears well up in your eyes and you stand there for a moment in a cloudy mental state because there is so much to do before work and so much to do after work that you are trying to plan the most efficient method for accomplishing it all. You snap out of it and hurriedly try to brush your hair, but it hurts because the knots won’t untangle. You feel barbaric as your grunting through the pain of grooming and simultaneously trying to get dressed while your skin is still damp.

I Halfway Understand Stress

The story above is me, last week. I’ve been given 4 weeks to care for two dogs, work 40 hours a week, gather notarized transcripts and diplomas from the three schools I have attended since I was 15 years old, and schedule appointments for a student visa and Dichiarazione di Valore (verification of my American studies). Yes, I signed up for this. I have been accepted into an international PhD program in Italy and I knew of the hoops I would need to jump through in an impossibly short amount of time, but I’m doing it.

As I was nearing a mental breakdown from my heightened level of stress, I realized how my mom must have felt every day as a single parent. She didn’t have a husband to help her with the chores. My sisters and I were too busy with sports and school to clean up after ourselves. My mom was working 80 hours a week. Occasionally a friend or relative would stop by for a few hours to help, but there were already so many weeks of unfinished tasked piled up that once they left, the disaster remained. Yes, my mom signed up for having kids, but she didn’t sign up for doing it alone. Anyone that makes it through the stress of raising three children deserves an award of the highest honor. I realize that now.

The Lesson

When I find myself in overwhelming moments of pain, stress, despair, or sadness, I learn so much. I think about the people in my life and the times when they were suffering due to a similar experience and have a glimpse of what they really felt inside, not my own interpretation of their feelings. After 25 years, I finally realize the sacrifices my mom made for me to be here today, as a PhD candidate. I’m fulfilling her dream of getting a PhD. A dream she gave up so I could have a successful life. So I could travel the world and learn new languages and meet new people and make a difference.

This post is not only to express my extreme gratitude for my mom, but also to share the importance of reflection. Instead of dwelling in this stress, I wanted to learn from it. In reflecting, I’ve developed an incredible amount of respect for my mother, respect that has been faded over the years because I thought I understood what she went through and thought I could have done it better. I now know that if I was her, my three girls would be in another person’s home because I can’t even begin to imagine how to deal with unrealistic expectations every day for 19 years. I want to be as strong as my mom someday and thanks to my experiences the past few weeks, I think I might be on the path to getting there.