Self-Sacrifice, I'm Quitting

A few years ago on New Year's Day, I collapsed again.

The cold I had caught worsened into sinusitis, which then turned into an ear infection, and I ended up having to undergo a myringotomy while screaming in pain. I also developed pneumonia on top of that. It was like a domino effect.

I shouldn't have been pushing myself anymore.

On social media and in dramas, I often see housewives complaining about things like, "It's such a hassle to make dinner," or "It's a pain to go shopping on a rainy day," but back then, I had never voiced those kinds of complaints.

When I was a newlywed, even in a room where it was mostly just me because my husband was at work, I would use a floor wiper every morning and night, mop the floors several times a week, and polish the windows and entryway once a month. I once even got bothered by the dirt on the balcony floor and used about five rags to make it sparkle.
Even though it was a rental house.

My husband is the type of person who doesn't care at all whether or not I've cleaned. He has never told me to do it properly.
In fact, he would say things like, "Take it easy," or "You can do it later," in a soft, gentle way.

It's true that I've always liked cleaning.
But more than that, a sense of mission—that I was the person solely responsible for the housework in this home—was what drove me to such extremes.

I didn't know how to take a break.
I didn't know which tasks to cut back on or by how much. I wanted to ask those housewives who are good at lounging around and find housework to be a hassle to teach me specifically how they slack off and what kind of mindset they have while they're just relaxing.

My mother worked full-time as a regular employee the whole time. She did the laundry and dishes every day, but there were always piles of mysterious documents on the shelves at home. It's not like my mother was a perfectionist and I felt I had to be the same way at all.

However, that kind of effort didn't last long. Doing housework perfectly while working full-time was much harder than I had imagined. I should have cut corners, but I didn't know how to do that, so I kept trying my best and ended up collapsing. This happened quite soon after I got married and started living with my husband.

After I gave birth, my body stopped listening to me. In the midst of endless sleep deprivation, I couldn't do things perfectly like I used to. Even so, I felt I had to do it right because I was a mother, so I crawled through both housework and childcare.

But year after year, I couldn't keep up the pace, and I started catching colds and running fevers every month. I also developed asthma and began collapsing periodically. And then, that New Year's Day happened.

I don't want to try so hard and be so serious anymore...
I want to live loosely, like a cat.

I felt that from the bottom of my heart.

I have gradually given up on my clumsy self, who could only think in terms of 0 or 100. I bought a front-loading washer-dryer, started ordering home delivery from the co-op, and even bought a robot vacuum.

I used to think that sewing, knitting, taking supplements, and traveling alone were all selfish, but I've started giving myself permission to spend money on them.

I was even able to tell my husband that I didn't want to work anymore, and I've even come to enjoy my alone time at cafes every day.

To get this far,
it took quite a lot of courage.

I thought there was nothing left
that I was holding back.

And yet, I collapsed.

🧺

Why?
What am I holding back?

I went around in circles, and after a few days,
it finally came to me.

I'm holding back on sleeping.

Ever since I was young, I've been the type to have trouble falling asleep on nights after days with a lot of stimulation. By stimulation, I mean things like parent-teacher meetings, class observations, or bumping into mom friends at the park—that level of stimulation. I managed to make up for it by taking naps.

But as I became able to move around more and my free time increased, the number of days I didn't take naps started to grow.

Especially during PMS, my insomnia would get worse, and there were many days when I couldn't sleep until dawn, yet I would still wake up properly every morning, make breakfast, and see my husband and children off.

Because.

Since I'm not working,
it's only natural that I should at least make breakfast, right?
My husband is going to work,
so how could I just keep sleeping?

That voice was inside my heart.

But, in reality...

Waking up in the morning is incredibly painful.

💤

There is one more thing I have been turning a blind eye to for many years.

We are a family of four, and we can only fit three beds in the bedroom. So, the style of me and my second daughter sharing a futon has continued for a long time.

My second daughter is already seven. The futon is cramped. Every time she tosses and turns, the blanket slips off, and every time, I pull it back over her. In the middle of the night, over and over again.

When my second daughter gets a little sweaty, she sleeps with her pajamas pulled up out of her pants. In the dark room in the middle of the night, her little belly button rises and falls with her breathing. Every time I notice it, I hurriedly tuck her pajamas back into her pants.

On top of that, my second daughter snores loudly.
The sleep-talking of my eldest daughter, who sleeps on the other side, is also quite something.
She is often crying out at my second daughter in her dreams, saying, "Stop it!"

This was the major cause of my inability to sleep.

I knew it, but I couldn't say it.

After all, saying I don't want to sleep with my children—
what kind of mother would that make me?

But after catching my children's colds almost 100% of the time, developing asthma and insomnia, and being told by my family doctor with a look of exasperation,
"You know... you really shouldn't be sleeping with your children, should you?"
I was finally able to talk to my husband about it.

And then my husband, so easily,

"You can use my room as your bedroom, if you want."

Huh...?
Was it really that simple...?

I immediately bought a bed and a futon.
I bought a pretty good mattress.

If I prepare breakfast the night before, my husband can just heat it up. It's only that, so why couldn't I say it for so many years?

I was happy to be able to sleep with my arms and legs stretched out.

I'm done with waking up every morning to see them off.

My irritability during the day has decreased significantly.
On mornings when I wake up early, I fry sausages and scrambled eggs and set out some fruit. I even make tea with herbs I grow on the balcony.
A slightly luxurious breakfast.

On mornings when I can't get up, I usually
wake up to the sound of my husband locking the front door.

I can wash the dishes left in the kitchen with a gentle heart. It feels good to be able to feel genuine gratitude for my husband and children. Back when I was holding everything in, I never felt like this.

🍳

Huh? Was I holding back on things like this, too?

I'll probably keep saying it from now on.

I find the sacrifices that have blended into my daily life with a straight face, feel down on myself for needing so much willpower just to handle such things, confirm that I really can't keep trying that hard after all, and then say, I'm done. I actually enjoy this process quite a bit.

Still, sleeping is amazing.

Things I thought were impossible can turn into 'maybe I can still do this' just by getting some sleep.

I wake up in the middle of the night.

There is no blanket to pull back over next to me.
There is no belly button moving either.

Thinking that it's okay to sleep until noon
lets me fall back asleep without feeling rushed.

Lately, on my Threads profile,
I've written that I'm a professional napper.

I think the me from back then would flip out if she saw this.

It might be strange for someone like me to say this, but

you really should get enough sleep, you know?

■ I have summarized what was good for my insomnia below

■ I have summarized what I did to stop my asthma attacks below