When Self-Care Falls to the Bottom of the List: A Mom and Homeschooler’s Honest Struggle

There’s a quiet irony in motherhood—especially in homeschooling motherhood—that I didn’t fully understand until I was living it. I spend my days teaching my children how to care for their minds, their bodies, and their hearts. I remind them to take breaks, drink water, get fresh air, and rest when they’re tired. And yet, somewhere between math lessons, meal prep, laundry piles, and emotional check-ins, my own needs slip quietly to the bottom of the list.

Self-care sounds simple in theory. In practice, it can feel almost impossible.

As a mom and homeschooler, my life is deeply intertwined with the needs of others. There is no clear line between work and home, between teaching and parenting, between “on” time and rest. The classroom is the kitchen table. The office is wherever I can set my coffee down. The clock doesn’t punch out at 3 p.m.—it hums constantly in the background of every moment.

And because of that, self-care often feels optional. Or indulgent. Or selfish.

Some days, it looks like this: I wake up already behind, mentally running through the day before my feet hit the floor. Breakfast, lessons, appointments, emotional support, discipline, encouragement. I tell myself I’ll take care of me later—after this chapter, after this load of laundry, after this child feels better, after everyone else is settled. But later rarely comes. By the time the house is quiet, I’m too tired to do anything but scroll or collapse.

The truth is, prioritizing myself feels harder than it should. There’s guilt wrapped around it—guilt for taking time away, guilt for spending money, guilt for not “doing enough.” There’s also the pressure to be grateful, to recognize how privileged I am to be home with my kids. And I am grateful. Deeply. But gratitude doesn’t erase exhaustion.

Homeschooling adds another layer. When you’re both mom and teacher, it can feel like you always need to be more patient, more prepared, more emotionally available. Bad days don’t get hidden behind classroom doors. If I’m overwhelmed or burned out, my kids feel it immediately. Ironically, the very role that makes self-care most necessary is the one that makes it hardest to practice.

I’ve learned that self-care doesn’t always look like bubble baths or quiet mornings (though those are lovely when they happen). More often, it looks like small, imperfect choices: saying no to one more commitment, letting a lesson go unfinished, choosing rest over productivity. It looks like admitting I’m human, not a machine designed to endlessly give.

Some seasons, self-care is simply survival. Eating regular meals. Getting enough sleep when possible. Asking for help, even when it’s uncomfortable. Letting go of the expectation that I have to do everything well all the time. These things may not be glamorous, but they matter.

What I’m slowly realizing is this: caring for myself isn’t separate from caring for my children. It’s connected. When I’m depleted, I’m shorter-tempered, less patient, less present. When I allow myself space to breathe—even a little—I show up differently. I model something important: that our needs matter, even when life is full.

I’m still learning. Still struggling. Still choosing self-care imperfectly and inconsistently. Some weeks I do better than others. Some days I fall back into old patterns of self-neglect. But I’m trying to extend myself the same grace I give my children—the understanding that growth takes time, and rest is not a reward you earn, but a necessity you deserve.

If you’re a mom/dad/caregiver or homeschooler who feels this tension too, you’re not alone. You’re not failing because you’re tired. You’re not selfish for wanting space. And you’re not weak for needing care. You’re human, doing deeply meaningful work in a body and heart that need tending.

Maybe self-care doesn’t have to be another thing on the to-do list. Maybe it can start with permission—the permission to matter, even in the midst of everyone else’s needs.

And maybe that’s enough for today.