I hopped on to the bandwagon of Instagramming three years ago or perhaps more now. I’ve never celebrated it’s anniversaries and my memory fails me about the time elapsed. But, what I fondly remember is how much I’ve grown and have learnt being on this platform. Alhamdulilah.
I realised that I’m not alone. And that I’m part of a team that’s spread over the world. A team of wives, mothers, WAHMS (work at home moms) and SAHMS (stay at home moms), who are not at all unlike me. Alhamdulilah.
All serving their families, searching for happiness in their kids, being sad when their efforts in their kitchens turn futile, having supermom days and often very badmom days just like I do. Subhan Allah.
Basically, I’ve discovered a world through Instagram that shares my feats and failures. I’ll forever be grateful to having fit in and being embraced by a beautiful community. Alhamdulilah.
Often when I share my monologues, thoughts, opinions, experiences as a mum, wife & homemaker on my Instagram stories, I happily make time to sit back and read and reply to all the messages that pour in from my followers around the world.
Today, I shared a story about how my phone screen ceased working twice and I felt utterly bad about adding on expenditures to hubster’s already piling stack of bills – It’s hard on him these days. The recession due to Corona lockdown has been nothing but a bother to everyone around the world, especially the working middle class of our nation.
The guilt in me has been paramount today and I’ve mulled over why my phone had to break once again. Hubster’s kind-hearted and always takes care of household’s expenses without complaining. And I make sure I live frugally so as not to add on to his responsibilities. This unuttered pact usually works brilliantly between us.
Some replies on my stories today left me with some food for thought today, though:
What makes me become so deeply harsh towards myself when I know that Allah has created our husbands as our caretakers? Why can’t I come to terms with forgiving myself when there’s a slight incompetency with regards to expenditures? Did I wind down the guilt path when I was under the care of my parents?
Is it possible to live without worry now that I depend on hubster for life’s basic essentials? Would I have not felt this remorseful guilt had I been earning and fending for myself? Is this some kind of housewife syndrome?
I’m not sure I can answer my own questions. But I know many of us feel this way. I just voiced my thoughts aloud here.
Feel free to comment, suggest, raise more questions or tell me otherwise.