Raising 4 kids is wearing me down. I’m looking forward to connecting with them as adults.

I had four kids before I realized parenting wasn’t for me.

I’m kidding, of course, but there is some truth to that sentiment, too.

During my teens, I was the go-to babysitter for my tight-knit Midwestern neighborhood, and I loved every minute of it.

But no matter how much you love kids, even your own, nothing can prepare you for full-time parenthood.

I wasn’t exactly set up for parenting success.

My mother was a stay-at-home mom who believed marrying and having babies should come sooner rather than later.

She married at 21 and started her family a year later.

She had no idea that the human brain may not be fully developed until one reaches their early 30s, but even if she had, it probably wouldn’t have changed her choices or opinions.

I got married at 23, gave birth to my first child that same year, then had three more kids — each about 18 months apart.

Because of this spacing, I spent five solid years either pregnant, breastfeeding, or both at once.

My husband at the time saw his primary role as providing for our family, while most childcare and housekeeping fell to me.

I was buried in 24/7 mess-cleaning, meal-planning, budget-keeping, fight-defusing, and potty training.

My disillusionment deepened as time passed.

I was existentially tired, my nerves raw.

I loved my children deeply, but I absolutely hated the role of a mother.

Memories of my kids’ early years are now interwoven with grief.

During the years I should have been figuring out my own ambitions, I was instead wrangling four toddlers, while navigating a marriage in which I didn’t feel like an equal.

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When my babies were little, elderly women often approached me in public to fawn over them: “Enjoy this time!

It goes by so fast!” I’d smile politely, but inside I wanted to drive off a cliff.

I was not enjoying it, and it wasn’t going by nearly fast enough.

But I couldn’t say that without incurring judgment, so I’d carry the burden silently, or parrot some disingenuous cliché: “I know, so fulfilling, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” Today I’m divorced and happily remarried.

Life is still full of parenting duties, just not diapers and toddler tantrums.

Now it’s deodorant emergencies and teenage tantrums.

While it can be admittedly hard for me to find parenting fulfilling at times, I have found ways to make peace with it.

I’ve learned how to prioritize my mental health.

I carve out regular time for things like therapy or a coffee date with a sympathetic friend.

I’ve also accepted that it’s OK not to always enjoy parenting.

Successful parenting and personal fulfillment don’t have to be one in the same.

And, I’ve come to believe that it’s OK to mentally fast-forward to an easier time.

Savoring the right now of parenthood isn’t the only way to make the most of it.

Instead, I think keeping our kids’ futures in mind is what can make all of us good parents in the present.

All we can do for our kids is the best we can, loving them, teaching boundaries, and nurturing their ambitions.

The aspects we find so draining may not always feel worth it, but if we can one day set our children loose as decent, happy humans and good members of society, we can be satisfied.

I’ve already gotten glimpses of this future from my kids.

My teenage daughter shows great empathy toward her siblings and classmates, and is constantly looking for ways she can contribute to bettering her community and the world at large.

And, in terms of our personal relationship, she looks to me as someone she can confide in without fear of judgment, which I consider a huge honor.

I know, my kids will be adults far longer than they are the exhausting humans they are now.

So, personally, I’m raising the kind of people I’d want as friends — and who, in return, will hopefully want the same from me.