Where the lights are dim.
The house is finally still.
And you are running on something deeper than energy.

There is a moment in parenting no one romanticizes.

It’s not sweet.
It’s not aesthetic.
It doesn’t look good on Instagram.

It’s bedtime.

🌙 The long walk to lights out

Bedtime is a thousand tiny negotiations.

One more drink.
One more hug.
One more story you already read twice.
One more question that suddenly feels urgent to their entire existence.

“Why is the moon following us?”
“Do you think God watches me sleep?”
“Can I tell you something important?”

Important always comes at 9:47 PM.

Your patience is thin.
Your body is tired.
Your brain is replaying the entire day on fast-forward.

And still… you sit.

On the edge of the bed.
On the floor.
Half leaning.
Half present.

🧸 Being human while tucking humans in

Some nights you’re calm.

Some nights you’re counting minutes.

Some nights you snap faster than you wanted to.
Some nights you whisper apologies into the dark.

Because bedtime doesn’t ask for perfection.

It asks for presence.

And presence, at the end of a long day, is expensive.

It costs your last ounce of patience.
Your final thread of self-control.
The quiet you were craving since morning.

🫶 The exhaustion that carries love

Bedtime is when the armor comes off.

Kids soften.
Voices get smaller.
Truths slip out.

Fears.
Dreams.
Loneliness.

Things they didn’t have words for all day suddenly show up when the lights go out.

And you realize:

They saved this moment for you.

Even when you’re tired.
Even when you’re human.
Even when you wish you could fast-forward.

🌌 What bedtime teaches us

That love doesn’t always feel gentle.

Sometimes love is:

Reading one more story with a dry throat
Sitting through silence so they can fall asleep
Holding space when you’d rather lie down
Staying when leaving would be easier

It’s choosing connection when your body wants rest.

It’s showing up imperfectly — and staying anyway.

🏡 After the door closes

Eventually, the door shuts.

The house exhales.

You stand there for a second longer than necessary.

Listening.
Processing.
Recovering yourself.

You didn’t do it perfectly.

But you did it honestly.

And tomorrow night, you’ll do it again.

Not because you’re endless.

But because love finds a way to stretch you…
Even when you’re tired.

Love,

Rochel

A mother of 4 of the cutest children. I have seen the ups and downs in motherhood. Subscribe to this newsletter to hear my raw and honest thoughts on the joys and chaos of motherhood.