Confessions of a Drained Mom: When Your Cup Is Empty

I need to rant. I’ve been feeling it for a while now. A deep, bone-weary exhaustion that has nothing to do with how much sleep I get. It's the kind of tired that seeps into your soul and makes everything feel heavy.

Recently, I found myself in a moment of quiet reflection, and to make sense of this feeling—to prove to myself that I wasn't just imagining it—I used a tool I often teach my kids: the 5 Whys method. It’s a simple problem-solving technique, but I never expected it to uncover something so raw and personal.

Here’s what my little "analysis" looked like:

Why am I so tired of everything? Because I feel like I'm constantly giving more than I'm receiving.

Why am I always giving more? Because I’m constantly taking care of everyone—my four boys, my work, and my home.

Why am I constantly taking care of everyone? Because that’s what a "good" mom and employee is supposed to do.

Why do I believe I must do everything myself? Because I fear what others will say or think. The fear of being judged, the expectation that I can do it all, and the very real stress of being the main provider.

I got stuck at that last one. It felt like I had hit a wall. In that moment, the overwhelm was crushing. I felt like I needed a counselling session just to breathe (or just die, kidding).

Sometimes, I just feel so numb. I know that as a Muslim, everything is qada' dan qadar—destined by Allah s.w.t. I am so, so grateful for my life, my family, and my blessings. But lately, that gratitude feels buried under a mountain of tasks, to-do lists, and endless demands (Read: Emotional labor and invisible work).

Am I a Toxic-Magnet?

On paper, my life looks purposeful. A working mom of four boys—that’s a full-time job in itself, let alone my career. But I've started to wonder: Am I a toxic-magnet, attracting people and situations that drain me? Or have I become the very thing that is draining my own energy?

The truth is, I’ve started longing for a different pace of life. One of those magical, slow-living lifestyles you see in magazines—where the sun on your face, a warm bowl of soup, and a quiet moment in nature are the most important things in the world. It’s not about being ungrateful for what I have; it's about a deep, soul-level need to recharge.

I came to a powerful realization: This isn't about being ungrateful. It's about being human. We pour so much of ourselves into our families, our work, and our passions that we forget to refill our own cup. We run on fumes, and when there's nothing left to give, we feel like a failure.

My brain, the analysis machine that it is, kicked into high gear. I realized the problem wasn't a lack of purpose (my boys will always be my "big why"). The problem was a faulty process. My system was designed for "give-give-give" with no built-in mechanism for receiving or recharging.

The Honest Truth: Is Self-Care Selfish?

You might be thinking, "Just rest, then!" And I have. I’ve tried to prioritize myself and get some rest. But the deep feeling of dissatisfaction still lingers.

So, do we just wait for this to pass? Do we just say, "this will heal itself," and move on? We are not perfect, bukan maksum and we are not as noble as Rasulullah to deserve these things kan? Rasulullah s.a.w. sendiri dicaci, dihina, dibenci oleh kaum dia sendiri. Siapa kita pun? Do I have akidah problem? But then I remember: Allah s.w.t. created every human being with a fundamental right to well-being.

So, instead of seeing self-preservation as selfish—as a "me, me, me" or bajet bagus attitude—could it be a fundamental act of self-preservation and a form of gratitude for the life you have been given? I truly believe it is. You can’t pour from an empty cup, and honoring your own well-being isn't selfish—it’s a necessary part of being the best version of yourself for your family, your work, and your faith.