This post was originally posted on my publication, Simple Faithful Motherhood, on Substack.

I waited a long time for my toddler to fall asleep today. So long that I fell asleep next to him. Actually, “today” also refers to yesterday, and so many yesterdays before that.

I finally woke up close to 11pm, stumbling groggily out of his bedroom, trying to make sense of the time warp that just took place. Wasn’t it only 8.30pm when my husband and I had finished bedtime stories with him and said goodnight?

I’m lying in my own bed as I write now, my body still tired but my mind annoyingly awake since I’d accidentally taken a nap and ruined my own sleep cycles.

All I can think about is: “I wonder what I did today?”

Like today, I end most days feeling unproductive, yet completely spent. Having done so much and yet feeling like I did nothing at all.

Tonight, I’m trying to make a list of things I can credit the busyness to. Anything worth mentioning so that I can give myself a well-deserved pat on the back. But I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Back when I worked in a high-speed, high-productivity Christian organisation, I could easily look back on my day and make a list of things I’ve done:

Held back to back meetings. Ran a rehearsal. Emails sent, lots more replied. Oversaw the installation of new equipment for the worship teams. Had a pastoral care session with a worship team member.

All that in a day! It was a lot, and I was proud of my busy-ness. Maybe too proud. It gave me a false sense of accomplishment. I was drained, but it was easy to justify my tiredness by looking at all the things I had done.

These days, it’s more often the case I’m staring at a list of un-dones.

“I knew the career tradeoff is well worth this season of being present for my kid. So why was I looking down on the things I did in a day, and why was I feeling so much discontent?”

Tasks for my part-time job. Tasks for my small business. Workouts I should have done (for weeks now). Decluttering I haven’t seen to, and other tasks for the home.

So I wondered, hard: what did I even do all day? And here’s what I came up with:

After school drop-off, I stopped by the supermarket to sort out groceries for the week.
Then did a little bit of work for my part-time job
Picked up my son from school, then fielded a thousand toddler questions (some profound, mostly inane) while serving after-school snack.
Prepared dinner. Got interrupted often by different toddler requests. Held boundaries. Handled meltdowns.

It’s not a long list, and none of these items would work on a résumé. But I knew each item mattered. I’ve traded KPIs for kisses, and strategy meetings for snack negotiations, and I know the career pause tradeoff is well worth this season of being as present as possible for my kid.

So why was I looking down on the things I did in a day, and why was I feeling so much discontent?

Catching The Foxes

Maybe the issue wasn’t with what I did, or how much I did, but a matter of heart-posture.

Maybe there are little foxes at work [1] — small, sneaky thieves creeping in quietly, nibbling at my joy before I even notice. Reflecting as I write this piece, I’ve found three: control, comparison, and complacency.

Control

Oh, this not-so-little fox has been a frequent visitor. He shows up when I let fear and anxiety cloud my view of God as a good Father who knows what I need and who will provide for it. That’s when I dial up my need for control, thinking that if I do more, I will have more peace of mind that the outcomes will go exactly as I hoped.

Comparison

“Every question taking shape in my mind adds weight to a hammer of lies that’s been slowly beating down on my sense of identity and self-worth, as if to say: look at her, now look at you, you’re not good enough.”

This fox looks a lot like my ill-disciplined social media usage. Scrolling past images of perfectly curated lives and beautifully decorated homes is a surefire way of discontentment creeping into my heart.

And it sounds like this: “How come this mum can cook so well?” “Why am I not more creative like her?” “How does she always look so good even though she’s running after five kids?” “She’s running a business while homeschooling??? What am I doing with my life?”

Every question taking shape in my mind adds weight to a hammer of lies that’s been slowly beating down on my sense of identity and worth, as if to say: look at her, now look at you, you’re not good enough.

It’s utter deceit straight from the enemy of my soul.

Complacency

This fox is the sneakiest of all. Because it’s not quite laziness that’s my problem, but a slow drifting away from how I should be intentional and disciplined about my time. It’s where bad habits kick me into auto-pilot mode, like:

Skipping quiet time “just for today” to get a head start on the morning… and realising it’s been months since I last opened my Bible.
Going with the flow and never pausing to sort what’s truly a priority… then wondering why I’ve been busy all week yet moved nothing important forward.
Reaching for distraction — like picking up my phone for “just five minutes” — only to lose 45 minutes in the scroll.
Constantly reacting instead of preparing — so everything feels urgent, and my time ends up hijacked by the loudest need.

So yes, the work we do as mothers is real, good and valuable. Even more so when it feels invisible and the to-do list still has unchecked boxes (when is it ever complete?). If all you did today was keep your little one fed, safe, and loved — that’s no small thing.

But if you, like me, feel a small nudge that something’s a little off, that maybe our time is being pulled in directions that aren’t helpful, maybe that unease — that sense of discontent — is God gently guiding us to examine our heart posture together.

And maybe we’ll find that some little foxes have crept in. Control, comparison, and complacency — they’re sneaky, but they don’t have to stay.

A Prayer Before You Go

Lord, You see the unseen work. Thank you for calling this work of motherhood worthy, even when I’ve made it feel small. Search my heart, God, and show me where I’ve held too tightly, where my desire for control has replaced my trust in You, where comparison has blurred my view and put dents on my sense of purpose and worth, and where complacency has lulled me into living in distraction and reaction mode. Help me to spot and catch the little foxes in the vineyard. In everything, help me to walk in step with You and labour in this season to please You. Amen.

Footnotes:

[1] “Catch the foxes for us, the little foxes that spoil the vineyards, for our vineyards are in blossom.” — Song of Solomon 2:15 (ESV)

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