Apparently I’m Not Busy, Just Lazy

Someone told me a few days ago, very confidently:

"You’re not busy. You’re just lazy."

I smiled politely.

But in my head I thought:

Bitch, become a work-from-home mom for one week. (Words came from a single woman)

Just one.

Let me introduce you to the glamorous lifestyle.

You wake up one day and decide you will finally get healthy.

This is it.

New life.

New routine.

You start working out.

You download a fitness app.

You follow a diet.

You eat chia seeds like a responsible adult.

You drink warm water with lemon like every Instagram wellness guru promised.

For three days you feel like a warrior.

Day four.

Your child gets sick.

Not a cute little sneeze.

No. A full toddler illness package.

Fever.

Cough.

Zero sleep.

Your workout routine now becomes carrying a sick child for 12 hours straight.

Your diet becomes cold coffee and leftover biscuits.

You survive on two hours of sleep and pure maternal adrenaline.

Just when the child starts recovering…

You fall sick.

Because of course you do.

Viruses in a house with a toddler move faster than office gossip.

Now both of you are sick.

The house looks like a disaster zone.

Your inbox is exploding.

Slack notifications are multiplying like bacteria.

And someone somewhere is still wondering why you didn’t complete that “quick task.”

Let’s also talk about working out as a mother.

People say, “Just do yoga at home.”

Sure.

So there I am on my yoga mat, trying to reconnect with my body and inner peace.

Two minutes into the pose, my three-year-old decides my back is Mount Everest and climbs up.

At the exact same moment my vertigo flares up.

The room spins.

My head spins.

Next thing I know — darkness.

Apparently I fainted.

Face down on the yoga mat.

Sweat drenched.

Weak pulse.

And the most dramatic part?

Nobody even knew what happened.

Because that’s the thing about being a work-from-home mom.

You collapse quietly.

And the world keeps moving.

Let’s also talk about work from home, which people imagine is some relaxed pajama lifestyle.

The truth?

There are no boundaries.

Work starts early.

Work ends late.

Work quietly creeps into dinner time, bedtime, and sometimes even bathroom time.

You are always available.

Always reachable.

Always “just checking one more thing.”

And then there is marriage in a nuclear family.

You see your husband for about one hour a day.

Not because of lack of love.

Just because life decided to schedule both of you in different survival shifts.

Sometimes you pass each other in the kitchen like coworkers in a night shift hospital.

“Did you eat?”

“Did the baby take medicine?”

“Did you send that email?”

Romance now looks suspiciously like sharing the last paracetamol tablet.

And then there are helpful neighbours.

One of mine once told me very seriously,

"You have trapped your daughter in the house. You never take her to the park."

I smiled politely.

Because explaining my life schedule to someone who thinks motherhood is a park picnic felt exhausting.

So yes, maybe I am a bad mom.

Maybe the park visits are not as frequent as they should be.

Maybe some days survival looks like cartoons, snacks, and finishing work deadlines before the nanny leaves.

Speaking of which…

My nanny leaves at 5 PM.

After that, it's just me.

No backup.

No family nearby.

Just one tired woman and a small human with unlimited energy.

Meanwhile my friends sometimes plan to meet.

Coffee. Dinner. Catch-ups.

I really want to go.

But most of the time my answer is the same:

"I can’t come."

Not because I don’t want to.

Because I have work.

Because I have a child.

Because I have no one to rely on once evening arrives.

And yet the world looks at you sitting at home with a laptop and says:

"How busy can you really be?"

I honestly don’t know how women do it.

Working.

Mothering.

Cooking.

Managing illness.

Holding families together.

Trying to stay healthy.

Trying not to completely lose their minds.

Some days you manage everything beautifully.

Other days you eat cereal for dinner and call it emotional survival.

And honestly?

Both are valid.

So the next time someone tells a work-from-home mother she is lazy, I invite them to try the job for a week.

Just one week.

No office hours.

No support system.

No boundaries.

A sick toddler.

Endless work notifications.

And a body that is permanently tired.

Then we’ll talk about laziness.