Being a Mother
It's not just about having babies...
Motherhood has stretched me. It's taught me that children and caretaking can only distract you from yourself temporarily.
Last night, I sat on the floor in my Brooklyn hotel room, scrolling through my photo album when I should've been packing. Tears filled my eyes as I looked at thousands of captured memories and little glimmers of joy. As I swiped, I thought: "None of us are the same. We've all grown and changed so much." I smiled and cried with each swipe.
My babies are no longer babies.
My family is growing up.
We are all so beautifully different.
It [also] feels like I have been so many women since becoming a mother. I never could really relate to folks saying: "I don't even recognize myself in these photos"— but now I understand. At almost 36 years old, I finally understand that becoming and being a mother isn't just about having babies, and raising them up right—it's about learning to raise myself. Learning to mother myself, learning to hold and cradle me, too.
I avoided myself for so long because I used being a mom to escape from myself. I recently shared with one of my friends that becoming a mother was a trauma response.
She gasped and said, "I thought I was the only one who felt like that."
I'm aware that a statement like this can sound jarring—but the more I heal, and the older I get, the more I'm able to acknowledge this truth without shame.
Despite how deeply I love my children, I can now see that my path into motherhood was shaped more by unhealed wounds than by a sound heart and mind. The first time I became a mom, I was a teen—lost, hurting, and searching for love in all the wrong places. You're familiar with this story if you've read my book After the Rain. I wanted to be the mother I didn't have. I wanted to feel the kind of love I hadn't received. That choice, though life-altering and complicated in many ways, was born out of trauma, not wholeness.
My second pregnancy came after a miscarriage with my husband. I became fixated on having a baby—not out of readiness, but out of a need to feel worthy, to prove that I could create life with someone who loved me and treated me well. Again, it was less about being grounded in motherhood and more about healing through someone else versus self.
The third was a surprise, 20 months after my middle daughter was born. The two-under-2 life was brutal. Motherhood had become my entire identity by then. Since I was 18, my sense of self has been entangled in trying to be something to someone else, without ever pausing to ask myself: Why do I need to be needed this badly?
If I'm being honest, I didn't fully grasp the depth, responsibility, or emotional labor that parenting requires. I jumped in headfirst because I wanted to feel chosen, important, and irreplaceable. I love my children. The immense love I have for my daughters is not in question. Without them, my life would be different—I would be different.
There's a huge reckoning happening for me in this season. Like, who do I want to be? Who am I when I untether from my important and sacred role as a mother?
Yesterday, I found myself thinking about how I don't want my girls to step into motherhood the way I did. If they [even] choose it at all, I hope it's a decision made with intention—not as a means to find themselves, but from a place of already knowing who they are. Should any of the girls become a mama, I want them to enter the parenting space with clarity, confidence, and a strong sense of self.
At this stage of my life, I'm committed to modeling autonomy. I want my kids to see that I am whole outside of them—and that they are just as whole and capable outside of me and their dad.
It's important to me that they witness healthy individuality up close. I'm not interested in raising codependent children. I don't want them to need me forever. As they grow and step more fully into themselves, I want them to choose my presence and support—not depend on it as the foundation for their stability, direction, or sense of self. Especially as they become young adults, I want them to trust their own inner compass first.
Being a mom for almost 18 years, I now see that my role is not to complete my daughters, but to guide them toward trusting themselves. That means making peace with their discomfort, letting them problem-solve, and resisting the urge to over-function in their lives because of my feelings of lack or fear. I want them to know I'm here—not as a crutch, but as a trusted guide when they need it. Independence, not dependence, is the legacy I'm trying to leave. And that starts with me showing them what it looks like to belong to myself first.
Motherhood is healing me in new ways these days.
Today, I feel encouraged.
Today, I feel grounded.
Today, I feel like I'm actively choosing the right path and leading by example.
I pray that I am a woman my kids will be proud of and inspired by—not solely because who I am to them, but who I show them I am to myself. I'm taking care of their mama (myself) with intention and care now, and that feels restorative.
I'm grateful for every ebb and flow that has gotten me here. I welcome all the joys and struggles. I appreciate every right step forward and each misstep on the journey.
What a gift this season is, even though it feels challenging at time.
Happy Mother's Day.
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This was beautiful, thank you for sharing! Happy Mother’s Day!!
This was a reminder for me about my thoughts this morning. I know what I want and motherhood is a huge part of my life. I know I should enjoy it and embrace it. I should be present in it. It’s the greatest self awareness to not just be a mother but to know what it means to you and why it’s a huge part of your life.