Still holding him in my arms on the stairs, my son looks down at him and declares matter-of-factly, “My mom’s going to work.” Then squeezes me closer and presses his little cheek up against mine.

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That statement was just a fact, but it meant so much to me to hear. What struck me was the normality of it.

I realized he’s getting it, and I could almost hear the pride in his voice.

Returning to work has been a long, uncomfortable transition. That morning, for the first time, it felt normal.

His words in that moment matter so much because that’s what I’ve been chasing: normalcy. The moment when it becomes normal for me to work.

Even though I’ve been chasing it and even though I felt it from him in that brief MOMent, I’m not sure that feeling can last.

Am I waiting for a season that doesn’t exist?

I. Just. Want. To. Work.

I know that sounds crazy to some. Why would you WANT to work? Well, I want to use the skills, knowledge, and certifications I pursued for 30 years before becoming a mother. I want the social aspect of working and I want to feel like I am contributing to society. And... I just want to.

I’ve found a job I may be perfect for and a company that is so accepting of young mothers.

Still, returning to work has been a rollercoaster, to say the least.

After two years home with my son, I started working again nine months ago. Since then: nanny searches, sporadic childcare, a nanny quitting, another nanny change, behavior issues, no set routine, potty training, working overtime. The road has been very, very long.

Now my son is starting school part-time and we’re searching for someone again. And I’m letting myself fall into the fantasy that this is it!

Once I hire her and school starts, I can separate work, motherhood, and caring for our home. There will be hard lines between them. I will be fully present at work and fully present with my son because we will finally have the support.

The season I’m waiting for.

In this season, I’m a working mom. I’ve worked in some capacity for a little over 1 year of my son’s life and was home with him for 2.5 years.

As I search for a new nanny, I wonder: When will it settle down? When will I find the rhythm I’ve been chasing?

Maybe I’m fooling myself, and it never will. I may need to accept that childcare will always be an issue, that work will ebb and tide, that the balance is an ever-changing scale, not even staying level for a day. A seesaw.

My dream picture: I drop my son off at school. I work uninterrupted by thoughts of him or managing the house until work is over. Then, work leaves my mind the second I sign off, and I can be fully present with him.

I’m starting to think this isn’t possible. Work-life balance doesn’t apply to motherhood.

There will always be something. A worry, something to buy for him, an issue with childcare. Whether it’s a nanny quitting with no notice or a conflict, or school being closed for three weeks for Christmas break.

Is the season I’m waiting for just when my son is older? Or are there bullies, after-school activities to juggle and colleges to apply to? The needs don’t really disappear as children get older, they just change.

Maybe college is when it stops. I guess I’ll find out at 48.

Mom brain could be the culprit.

My old job was a multitasker’s dream, but motherhood brought with it even more open tabs, and they never seem to close.

Is my brain chemistry forever changed? All I have is the evidence around me.

One friend stays home.

One went back to work and eventually left.

One works and is overwhelmed by the juggle.

Even my own mother struggled with working. I recently found out that when my sisters and I were very young my mom would help out at an after-school daycare. Then one day, while reading books, she had the thought “Why on earth am I spending time reading this to other children when my sweet little girls are at home without me?” Then, she quit.

Maybe there is no shutting off the part of the brain that becomes a mother. Work can have my attention, but motherhood is still running somewhere in the background.

Is my dream scenario based on the assumption that I can temporarily stop thinking like a mother?

Work-mom-life balance?

Before motherhood, I was the ideal worker. I was dedicated and loyal to my job to a fault. Anything they asked of me was done. I didn’t need balance because work was my life.

I don’t want to be that person anymore. Better yet, I’m not even sure if I can be.

I’m struggling to work as a mother and I only work 18–24 hours in a week. Part-time. True, each day is different: the hours, the childcare, whether I am in the office or at home. I don’t have a set routine every day which can be difficult.

But I’ve realized that’s not really the problem here. It’s my expectations.

I sometimes think “I’m not cut out for this” or “I still need to find that balance”. That perspective is wrong. The problem isn’t that I haven’t found the perfect balance. It’s that I keep expecting to.

I don’t want it to be true, but I’m realizing working motherhood isn’t something you figure out once and for all. You just keep adjusting.

Have you managed to find the elusive mom-work-life balance? Share your secret with a comment.

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My mom’s GOING to work.

Whether there is an easier season on the horizon or not. I’m going anyway.

In the end, I’ll find out if it gets easier, if mom brain ever gets quieter, and whether that work-mom-life balance is really possible.

Meanwhile, in this new phase of our lives, my son will see that women have passions, ambition, and purpose. He will assume that is how the world works because it will be a normal part of his.

What's one MOMent from mothering this week that has stayed with you? Comment below or add it to The MOMent Project for the opportunity to be featured weekly.

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You’re copying down one of your favorite stories, because you love it so much.

You carry the pages to your mother.

She asks if it’s yours, and you tell her the truth.

She says, “I bet you could do better. Write one of your own.”

So, you do. Over and over and over again until one day you’ve written over 65 novels.

This is not my story, but, oh, how I wish it was.

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The story comes from the book On Writing. From the life of one of (if not the most) talented authors of our time, Stephen King. Everything that he has created and accomplished, his massive collection of work, he traces to this MOMent. Two sentences of encouragement from his mother. That’s it.

Stephen King also recalls his mother’s response to his second attempt at writing, “She said it was good enough to be in a book. Nothing anyone has said to me since has made me feel any happier.” And I would venture to guess that nothing had more influence on his path in life.

I love literature. And I’ve never respected a writer more than Stephen King. So, when I found out the reason he became one was a few quick, encouraging comments from his mother, it became very clear to me how much we shape our children’s lives. Sometimes, I think, without even realizing it.

“I remember an immense feeling of possibility at the idea, as if I had been ushered into a vast building filled with closed doors and had been given leave to open any I liked. There were more doors than one person could ever open in a lifetime, I thought (and still think).”

― Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft

We have very obvious influence over our children’s lives. We control where they live, where they go to school, and what they eat. The list goes on and on. But, we don’t just shape the obvious things like environment and behavior.

We also shape who they grow into and even how much they think they’re capable of. We influence what they choose to pursue or not, their interests, what makes them who they are, their special talents.

That amount of power can be scary, but it can also be beautiful. If we use it correctly.

I think there are two types of parents: those that want their child to fit into a certain mold, maybe one they never followed through on, and those that are excited to see what they mold into. I want to be the latter.

Since I read that extreme example of our ability to nurture and change our children’s lives, and maybe even the lives of those they encounter I can’t stop seeing more examples of parents fostering their children’s interests.

My Proof

One example close to my heart is how my sister raises her children. She has always had a special knack for noticing exactly who her children are and knowing exactly how to nurture that.

Her daughter loves drawing, so she set up an artist desk for her and continues to buy her countless notebooks to fill. I love when she hands me a drawing. They are always so well thought out. It’s like she’s handing me a tiny piece of her.

Recently, her 4-year-old son started to show an interest in gardening, and I was there the day the smallest gardening gloves you can imagine arrived in the mail. I can’t get the image of his smile out of my head when he realized they fit like a glove. Or the pride in his eyes as he posed next to his planted flowers.

Her oldest son has a knack for music. He’s been dancing on beat since he was just a few months old. He sings or hums sometimes all day and sits down at every piano he encounters. She bought him a keyboard of his own to sit down at. I hope to see him master it one day, I know he will with her by his side.

I do think it is really about discovering who your child is rather than engineering the way for them. Nurturing their nature rather than fitting it into your own mold.

My Son

My son is only 3, but I cannot wait until his true interests start to peek through and I can nurture them. Right now it seems the only thing he is interested in is cars. Unfortunately, cars are not my strong suit.

He has countless Hot Wheels cars that he cherishes. He even pretends to be one and races around the house asking for pit stops along the way. We oblige by providing a sip of water and pretending to fix him up with the appropriate sound effects. His feet are his wheels and his shoes are his tires.

The fascination is so strong, that he decided he wanted to drive our car the other day. He was sitting on my lap in the driver’s seat. I was waiting for the A/C to cool off the car before I strapped him in the back. I didn’t expect him to ask very matter of factly, “Can I drive?” Despite holding in a smile from the cuteness, I tried to keep my reply very serious. “Not until you’re 18, baby boy” was all I could muster.

I can’t let him drive just yet and I’ll need to seriously study my car brands and logos. But I will keep looking for ways to make room for and nurture the part of him that is so in love with cars. At least we share one car-related interest: our Sunday tradition of watching Formula 1. A coffee in my hand and a Max Verstappen toy car in his.

I will also continue to show him daily that I’m a whole person with interests, purpose and dreams in hopes that his own pursuits will blossom. Because children also learn through observing, they take in our actions as well as our words.

My Turn

Then, I think of myself as a child. I was in awe of books, but the authors who wrote them? It was never a possibility in my mind that I could even try to be like them. I do wonder what would’ve happened if someone put that thought in front of me. What if someone said, “You spend so much time reading stories, why not try writing one?” I wish I had taken a stab at writing. Just one word of encouragement or permission to try, and I may have fallen in love long ago. Instead I found my own way here, years later.

Where would I be now if my mom, like Stephen King’s, stood in front of me, handed me a pen, and said, “Write a better one. You can do it!” How far might any of us had traveled with that kind of encouragement?

I will try to be that catalyst for him. I’ll notice. I’ll give space and permission. Most importantly, I’ll nurture without pressure. It’s a delicate line to walk, but knowing now that even just that little push of “You can do it” is enough gives me hope I can be that for him.

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Thank you for reading. If you have a MOMent, reflection, or experience you’d like to share, submit it to The MOMent Project for the opportunity to be featured weekly. You never know who might need your words.

Share Your MOMent

He looked at me silently, unsure how to respond or maybe not fully comprehending, before shrugging it off and asking for another “kerplunk” back into the water.

A few minutes later, I pointed toward the house. “I lived here when I was three.”

We were spending the Fourth of July at my parents’ house. The same house, the same pool, even mostly the same people. Cousins, aunts, uncles and friends just popping by for the perfect spot to watch the town fireworks light off at the end of our street.

Introducing him to my childhood felt surreal, like walking through my own memories and watching him overwrite them.

I took him there because I wanted him to love this holiday and tradition as much as I did. Instead, the day reminded me of something I reflect on a lot lately. My son is growing up with a completely different childhood than I did. I grew up with ten siblings. He is growing up with none.

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Soooo Many Questions…

People are always fascinated by the novelty of my family. Almost without fail, they ask one of the same three questions first :

1. Can you name them all?

2. Where do you fall in the birth order?

3. What's the age gap between the oldest and youngest?

All of them I love to answer. Even if I sound rehearsed to my own ears because I’ve uttered the same answers a million times.

1. I rattle off the names one by one as fast as I can.

2. I’m in the middle, sort of the older part of the second half of the family. The oldest girl. I’m lucky number 7.

3. I never remember their exact ages, but they are about 25 years apart. My oldest brother never lived in the same house as my youngest brother.

What was it like, actually?

I dread this direct question because describing my childhood in words is difficult. It was so many things. I remember the pride, the chaos, the loneliness and the friendship.

When I was young, I wore my family’s size like a badge. I was proud back then, but I admit it was partly because it made me stand out. It gave me a brief window where the attention was on me. That was something I rarely received freely at home. I had to fight to be seen everyday.

There was a unique kind of chaos in our house. Two words come to mind. Sensory. Overload. I used to climb up the tree in my backyard to escape it, to have my own space. I remember kicking my siblings out of my room just to have a second to myself.

Even through all that chaos, I felt lifted on my siblings’ shoulders. There was always someone to call, someone to catch me when I fell. Yet somehow, there was a distinct loneliness at the same time. I was a small child lost in a huge crowd. There, but rarely fully seen.

I’ve tried my whole life, but I’ve never been able to reproduce the friendships my siblings have given me. ‘Built in best friends’ may be the saying, but even that doesn’t do it justice. I remember so much time spent playing. In the summer, chicken fights in the pool and walks to get water ice. In the fall and spring, hide-and-seek or freedom across our front and back yards. In the winter, sledding and flashlight tag for hours in the snow, even if all we could find were socks for gloves.

As the years passed and our family aged, we’d beg our older brothers to join us and once in a while they would oblige. I don’t think I’d ever felt a bigger win. Maybe I still haven’t.

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Through a Mother’s Eyes

Once I became a mother, I stopped answering the question, “What was it like?” Instead, I started asking myself, “What wasn’t it like? What did I miss out on?”

My son has many things I never did, but I think the greatest gift we’ve given him is the simplest. Two parents whose attention isn’t divided 11 ways. He doesn’t have an army behind him, but he has us. Two adults with the time and emotional capacity to navigate him through the challenges that he will face.

Lately, as a mother myself, I find it hard to blame my childhood. I think it asked the impossible of my parents and of their children.

My parents were outnumbered, but that doesn’t explain it all. My siblings and I were asked to grow up fast. There was always someone younger to teach, help, or watch. We were independent almost from the start.

It often felt like we were raising ourselves and each other. Down the line we taught each other everything from doing laundry, to cleaning, to riding a bike, to driving a car.

My siblings were the ones I experienced childhood with. I have such a strong and unique bond with them, but with my parents? Not so much. They couldn’t be an integral part of our lives. There wasn't much emotional availability. There wasn't even much availability. That’s the part motherhood made me realize.

What’s next?

My brothers and sister are so ingrained in who I am. I can’t imagine me without them and I won’t pretend it doesn’t pain me to consider denying that to my son.

Before motherhood, the answer was easy. But now it’s not so black and white.

Now that I’m a mother, I can see what I missed out on and I can give that to my son. I can give enough of myself to him.

He is growing up in a completely different childhood. He will never experience that kind of chaos. Well, maybe with his 25ish cousins. He won’t have to grow up as fast or feel that particular kind of loneliness. He doesn’t have a ‘built in best friend’.

But he will have two parents who have more of themselves to give.

It is my greatest hope that will be enough and that one day he will feel an even deeper pride in his family than I once did.

What's one MOMent from your own childhood or motherhood that has stayed with you? Add it to The MOMent Project for the opportunity to be featured weekly.

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I’m sitting in the quiet comfort of my room. Lamp on. Reading. Completely immersed, until my brief escape from reality comes to a halt. My throat tightens. I close the book. I’m unable to continue because I know all too well where the story is headed. Pregnancy loss.

I didn’t realize at the time how much I needed that story.

5 years ago, I lost a baby.

When I found out I was pregnant for the first time, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of intense joy that I had never experienced before. Losing my baby never, not once, crossed my mind as something that could happen to me. I was so naive to think like that.

But, I wasn’t told what to expect. I wasn’t even graced with the statistics— roughly 1 in 4 women will experience a miscarriage in their life.

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I remember sitting distraught in the doctor’s office after the ultrasound showed no heartbeat. I was given three options: the pill, to wait, or surgery. When I chose to wait, that was it. There was no warning or explanation of what the coming days would look like. No mention of what I would experience physically or emotionally.

A week later, through painful contractions. I panicked. I started desperately searching the internet for anyone I could relate to. I wanted to understand what was happening to me. I found very little about miscarriage in general and only one story that somewhat referenced what I was experiencing.

In the days that followed, my once indescribable joy turned to a grief that was almost physical. The tears would strangle me whenever they wanted to at a moment’s notice. Looking back, I’m sure that hormones had a roll to play. I wasn’t warned about that either.

My doctor was gentle, my hand was held, the news was broken to me kindly. But I was told nothing of what to expect. Beyond that, I had never seen on the screen, heard from a friend or read an account of what a pregnancy loss actually looked like.

And that’s what still angers me five years later. It’s not really the lack of warning, but the lack of stories. Because I know what it feels like to desperately need one and what it feels like to finally find one.

A few months after my loss, while trying for my son, I picked up a book series: Bridgerton. Very different from my usual reading, but they were easy, light, and took my mind off of my situation.

That is, until I reached the book about the Bridgerton sister who loses her husband and, soon after, loses her baby. I remember that moment so clearly. As I sat in my bed and the words on the page started to reveal the upcoming scene, I had to put the book down in horror. It hurt too much.

Somehow, I found the strength a few weeks later. I picked up the book again expecting another wave of grief. Instead, I felt relief. What happened to me was no longer a secret, no longer taboo, no longer something that set me apart. I had found a story that helped me to heal. To show me that I’m not alone.

They removed this scene from the televised new season. I don’t know why they did, but it felt so wrong. Maybe because after all this time, I’m still looking for these stories. And I hate the thought that someone else who needed it may have missed out on the relief that story gave me.

But rather than point fingers at the show I find myself pointing fingers at the world. Loss is a part of life. Pregnancy loss is a part of life. Yet, we skip over it. We hide it.

This was something that could’ve helped so many women to see. Not just those women who have experienced loss, but those who are faced with comforting someone who has lost a baby. And those who may need comforting in the future.

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Through all of this anger, I’ve also realized something that is difficult to admit.

I am part of the problem.

As strongly as I feel that stories like this should be told, I haven’t shared mine. It’s been five years, and I still struggle to say the word miscarriage out loud. I can’t listen to the song that is the title of this post because I tied it to that baby.

I kept my experience quiet. I told my two sisters and my closest friend and that is it. Not because I thought it was shameful. But because, I just truly could not bear someone talking about it unless I felt ready to bring it up to them.

The very first thing I ever wrote was my miscarriage story. Writing it was cathartic. And while I increasingly feel the call to share it, I’m not ready yet.

But I will.

Because I don’t want another woman to experience the fear, confusion and deep isolation that I felt.

Because stories about pregnancy loss matter.

Thank you for reading. If you have a MOMent, reflection, or experience you'd like to share, submit it to The MOMent Project for the opportunity to be featured weekly. You never know who might need your story.

Share Your MOMent

Yesterday, we were sitting on the couch together. You were on my lap and we were just talking. It was one of those rare MOMents when you realize that closeness may be all your child really needs.

Still, I started making suggestions on how we should spend tome together. The library? The park? The store? You gave me the answer you give more than half the time.

“I want to stay in this house,” you requested.

“You really like this house, don’t you?” I conceded.

“Did you know you’ve lived in two other houses? This is your third house and you’re only three years old.” I told you about the other houses. About how you were just a baby then. So small that I used to hold you on my chest.

“Hold me like a baby on your chest,” you said. So I did.

As we sat cuddled looking through pictures from that time, our hearts beating as one, it felt like we’d found our way back to those early days.

You were my baby again.

The problem is, I've never stopped thinking of you that way.

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WHEN did this happen?

This isn’t one of those “they grow up so fast” or reminiscent posts. It’s about this particularly painful transition. The 3 year old’s journey from baby to big boy.

It all started from a nickname. My husband is babe, my son is baby. That’s it. But soon he was following me around stores and I would casually call out, “Come on, baby.”

Then, it was ‘angel baby’. Then ‘baby boy’. The word followed us everywhere.

I eventually started using it more than his real name. After all, it was just the two of us for those long SAHM days.

Finally, he started calling himself a baby too.

“I’m not Lightning McQueen, I’m a baby.”
“I’m not a cutie patootie, I’m a baby.”
“I’m not a goofy goober, I’m a baby.”

I never corrected him because it felt true. Then one day, I realized I was the only one who still thought of him that way. Time caught up to me.

Our nanny arrived, and it became time to encourage independence and prepare for pre-K. Eventually, I realized I wasn’t just watching this transition happen. I was helping it happen. And I think that’s what’s really killing me.

It’s especially confusing to me since I’ve always loved this age. Ever since I met my first three-year-old, I’ve thought they were the funniest people. I’ve been looking forward to the hilarious conversations, the imaginative stories, the personality.

And now that my own son is finally there, I can’t handle it. I’m breaking down about it daily.

WHAT is this feeling?

I’ve felt this pain before, but it was always an “awe look how sweet he was back then” feeling. This feels almost like a panic.

I’ve never missed a phase while I was still in it. At least not that I can remember. But that’s the closest I can get to describing what this feels like. I’m trying to soak in this new version of him, each new quirk, and somehow I blink and it’s already gone.

He’s not in a big-boy bed yet. He still wears diapers to bed. He can’t fully dress himself. He hasn’t started preschool. But, that’s it. These are the very last little bits of babyhood. For the first time, I can see the end of a phase that always seemed endless. I can see the finish line and we’re approaching it fast.

WHY is this transition so hard?

In the past, every opportunity for him to grow felt like another step. This feels like stepping off a cliff.

I’m determined to figure out the reason why:

• Is it because I’m needed less? I feel like this is the obvious reason, but I’m not convinced it is my reason. Mom guilt eats at me to even mention it.

• Is it because I’m essentially causing my own pain? I think this might be the main culprit. Not only is he growing and becoming more independent, I am enabling it. I have to. He goes to pre-K in the fall. He needs to be able to follow directions and help himself. I’m preparing him for what’s next. I’m making time move faster.

• Is it fear of the unknown? Maybe a little bit. He no longer just needs basic caretaking. I have to guide him through life now and that feels really big.

• Or maybe I've simply slowed down enough to really notice the change. I'm not in survival mode anymore. I’m not crossing off a milestone and immediately turning to the next challenge.

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It could be all of these reasons or maybe I’m missing something. I still haven’t figured it out. What has eased the pain slightly is remembering why I used to love this stage.

Hope for the future

This morning, I sat across the table from my 4 year old nephew and had a real conversation with him. My son also chimed in, but only with a few phrases that didn’t make much sense. It hit me that one day soon, I’ll sit across from my son and be able to hear his thoughts about the world.

And for the first time since my son turned three, the future felt okay. Maybe even exciting. I started to see a glimmer of hope and notice some of the amazing things my big boy can do that my baby couldn’t.

• Express his feelings. I love hearing “Mama, I want you” and “Mama, I missed you.”

• Tell stories. They’re usually in broken English and often hilarious.

• Run. And run fast. It took him so long to walk, he crawled for months. Nine months!

• Listen to me read my own books. Not just sit beside me while I read aloud, but actually listen and become invested.

• Make friends. I’ll never get over watching this happen.

• Learn real life skills. This week it was how to make an pb&j sandwich start to finish.

As I help him grow, I think I’ll try to be grateful I get to see who he becomes. Still, I have a feeling I’ll never be able to stop calling him baby. And I’ll never forget this MOMent.

My big boy asked me to hold him like a baby.

So, I did and soaked up what could be the last time.

This^ is the kind of memory I’m collecting for The MOMent Project, below. I’ll also be selecting and featuring a few each week. If a MOMent of your own came to mind while reading, I'd love to hear it and share it with other mothers.

Share Your MOMent

The MOMent Project

Two years ago, I started keeping a running list in the Notes app on my phone where I recorded just one meaningful, funny, tender, or difficult thing from motherhood each day. Over the years, it has become a list of MOMents that I never want to forget. That list is my greatest treasure and possibly my best idea to date.

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So, I created a space for other mothers to share those MOMents too. Because motherhood moves too fast, and presence of mind is our only weapon against time.

The MOMent Project is part scrapbook and part community space. It was built around a few beliefs central to my life and writing:

The little MOMents in motherhood are what makes everything worthwhile.

The raw reality of parenthood needs to be shared.

Sharing life with other mothers makes parenting lighter and more meaningful.

Mindfulness and living in the present are the secrets to a happier life.

You can now submit your own MOMent (just one sentence is enough), and I’ll continue adding them to the project’s page over time. Every Friday, I will also post some my favorites. I cannot wait to read and share.

Share Your MOMent

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Tonight as he sits on the couch, smiling through his runny nose and sickness. We both notice it: his smile is changing. His signature chunky cheeks are fading. When he smiles it looks more… handsome than cute.

My son was only 3 months old on my first mother’s day. I put on a dress for the first time in a long time to go out with my family. We made an effort, but ended up just driving up and down our street trying to get my son to fall asleep for a nap.

I’m not wise by any means, but I’m certainly more seasoned than I was on that first mother’s day. If I could speak to the deeply lost, anxious new mom I once was, the one constantly searching for advice, this is what I would tell her.

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1. Your relationship will change drastically, BUT there’s no avoiding it.

Dear first Mother’s day me,

You worry about this more than anything. More than parenting. More than mental health. More than physical recovery. You do not want a child to affect your relationship.

My advise to you is simple. Accept it. It’s going to happen, it is normal and there is no avoiding it.

A child was supposed to only grow our love, but everything felt harder.

The problem for me wasn’t exactly that our relationship was changing. The problem was that I thought it wasn’t supposed to. A child was supposed to only grow our love.

I remember the exact moment the lightbulb went off. I came across a podcast episode while rocking my sweet boy to sleep for his nap. They talked about how common it was for relationships to struggle when a baby enters the picture and introduced the concept of the mental load to me. I instantly felt a huge weight lift off of my chest.

We weren’t on the edge of falling apart or anything, but still my relief was palpable because I realized this wasn’t uniquely ours. We were adjusting to something huge and that was ok.

That realization helped me stop searching for what may be wrong with us and start looking at what was missing around us. It was always going to be hard, but I think our biggest struggle was that we underestimated the importance of a village.

Connection is the glue of a relationship, and without any help to support the family, alone time becomes nonexistent.

We thought about a village in passing, maybe. We didn’t consider it deeply or seriously and certainly not before deciding to have a child.

I grew up in a family of 11 children, we were always together. I helped raise nieces and nephews. I never thought about how my older brothers would already have a few children by the time I needed support with one. I never thought about my parent’s health declining. Or about how my younger siblings are still building lives of their own. I wish I had known.

Villages don’t just exist. Sometimes you have to build them.

And even then, they can disappear overnight. A nanny quits. A babysitter moves. It never fully ends.

Realize this. Take it easy on yourself. Be gentler with each other. It’s not going to be easy on your relationship to raise a child without support and it was never supposed to be.

And while I’m being honest…

2. You think you are the only one who has no clue what you are doing, BUT no one does.

Listen to me. Those instagram parenting accounts are not the Bible.

Those books and methods about sleep schedules, eating habits, discipline strategies. They are not foolproof strategies.

And if they don’t work for you, you are not failing. Not even close.

Not every toy must be developmentally appropriate. There is no magical baby product. Please, stop giving others more weight than yourself.

Instead, build your intuition. Trust your gut when something sounds weird, too structured or too good to be true. Get to know your baby and how to satisfy their needs. Spend more time with your baby, and less with the people paid to reel you in with false promises.

Even experts do not know your exact child or your exact situation

You do know what’s best, somehow. And what you don’t know yet you will learn. You will slowly tune into it.

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I eventually found all of this out for myself and broke the pattern, but way too late. I share that part of my motherhood journey in detail in a previous post: “Wont Get Fooled Again” - MOMents with Mary

3. Matrescence is very very real, BUT you won’t miss the old you.

Those somewhat cheesy posts you read on how motherhood changes you and that you loose your old self. All of that nonsense.

It is completely and utterly true.

Matrescence is the definition of what is happening to you and there are three stages: losing yourself, starting to rebuild and becoming unstoppable.

For you it will be a huge change for the better, and I hope that’s true for most mothers as well.

You will lose yourself.

I completely lost myself after my son was born. I wonder if this happens to all first-time mothers or if some are wise enough to hold on to little pieces of themselves along the way.

My days were full of him. Anything else felt foreign or odd to me. I went back to work around 5 months postpartum and it just didn’t feel right. So, when my son was 8 months old, I became a stay-at-home mom.

You will start to rebuild.

I didn’t really start to feel my new self forming until I stopped breastfeeding after 15 months. I remember walking up the stairs to my son with a bottle heavily held in my hand. I was worried he’d refuse it, but even more worried that he wouldn’t.

He took the bottle no problem. He was ready. I wasn’t. That phase of being so needed was over. What would I do with the abundance of freedom? Suddenly, I could leave his side for longer than an hour to go to concerts or have a drink or two with friends. I no longer lived by feedings. I no longer lived by a clock. I started to realize I hadn’t disappeared completely.

You will become unstoppable.

Around two years postpartum, I began to feel so much more space for myself. I started my own tax business working in the margins of SAHM life. I accomplished a lot of things that the old version of me would’ve been shocked to see. The old me would never have had that kind of courage.

I think that this unstoppable feeling has come from what motherhood involves. Becoming a mother changes your perception of what you’re capable of. Once you’ve conquered pregnancy, labor, sleep deprivation, tantrums, all while pouring out unending love, other challenges can start to seem like a walk in the park.

You got this. You’re doing far better than you think you are.

With love,

The mother you’re becoming

I don’t miss the old naive me. She is wildly different from who I am now.

I still don’t fully know who this new person is 3 years postpartum. I kind of love her though. She is confident in motherhood.

I wish I could go back and tell myself that relationship struggles were normal, to trust my own intuition and to embrace the changes to come. Maybe my motherhood journey would’ve felt lighter if I had known those things sooner. But, maybe no amount of advice could’ve rushed the journey to the mother that I’ve become.

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“I Will Kiss It For You.”

I break my tear soaked gaze from the blank wall and turn to him. I’m pained to see that his volume of tears matches mine. I nod, whisper thank you and he lays his little lips on my forehead.

We were supposed to be enjoying breakfast together. It was my day off and our special time together. Friday, the day we’ve affectionately come to call “Mommy and ___ day”.

But instead, I broke down in front of my son. I couldn’t hold it in. I was exhausted, burnt out. I had been giving everything I had and it finally caught up to me.

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I watched his face turn from confusion, to pain, to full blown wailing in the blink of an eye. So, I quickly lied to him. As a knee jerk reaction, I said “Mommy’s head hurts” and his caring response followed.

I upset him, then lied, and he still showed up for me with so much care. It didn’t sit right with me. My sister’s reminder that children understand more than we think made me decide to go back and be honest with him.

I simply told him the truth. That I was busy with work, that I was sorry for being distracted, and that soon things would feel normal again. I didn’t expect him not only to comprehend, but to continue checking in on me the rest of the day.

Every hour: “Mom?” (pause) “you good?”.

In his big reaction to my struggle and those small check-ins, something shifted for me.

When I’m overwhelmed, motherhood can feel like a responsibility or just another area I’m falling behind. On the harder days, it starts to feel like a checklist. Something to get through. Something to keep up with.

Because of that moment and his empathy and instinct to care for me, my perspective shifted. Motherhood no longer felt like a role. It felt like a privilege.

A privilege to be loved that purely and deeply.

That realization didn’t end with that moment, but has continued to follow me. Because I believe that love is support and that day my newly 3 year old supported me. He all but carried me on his little shoulders. Is there any truer form of love?

That shift came in the middle of one of the harder weeks I’ve had.

From Role to Privilege

This past week, I was working full-time as a mother for the first time. I even crossed into overtime and, if I’m honest, it broke me a little. I kept thinking how do women do this? How are they actually holding all of this together?

How?

The word was stuck on a loop in my head. I still have no clear answer to that one-word question, but I did gain more solid evidence that the MOMents are what carry us. They make motherhood worthwhile. They cut through even when all you feel is complete overwhelm.

Want to share your “how” or thoughts on full-time work as a mother? Leave a comment.

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Since that kiss on the forehead, I haven’t been able to shake this pull towards gratitude. The perspective shift I seem to have gained was almost worth the burnout.

I talk a lot about the raw reality of motherhood, the good and the bad, but right now I just want to hold onto gratitude as long as I can. I want to talk about the good parts that fill us up. The pride we feel in calling ourselves a mother. So I don’t forget it when things feel hard again.

Because motherhood truly is a privilege. Day in and day out. Whether we are able to see it at the time or not.

A privilege to experience the awe and joy in the small MOMents

There is an abundance of awe in motherhood… During this busy time, I was stuck inside at a desk all morning and then again at night. The afternoons became my time with him. We would go on walks whenever the weather allowed. His face lit up every time I suggested it and he marched out the door with a spring in his step. To anyone watching, we were walking a couple blocks, pointing out a few things and maybe just passing time. But in reality, those brief afternoons were filled with awe. We touched the flowers blooming on the trees, ran fast like race cars, and threw sticks into the creek. I watched him marvel at it all and those slow moments with him were so healing.

There is a special kind of joy in motherhood… The second the grind was over, once I knew for sure my long nights and overtime hours were done. I grabbed my son’s hand and took him outside. I filled up the smallest kiddie pool imaginable. I never could’ve guessed the joy that tiny pool would produce. I don’t think I’ve seen him like that since I’ve known him. He kept asking me to grab his hands and swing him into it, over and over. To stomp my feet with him and make waves… in this laughably miniature pool. We were both so much lighter. Time stopped and it was just me and him.

There is one other privilege in motherhood that I can’t stop noticing lately even if it doesn’t always feel like one.

A privilege to be so needed.

I was the one who need comfort this time, but there is a powerful beauty in the little moments where mothers get to step in and make things right again. Sometimes it’s as little as a lost toy. Sometimes it’s something massive a child is going through like missing you while you’re away at work, navigating struggles with friends or calming tantrums.

I recently read a book to my son called My Mummy Is Magic by Carl Norac. In it, the mother can kiss away the pain from boo-boos and guess secrets before the child even finishes whispering them.

Labeling the connection we have with our children as magical may sound over the top, but to them it’s real. Being able to give them what they need, often at a moment’s notice feels like magic. It can be exhausting for us at times, but what a gift it is to be the ones they turn to for everything. The amount that they need you is undeniable. It is exhausting for sure, but also beautiful and powerful in a way.

MARY: “What do you love most about motherhood? Conversely, what do you struggle with the most?”

AUBREY: “It’s being their everything, and then it’s being their everything, right? It’s kind of the same.

Mom Talk: Episode 1, Part 2 - Aubrey Matthews - “They are my whole heart... and my last nerve”. - MOMents with Mary

So often we are caught up in the weeds of our own life, but if we can zoom out enough our perspective can shift. Motherhood is a privilege. And for me, it was a long road to get here. I hate how easily I can forget that. There are struggles in motherhood, but there is also a kind of beauty that makes you pause and cherish.

Like a three-year-old, recognizing a hard moment, offering to kiss it better and then checking in on you for the rest of the day.

I hope I stay in this mindset of beauty and privilege and MOMents, not checklists and roles a little longer this time. Maybe that’s the “how” I’ve been looking for.

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Lately, every part of my life seems to demand something from me - except writing. Writing only gives. So I’m hiding here for a moment, in my safe space.

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The Five Roles

In this season, I’ve realized my days are split between five roles competing for my attention in no particular order.

Writer - What a privilege it is.

Mother - My son has been sick, and I’ve cared for him diligently. Maybe too diligently. The level of attention he needed seems to have become the new standard, resulting in constant whining even as the sickness has faded. Mom guilt has me wondering if the transition to me working part-time also has something to do with it.

Part-Time Employee - I started a new job four months ago after eight years at the same firm and two years as a stay-at-home mom. My brain is suddenly forming new pathways again as I learn a new firm, new clients, new software, and new processes. I went from playing games, singing songs, cooking meals, and kissing boo-boos back to reality and it is challenging.

Business Owner - I prepare a few tax returns on the side. Last tax season I built this business from nothing in the in-between hours when my son was sleeping. I’m not ready to say goodbye to it yet even though it doesn’t make much sense to continue. I love the freedom of working when I want, with who I want, and figuring things out in my own way.

Wife - This may be last on the list, but it’s an important one. My husband works long hours and depends on me to keep things together. Because of that, I rarely feel like I can lean on him and I’m usually the one giving.

Five roles, all pulling at the same limited energy. And yet, I keep choosing them. So whose fault is this burnout?

Is it my son’s for being too needy? My job for likely giving me too many returns for the amount of hours I work? My loved ones for not seeing how much I need them to go the extra mile right now?

It’s my fault.

You might say, no you’re being too hard on yourself. But you’re wrong. I want to write. I want to lead my family. I want to show up at this new job and keep my own business afloat. Yes, this is a hard season relatively speaking. I mean, it is harder than I imagined it would be. But it’s also a season I created for myself.

After some reflection, I’ve rediscovered the one thing that will help me push through is purpose. I’m surviving right now by remembering that every one of these roles is tied to something that matters deeply to me.

Why The Roles Matter

When I hit a major wall this week, exhausted and questioning myself, I pulled out my phone and quickly jotted down the reasons why.

Writer — I write to heal myself, to connect with other mothers, to grow in motherhood, and hopefully to leave something meaningful behind.

Mother — Being a mother gives my life exponential amounts of purpose. It is the most sacred role I will ever have.

Part-time employee — I took this new job to learn and gain experience, but most of all for flexibility, allowing myself more time with my son as he grows up.

Business owner — After years of working under someone else’s constant direction, I finally found the confidence to build something my own way from nothing.

Wife — Partnership and family matters to me. I believe in the love and fulfillment that comes from supporting someone and being supported in return.

And that is why I keep choosing these roles everyday, they align with my purpose.

Little-p purpose

I might not have made this connection between burnout and purpose if I hadn’t come across an episode1 of one of my favorite podcasts a few months ago. The Happiness Lab with Dr. Laurie Santos.

The episode focused on purpose, and I drank in every word because I’ve always felt it was missing from my life. What is my purpose? During long nights when insomnia crept in, that question would haunt me.

I listened as they described the idea of “little-p purpose” rather than “big-P Purpose”, reframing the concept as something small. Labeling purpose as the meaningful things you do regularly, not some big, intimidating life mission or legacy you have to exhaust yourself trying to achieve.

And suddenly, the roles in my life started to look different. I started to think about how each one can and does give me deep meaning every day.

Realignment

On a similar but slightly different note, another episode2 from the same podcast discussed making life decisions, and I think about it almost every day. It suggested that instead of chasing the so-called perfect choices everyone seems to push you toward, gravitate to what has consistently interested you going all the way back to childhood. As a child, your interests didn’t bring you optimized outcomes they simply brought you joy and happiness. They were natural choices.

I found that idea eye-opening and very relatable, especially since I spend most days watching and nurturing my own child. It gave me a new way to think about realigning my life.

When I was young, I was a caring big sister who valued family and always had a natural desire for independence. Numbers drew me in and just made sense to me, but above all I was addicted to the written word. I escaped into books and the worlds writers created with awe.

Writer. Mother. Number Cruncher. Business Owner. Wife. These five roles have been calling to me for years.

Once I realized how true this was for me, I started seeing it everywhere. A friend who had a natural gift with babies even as a child is now a children’s nurse. A boy staged plays for his family in the living room is now a Broadway star. A brother who never grew up and spent childhood cheering us on and guiding us is now a children’s sports coach. All three of them happy, simply by following what came naturally as a child.

What’s one thing you loved as a child that still brings you joy today? Leave a comment.

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That’s The Point

I wasn’t always this aligned. For most of my life I was pushed and pulled by everyone but myself. Even a year ago, I felt completely lost. If you had asked me my purpose, I wouldn’t have had an answer and and feeling like I was drifting through life was harder for me than burnout.

So, yes, I’m burnt out, but that’s the point. The daily grind right now is harder than I expected, but these roles matter to me and I know they each serve a distinct purpose. They align with how I want to live my life.

If you’re feeling worn down, I invite you to realign yourself. What is driving you in this season? Write it out, as I did. If you find purpose in the roles that are consuming you, keep them. If not, let them go.

And if you’d like to reflect and share your little-p purpose or you’re feeling the burn out too. What roles are defining this season in your life?

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Because sometimes the life that drains you may also be the life that you chose on purpose.

We are sitting at dinner overlooking the ocean and the beach. Just the three of us. My family. I’m very aware that it’s the last night of vacation and I drink in the view of the ocean at sunset. The warmth settles into the water, a steady glow spilling across the surface. I scan my memories in disbelief. How have I never been near the beach at this time of day? I’m sure there is no better representation of the “golden hour”.

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You ask to go in the sand and the water and I’m peeled away from my daydreams. I catch my husband’s eye and smile thinking of how hard he’s worked to give us this time together. I tell him to order himself dessert because I’m taking you down to the beach. Actually, I ask him if we can go… I’m not sure why. Maybe because I suddenly feel like a child myself, filled with excitement over the prospect. All of this carefree time with you must be rubbing off on me.

For a second, I’m young again, turning to my own father. “Dad? Can we go down and play in the sand?” I hold my breath, bracing for one of the many practical reasons why we shouldn’t. When he nods yes, excitement floods in. I look at you and realize how lucky we are to have him, and each other.

Our toes touch the sand, then the water. The ocean’s color is nothing I ever would’ve guessed, somehow silver from the setting sun. The horizon, however, is the quintessential pink and orange, mirroring your bright cheeks as you run back and forth across the sand. You can’t stop running. Down to the water and back and over and over, shrieking with joy. Rattling off an imaginary reason we need to escape the calmest of waves. “Here comes a big one!! AHHHHH”.

I can’t help but run with you, of course, because at this point I am no longer just your mother, I am a child too. It is magical. When we finally return home, I sit beside my husband and quietly tell him, “I feel lighter.”

I never want to forget that scene in my life. It almost didn’t happen. I could’ve succumbed to the thoughts of the daily grind - it’s past your bedtime, we had just rinsed the sand off of you, facing a long night of packing and a long day of travel ahead. I’m proud I chose that MOMent with you instead.

…I long ago discovered the secret to slowing time, “be present, be present, be present” repeats in my mind as I drift asleep.- “Just the Two of Us” - MOMents with Mary

THE STRUGGLE IS REAL

Lately, I’ve been struggling to choose presence. I haven’t been able to practice what I preach - living in the MOMent. There is no particular reason for the failure, no earth shattering distraction in my life. It is just extremely hard to be mindful and present. Why? These days, most of us keep our lives overflowing with activity, goals, distractions… our phones. There is too much focus on DOING rather than BEING. I shouldn’t have to fly somewhere and escape from life to feel a beautiful MOMent of presence. These moments surround us every day, just waiting for us to slow down enough to notice.

At least I know I’m not alone in this modern day struggle. This week, I watched an influencer parody a mother’s mental load with a nonstop inner monologue of tasks and to-dos. In the middle of it, she looks down to see her loyal golden retriever quietly following her, just wanting some connection. She pauses to pet him, and the noise in her head stops. That pause wasn’t on her list of tasks, but it was exactly what she needed.

A few weeks ago, one of the creators of a motherhood podcast I followed suddenly posted that she would be quitting/deleting all social media. Her reasoning was that she didn’t want to miss a single moment of her children growing. She recently had her second child and couldn’t stand the thought of her phone standing between her and her daughter like it did with her son. She was essentially quitting her job and possibly her dream to be present for them.

These two examples are opposite extremes. I’m searching for something in the middle. A life where there is balance between productivity and slowing down, ambition coexists with rest, and presence isn’t killed by distraction.

HOW TO CHOOSE THE MOMENT

I already know it’s the key to thriving in motherhood and to a happier life and yet I still struggle to make presence of mind a priority. These days, practicing, intentionally slowing down, and pausing to reflect and jot down the MOMents are what help me the most.

I do think it is a practice makes perfect situation. I could rattle off the tips that I’ve shared in previous posts, but it really comes down to this: the more you slow down, the easier it becomes. The more you force yourself to break out from the trance of your own thoughts, the invisible string pulling you through your life screaming WHAT’S NEXT, MARY?!, the more natural it feels.

I will also say that the moments when it feels hardest to be present are often the very moments a pause would be most beneficial. When my son asks me to play and my mind starts shouting, “No! You’re cleaning. You’re writing. You need to start dinner!”. That’s usually my cue to stop and give him a moment and that’s when it serves us both the most.

Our children know nothing but the innocent present. They don’t harp on yesterday or what’s going to happen tomorrow. Let’s take a page from their book and bring that same carefree happiness into our lives… - “Savoring and Gratitude” - MOMents with Mary

My son’s birthday is in a few weeks. While I am excited to have hilarious 3 year old conversations, my dramatic self can’t help but view this birthday and this year as the death of babyhood. No more crib, no more diapers, pre-school around the corner. This jolt of reality is a sharp reminder of why being present matters. Sometimes it takes a big life event to call you back, sometimes it’s just a breath, a pause, or a second of gratitude.

I remember writing a similar post when he turned two, reminding myself to slow down. I referenced the running list of motherhood memories tucked into my phone, the tiny everyday MOMents I don’t want to forget. Writing them down has become the best way to truly live them, to let them soak in. Maybe this post nudges you to notice your own life in the same way. I hope it does, from the bottom of my heart.

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If you’re not convinced of the benefits yet, here’s a final glimpse of what a few minutes of presence allowed me to do this week.

• Soak in the feeling of my son falling asleep in my arms, something I thought had ended 2 years ago.

• Chase lizards across the pavement with reckless abandon together.

• Watch him marvel over seeing a cactus for the first time, only to realize it was my first time too.

• Share belly laughs from stomping at the edge of the ocean, convinced he was the one making the waves.

Want to give the glorious gift of being present? Share this post.

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Growing up, I thought my parents held all of the answers in life. It’s almost laughable how long I believed that. Even into college, their word was gold. As a parent myself now, I can reflect on the desperate dependence I had on them.

We are our children’s everything, their guide, their nurturer and I believe who they ultimately become is shaped more by Nurture than Nature.

It starts with “What’s that, Mama?” Then they repeat our words and study how we treat others. Before we know it, they’re no longer just watching the world, they’re out there contributing to it.

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Maybe now more than ever… it is crucial to focus on what we teach them, what we say to them, what we say to others and what we give off.

…What we teach them

We are their first teacher. What a privilege. What a massive responsibility. This is the sleeper joy of motherhood for me, the cherry on top. The gift I always seem to forget that I possess.

What should we teach them? Well, what do we, ourselves, value? A huge one for me is empathy. I experienced an amazing revelation this week - empathy is a teachable skill. We can actually teach our children to be empathetic to others. We can combat hate as parents by starting in our homes. With all of the horrors we see on the news today, I can’t help but shift my focus towards raising an empathetic human being.

One of the things I love about this space is learning from other writers. This piece by “What, Like It’s Hard?” inspired these thoughts about empathy.

The post discusses how reading fosters empathy - how could I forget?! - and mentions that more than half of parents are not reading to their children these days. This is so important to hear. I cannot wait to teach my son how to read and sharing books with him is my favorite way to spend our time together. Imagine my joy at hearing that reading will also foster my utmost value, empathy, in him.

Recently, I’ve found myself singing “We take care of each other” from Daniel Tiger, while helping him throughout the day. I’m hoping it helps to reinforce the idea that he is also capable of caring for others. I’m trying to show him that empathy doesn’t just belong to parents, but it’s something we practice, in small and simple ways, even at his age.

Alongside empathy, I teach him about the simpler things that I value. A love of nature, a love of cooking, a love of music and the beautiful, grounding things in life. I want him to grow up knowing that life, even when it’s heavy, can still be beautiful and joyful.

Conversely, in showing him all of this, I’m reminded that children are teaching us too. Sometimes I think I could write an entire book on what children teach us. Mainly, what we can learn if we slow down and pay attention. Maybe one day, I will.

…What we say to them

This point is obvious and hopefully what most parents focus on. We become their inner voice. The concept may sound silly, but I firmly believe this is true. The words we utter to our children are so important. They will hear them in their heads for years to come.

By focusing on the words and phrases we use, we can give them self-confidence and resilience. We can instill a growth vs fixed mindset. The list of benefits is endless. What we say to them also models for them how to talk to others.

…What we say to others

They are listening to every single word. My son is only two (almost 3) and he is always listening. I feel like every month that passes by we need to be even more aware of what we say because he is more aware.

I recently saw a poll asking whether children should know the financial state of their home. I do not think they should. Someone shared that her husband was painfully aware as a child and still carries that stress today.

That resonated with me. Growing up, I listened as my parents discussed money and spoke harshly to one another, and it made life feel unstable.

It’s a reminder to be mindful of our adult conversations, even casual ones. Be aware of our children’s presence. It’s so hard when we are living adult lives, but there are a few tricks I, myself, need to incorporate. Separating emotion from what we need to say, labeling conversations as “adult stuff” or saving them for another time away from little ears, and repairing with them when we ultimately slip up. This helps protect a child’s sense of safety.

If you’re also feeling the importance of parenthood after reading this, share a few ways we can be our best for our children. Leave a comment.

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…What we give off

Our aura, our home, our calm or panic affects our children deeply. I can’t recall many of the events of my childhood, but I can remember how I felt. I felt scared and unstable when there was tension in the home and calm when there was a moment of peace.

Our energy and our presence shapes their sense of safety. This is probably what I’ve struggled with the most in the past. With the many hats that I, and mom’s in general, are juggling, the overwhelm and stress can creep into my home and my mood. I’ve very slowly realized that filling our cups as moms whenever we can is a crucial first step to combatting this.

What are some other ways I can change what my home feels like and what I feel like to my child? I’m still learning, but for now one of my go-tos is music. The right song can change not only our mood but our entire day. Another one is silliness. There is just something magical about how easy it is to get kids to join in on the silliness or get them to laugh, they eat it up.

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At first glance, these focus points may feel overwhelming, but they’re really about redirecting. This isn’t a call for perfection, but an invitation to gently refocus on the importance of parenthood. Even as I feel disconnected from motherhood while juggling work, writing, and everything else, I don’t want to lose sight of its place as the pillar of my life.

The state of the world seems impossible to ignore. How can we overcome the wrongs that are going on today? We can create a better world. The task is literally on our shoulders. We are building, teaching, guiding the world we want to live in. What could be more important than that?

Do you also believe parenthood is the most important job in the world? Spread the word. Share this post.

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I’m sitting in my new private office for the first time. I finally made it. My own office with a beautiful view of the river and university campus next door. There is a new, open notepad on my desk that reads “Welcome Back Mary” and a sparkling, gold welcome sign strung along the window. I watch through my open door as every person’s face lights up when they pass by. They stop in to ask how I am and how my son is. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, I’ve known these people for 8 years, but still, their excitement to see me back is overwhelming.

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I dismiss the hundredth guest to enter, glance down and realize my chest is hard and aching. I need to pump, now. I grab my backpack and discreetly walk down the hall, avoiding eye contact with any other coworkers who may be looking to catch up. Panic sets in, I waited almost 3 hours. Too long. My hands fumble with the pump, rushing to set it up, praying for relief, even though I’ve never felt much from one. Praying no one somehow opens the locked door. When the 20 minutes are up, I try to sneak back down the hall, only to get trapped in kitchen small talk, while awkwardly and shamefully tucking my breastmilk into the fridge.

I make it back to my office and this time I close the door with a sigh of relief. I open my computer and check my email for the damage that an hour reprieve took on my workload. Almost instantly, my mind drifts to my son. Saying goodbye to him this morning cut deep. I can still see his sweet face and crystal blue eyes focused on mine as I strap him into the car seat in my sister, his nanny’s, car. So oblivious. So innocent. My mind drifts back to reality and I open my phone to watch the snapchat updates from my sister over and over again. My productivity is laughable. I spend half my time checking on my son and the other half hooked up to a pump every two hours. A final visitor knocks on the door and asks how old my son is now. "He’s 6 months”, I say. He exclaims “That’s the best age! It’s smooth sailing once they can sit up themselves, but before they are walking!”

I feel the guilt consuming me. Its shriveled hand wraps around my heart, squeezing it like a stress ball ready to burst. Frustrated with myself, my brain spirals until one loud thought surfaces - “WHAT AM I EVEN DOING HERE?!?!” I don’t care enough about these people, my coworkers, my clients. Not nearly enough to choose them over my son. I’m not a productive worker anymore and I’m not a present mother anymore. I’m failing at both roles. Something has got to give.

2 months later… THE BEST DECISION OF MY LIFE

Nannying is not working out for my sister right now. I work 24 hours a week, but I either need to work more or quit so she can look for a job elsewhere. Still, that choice isn’t what makes the decision for me. It is the guilt. It is the constant questioning of if I am choosing work over him.

I also begin to question if something is specifically wrong with me. I mean, how do people DO this? How do other parents give their children to someone else all day, spend an hour or two with them, then wake up and immediately send them away again the next day?

I can’t stop thinking about the joy on his face when we are reunited. Even at the age of 8 months, his feelings on the matter are so evident. When he comes home and sees me there, he grabs onto me with the strength of an athlete. After a lot of reflection, I choose to stay home with my son. After dedicating 8 years of my life to my job, I submit my resignation.

The following two years home with my son are nothing short of magical. What a privilege it is. I start writing to document and preserve that magic. There are intense struggles, of course, because the job of a SAHM is the most challenging job there is. There is also immeasurable joy and beauty in the countless MOMents we spend together.

I stare catatonic out the window and thoughts like “I can’t handle this” and “I’m not cut out for motherhood” fill my exhausted mind. - “I forgot he loves me.” - MOMents with Mary

Our days are full of excursions exploring the neighborhood together or unpacking the house together. I miss you when you’re sleeping because we are so close now.” - “Slipping through my fingers all the time.” - MOMents with Mary

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2 years later… THE GUILT RETURNS

I need to work again and I am in agony. Please, someone tell me that no matter what I choose I am still a good mom. Better yet, someone make this decision for me because I can’t take this anymore. I spend every night calculating different part-time schedules and correlating how many hours I would spend with him a week versus without him. I spend every day scrolling various nannying apps. I look at the women’s faces, read their bios and proceed to almost vomit at the thought of handing him over to a total stranger.

Today… CLARITY?

I give the nanny, my sister, the debrief on today’s schedule. I give my son a kiss, grab my coffee and head up the stairs. I sit at my desk and lose myself in a tax return. I hear my son laughing and running across the floor downstairs. He is racing his cousin. My mind drifts back to that day in my private office for the first time. There are so many parallels. Saying goodbye to my son, sitting at my desk, distracted by him, but not able to care for him. However, there is one major difference:

I feel no working mom guilt, nothing. At all. I’m finally free.

I still don’t know why that is. Why are my feelings surrounding work so drastically different than the last time I tried this? What changed?

• Working is a part of who I am?… Before motherhood, it’s basically all I’d known. I calculated it. I’ve worked for 14 years of my life straight.

• 2 years of SAHM life was enough?… I spent 12 hours a day with my son for 2 full years of his life. Maybe, it’s time for a new chapter. I gave it my all, I built an indestructible bond. I don’t stop being the mother that I am just because I no longer spend every waking hour by his side.

• Things are different now?… Maybe, I found the perfect job, the perfect nanny, the perfect part-time schedule. I work 17 hours a week, not 24. I work in a parallel, but different field. Somewhere along the way my needs changed and his needs changed. He is no longer breastfeeding, no longer struggling to communicate, no longer as reliant on me.

• A mindset shift?… I realize it’s not really a question of if I am choosing work over him. It’s a question of what is best for my overall family at this time. I know now that I can be a good mom and a working mom.

Know another mom who struggles with working mom guilt? I hope my experience can help in some way. Let her know she isn’t alone. Share this post.

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There is constant fluidity in motherhood. Just like our children change, the role changes day to day. I know every mother has heard the reassuring saying “Remember, it’s just a phase.” But it’s always said in reference to the child. Has anyone ever said it about motherhood? Because we aren’t just raising our children. We’re growing alongside them. Simultaneously. Together.

This is my working mom phase. A meaningful, necessary phase on the way to the mother I am so beautifully becoming. I’m grateful for the SAHM that I was and I’m grateful for the working mom that I am today. There is no guilt right now, and it is freeing. Now if only I could stop feeling guilty about my lack of guilt.

Seriously, please advise if this is normal? Leave a comment on my experience with working mom guilt or yours.

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My small, quivering way of life slowly became a triumph from that moment onward. This resolution was different because it came from honesty with myself instead of just empty hope and I know that’s what ultimately made it stick. After two reflective years of growth, I have gained the confidence to say that I’m no longer afraid to live my life the way that I want.

This resolution brought me so many accomplishments over two years: leaving my workhorse job to be stay-at-home full time, running a 10 miler less than a year after giving birth, the pixie haircut I put off my entire life, posting my writing out into the world, starting my own business then interviewing and becoming a working mother again.

Overall, embracing this resolution changed my life in three major ways. The toughest, most rewarding change affected motherhood.

Ignoring Fear - I EMBRACED MOTHERHOOD

My journey through motherhood has been strangled by fear. The fear that I would screw up, that he would get hurt, that he would get sick, that my marriage would change. You name it, I’ve been worried about it.

I was never diagnosed, but looking back the high level of postpartum anxiety was undeniable. Even worse my anxiety and my husband’s stress fed off of each other. Me, a new mother with absolutely no answers or guide through this life overhaul. Him, a new dad and a doctor who had already been exposed to every health crisis a parent can experience.

“The panic of a first-time mother is real and social media prays on that. There is always the question of “Am I doing this right?” - Won’t Get Fooled Again by MOMents with Mary

We were petrified and barely functioning. It felt like parenthood had slapped us in the face. We were also alone. For the first 3 months of my son’s life we were 3 hours from any family or close friends. Slowly, the fear started to subside as we worked with each other rather than against, always put our son first and started to find the joy in parenting.

The postpartum fog didn’t fully lift until my son turned two. I don’t know who I was before then, a shell of myself really. I was nothing at all resembling the confident, capable mother and person I am now. The catalyst may have been my son getting older. It may have been ending breastfeeding, moving into a bigger home or finding my routine as a SAHM all around that time. I’d like to think it was the lessening fear.

Realistically, there will always be deep concern and a level of fear for my child. However, once it stopped crippling me I started to find the beautiful MOMents, appreciate these glory days and be more present. I started to become a mother that I could be proud of.

Ignoring Fear - I BECAME A WRITER

It’s nearly impossible to describe how much books are a part of my life. My family will tell you that as soon as I could read, I’d climb into my reading nook (the tree in my backyard) and devour them. I’ve loved to read from as far back as I can remember. Books were nothing short of treasures to me and writers were my idols.

I never once realized that I could attempt to do what they did. I used writing here and there to process my feelings growing up, but I never thought about it seriously. Until writing about my pregnancy loss launched me out of a dark place and onto the path of healing. After that I wanted to learn how to write. Could I do it? I realized I could if I let go of the fear. I could maybe become some semblance of the people that I worshipped.

I did some research on writers, but one book especially You Are a Writer (So Start Acting Like One) by Jeff Goins told me that, heck, I already was one. A few of his signs that you’re a writer really resonated with me:

1. You naturally pay attention to language, ideas, and stories around you. I am one of those people who always tell long-winded stories. One worded explanations don’t exist in my world. Movie plots, book plots would always marvel me. I would watch and wonder at how someone could come up with these groundbreaking ideas.

2. Writing helps you process what you think and feel. When overly upset, I would write it out to process. The notes app on my phone is a train wreck of thoughts. All of the birthday and holiday cards I’ve gifted contain three paragraphs detailing what that person meant to me.

On Writing by Stephen King gave me a glimpse into the way a writer and one of my idols works. Here are a few of his indications that you are meant to be a writer that landed with me:

1. You feel an internal pull to write that doesn’t depend on praise, money, or permission. I’m drawn to it, whether it’s reading and analyzing or continuing a story I started writing. Whether I have zero subscribers or 20 subscribers (woohoo!), I feel that pull.

2. You read a lot and understand that reading is inseparable from becoming a better writer. This one was huge. King believes you cannot be a good writer unless you read, pretty much all of the time. When I read that it was like he was giving me permission. No, he was screaming at me through the page - take a stab at it!

These books were inspiring and I recommend them to anyone who feels the call to write. Still, it took me 3 more years after finding them to even complete a piece let alone allow someone else to read my writing. The fear was holding me back, hard. It was the fear of failure, but more so the fear that I would start and then would give up on my dream. Once I let the fear go some pretty great things started to happen.

Without the fear, I didn’t give up. I’ve somehow posted regularly for an entire year through the wild ride of motherhood and the reward has reshaped my life. Through writing I’ve learned so much about motherhood, other mothers and even about myself outside of the role.

I have a passion, finally. After years of going wherever life decided to pull me, I dropped the fear, took the reins and started driving myself. Now writing is my passion, I love it. I’ll never stop, they’ll have to pry the keyboard from my cold, dead hands.

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Ignoring fear - I FOUND CONFIDENCE

Leave my job? Stay home full time? …I remember describing my fear over the prospect to my husband. “It feels like I’m about to walk off of a cliff and just hope that you will catch me”. I did it though, I ignored the paralyzing fear and and it was hands down the best decision I have ever made.

Start my own tax business? In the middle of tax season? While being a full time SAHM? …I have to say after overcoming so many other fears I was at least somehow able to jump right into this one head first.

Interview for a new job? After being with the same company my entire career (8yrs)? …This was a tough one, but I did it. The more I interviewed and found the courage to put myself out there, the easier it got.

Accept the job? Go back to the disaster that was part-time work with a child? …Just a month ago I was panicked over the possibility. I was afraid how going back to work would affect my family. Turns out working with a 5 month old and working with a 2.5 year old are worlds different. I leaned into the fear and think that this was in every way the right choice.

Confident was never an adjective I would consider to describe myself. Luckily, striving to live without fear goes hand in hand with strengthening confidence. I’m still growing, but one honest resolution and resulting confidence shift has made 2025 the most fulfilling year of my life to date.

So, live without fear. Do the best you can with what you have. That thing you’ve always wanted to try, do, say? Do it! Life won’t wait for you. That place you’ve always said you’d travel to? Go! Don’t let fear hold you back, don’t let life rush by dragging you behind to hit every pothole along the way.

Know someone you want to lift up? Share this motivational post!

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I want to conclude my thoughts with the beautiful lyrics of an inspiring song that have followed me for most of my life. I always longed to be the narrator, the one singing those strong words, now I feel that I finally am.

“You say the hill’s too steep to climb… Chiding

You say you’d like to see me try… Climbing

You pick the place and I’ll choose the time

And I’ll climb the hill in my own way

Just wait a while for the right day

And as I rise above the tree line and the clouds

I look down, hear the sound of the things you said today.”

-Fearless by Pink Floyd

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Since starting part-time work again a month ago, after two years at home, I can’t pretend I’m immune to it either. For me, the shift started when I stopped telling myself I was overwhelmed and instead focused on finding ways to cut corners. If it saves me time, sanity, or my last nerve, I’m in.

So, if anything I share here helps even one mom feel less overwhelmed while navigating the most important job on earth, I’d truly be glad. Here are the tiny hacks that have given me some peace.

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#1 ReciMe -The Ultimate Cooking App

Cost: ~$50/year ~$4/month

I am someone who loves to cook, but absolutely hates anything else surrounding cooking. Meal planning and grocery shopping? Painful. If you take one thing from this post, make it this app (not sponsored). It’s basically a mother’s little helper.

My favorite features:

• Save all of your recipes, categorized into folders.

• Import recipes from Instagram, Facebook, photos, or websites.

• Type in your own original recipes, but who has time for that?

• Keep the recipe screen open the entire time you cook.

• Send recipes to your grocery list and meal plan, both within the app!

• Share your categorized grocery list via Notes or text so someone else can do the shopping (your husband).

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Up until motherhood, I only looked forward to this time of year. Now, I also feel a suffocating panic knowing that today is Black Friday and Christmas is 4 weeks away. When I entered the working world, taking time off to refresh at the end of the year was an absolute necessity and the days off were duly given to us. There are no days off for mothers this time of year. We don’t have PTO or work holidays. Not only are we mothering straight through the holidays, but we are also working overtime without time and a half. Let’s be honest, all moms want for Christmas is a break. The one that everyone else seems to receive.

From our responsibilities.

Maybe we are just doing too much. This week while scrolling social media, I saw a mother post the texts she had with a friend while they were both laying in bed sick. Basically, these moms were gloating over how much of a treat it was to relax for a little guilt free. While sick. In bed. I then realized another freshly postpartum mother with newborn twins and a toddler was continuing to post as an influencer multiple times a day. She had twins, a husband in a demanding job and a toddler, but she did not skip a beat in her social media presence. An impressive feat for sure, but I couldn’t help but empathize and just wish I could yell at her through the phone that it is truly okay to relax once in a while.

From our children

We crave some slack. We want our kids to patiently wait a few minutes after their requests and not expect us to beam whatever it is they need into their hands. We want them to eat the dinners we spent hours planning, shopping for and cooking. We want them to wear the holiday outfits we painstakingly picked out for them. Fingers crossed on that one.

From the world around us

We can’t do it all, world. I beg you, please give us some wiggle room. I’ve had a few interactions this past month with childless adults who just don’t get it and seemingly can’t sympathize with us parents and mothers.

When recently interviewing for a job, I expressed that my main requirement right now from a job was flexibility. The woman looked at me like I had six heads. Then a lightbulb went off —clearly this woman does not have children. She later mentioned she did not. Needless to say, I didn’t get the job because in the end they could not be flexible enough for a young mother like me.

SOMEBODY’S GOTTA DO IT

No matter how much we mothers may or may not need to take off this year. Still, someone has to do it. We will continue to be the ones making the magic and bring the relaxation and joy to others. So, how do we manage to get a break for Christmas?

STOP hustling

Unfortunately, we are part of the problem. We feel guilty for slowing down when really it is all our kids want. They don’t need a calendar full of holiday events. They don’t want to be carted around from one place to the next. They want and need quiet time together at home. They need to regroup just like we do, they also get overstimulated and burnt out.

We rush to events, but is being on time more important than our sanity? Better yet —our safety? I spoke with a mother the other day and she described the panic she felt driving and rushing to a scheduled music class for her toddler only to get there and realize that her child wanted nothing to do with the music class that day. She proceeded to have a meltdown in the hallway. We both vowed that we would try to take it easy because the constant rushing this way and that is just exhausting and overall not worth it.

Share our struggles

Parenting is hard. Period. We need to share that with other people within our own homes, society, workplaces and online. When we share what we are going through we lessen the guilt and loneliness that creeps up when we think that we’re the only ones suffering. When all we see online is perfection and all we hear is the beauty of parenting, we question ourselves. Why am I the only parent having a hard time? It’s crucial that we share what we are going through so that parenthood stops being put on a pedestal, and is instead painted realistically. Also, sometimes we all need a good vent.

Have a struggle you need to vent about this holiday season? Leave a comment.

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Be aware of comparison culture

I’m so tempted to give it up… social media that is. My algorithm is overflowing with mothers and it always looks like they are handling things better. Actually it always looks like they are perfect mothers. They are not, we are all in similar boats. Still, it is almost impossible to relax when you are staring at perfectly curated posts of clean homes, holiday outings, food made from scratch and smiling children. This time of year social media is also filled with gift guides, ads and affiliate links— only fueling our comparisons and burnout.

Want to gift these tips to another mom this holiday season? Share this post.

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Fortunately, mindfulness through savoring and gratitude can help us to stop hustling and comparing this holiday season. Whether this year turns out the way you plan or not, enjoy it. Pause every day and be grateful for what you have —a beautiful child to spend the holidays with. Share and don’t compare this Christmas. Slow down, live in the present, take a break.

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It’s the night before my first day back and I’m on the couch with my shiny new work laptop staring at the email sent around welcoming me to the firm. I’ve read it four times already. It’s kind, filled with the highlights of my entire professional career. For the first time, I truly realize all that I’ve accomplished in 9 years of work. Something about seeing everything written out on one page fills me with pride, confidence and gratitude. As I turn the laptop around so my husband can read, I watch the pride appear on his face and that warm fuzzy feeling inside of me starts to fade. I realize there is no mention of my family or of motherhood. The introduction email doesn’t mention being a stay-at-home mother. In fact, it skips over these two years of my life entirely as if they didn’t exist. The gap on my resume is glossed over and the reason for leaving my previous job— becoming a mother— isn’t correctly mentioned.

I feel confused….

…Because being a stay at home mother is a near impossible feat and should be applauded at every chance. I can truly say, after 9 years in the working world and 2 years at home, never have I been tested more in a job and never rewarded more. I have come out of these 2 years with a beautiful, thriving family that I continue to nurture and care for everyday. Why shouldn’t that be mentioned?

I feel deeply sad….

…Because being a mother is so crucial to who I am. For the better, I’m a completely different person. Completely. I am stronger and more patient, confident, capable and loving. If I met the old me I would not recognize her. Motherhood is now blended with my sense of self and to not know that I am a mother is to not know the best part of me.

I feel angry….

…Because society doesn’t collectively value motherhood. I think back to when I felt so torn creating my resume. I wrote my resume in one day and labored over a final edit for three days before hitting submit on a job application. The edit that tortured me was— “Do I fill in the gap in my career with stay-at-home mom or leave it blank?” Ultimately, I did categorize SAHM in its rightful place — as a part of my life and a damn hard job. I’m glad that I did because I’m so very proud of all that I accomplished during this time with my son. I’m also proud that I chose to take the time to focus on him and grateful that I was able to do so.

I feel livid….

…Because my close friend suggested that the reason I didn’t get the last job I interviewed for was that SAHM was on my resume. She also thought it was possible that I had mentioned being a mother too many times in the interview process. Maybe she was right, but the idea enrages me nonetheless and to be honest I have trouble even entertaining that idea. How could society be like this? How could we possibly take the most important job in society and see it as a detriment? The hardest, best and most meaningful years of mine and hopefully my son’s life? A black spot on my record?! You have to be kidding me.

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To be extremely clear, the job I am starting tomorrow has given me every allowance and understanding in my return to work. The office is chock full of mothers and even has many in leadership positions. I feel so lucky to have found them, but truly feel they could be one in a million. I did not experience this level of acceptance at the other places I interviewed and rarely within society itself.

Until society fully realizes our value as mothers, we are forced to carry the world on our shoulders in the dark. Still, I will continue to do my (small) part to shine some light on the role and its importance. I’ve learned a few things, confirmed and busted a few myths these past two years:

SAHM MYTHs

• SAHM life is equivalent to retirement - BUSTED - LAUGHABLY FALSE

• We will look back and ache for these years - CONFIRMED - TIME WILL TELL

• We are lazy and unambitious - BUSTED - HOW DARE YOU

• It’s crucial for a mother to establish a strong emotional connection with her young child - CONFIRMED - TIME WILL TELL *working mothers are not excluded

• SAHM life is something every woman wants - BUSTED - NOT TRUE

• SAHM life is something every woman is cut out for - BUSTED - NOT TRUE

Have some additional myths about motherhood or SAHM life to bust? Leave a comment.

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I want to end this post with a huge thank you to my subscribers. I’ve come a long way from the lost mother who started writing her thoughts into the void. Still, my message and sentiment is the same as my very first post, below. My passion for writing and the beauty and importance of motherhood go hand in hand and my subscribers allow me to express that passion. Thank you again and please continue to support my work as I now navigate the working mom life.

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