My siblings and I used to call her the Energizer Bunny. Back then there were the commercials with the little bunny running on a battery that just keeps going and going, and that was our mother to the letter.

We never saw that bunny stop moving, and we never saw our mom stop moving either. She was up before the rest of us, getting her steps in by walking through the house room to room, because she would not leave us home alone to take a walk outside. Morning was the only time she had, so she walked the halls, turning on lights, doing five things at once to make sure we were fed, dressed, and ready for school. Then she went to work and she worked. Then she came home and she kept going. She cooked. She cleaned. She showered. She was always doing something for someone else. Even now, at her age, she has not stopped.

That was my whole picture of what a mother is. A woman in constant motion who never sits down. It was ingrained in me long before I ever wore a uniform, and I carried it out the door with me.

I was eighteen years old and one month out of high school when I signed my contract with the United States Marine Corps, and that world took the wiring my mother gave me and set it in stone. We were always moving. We were always alert. We were always preparing our minds for battle. There was no such thing as overtime, because there was no such thing as “being off” in the military. You were either working or you were on call, and my body learned to never fully rest.

I am a civilian now. I am no longer running around like a chicken with its head cut off, as we say in the South. But the setting stayed the same. My mind still refuses to shut off. On any given day I am thinking about

• My daughter and the medication she takes.

• I am planning a wedding.

• I am worrying about my mother while she cares for my grandmother.

• Showing up at work 100%,

• Running my business,

• And reminding women that they are allowed to simply be.

  

  For most of my life I believed that carrying all of it was the price of being a good woman, because that is the only kind of woman I had ever watched.

Then someone who loves me told me the truth. My fiancé kept reminding me that it is okay to just be. It is okay to let things sit. It is okay to sit down and do nothing at all. He comes home from a full day of work and cooks so that I can rest, and for the longest time I could not receive that without guilt. I had always been the one people came to for care. I was raised to take care of myself and never to be taken care of, so learning to receive has been one of the hardest and most tender lessons of my life.

What does ‘quiet’ means to me?

Quiet, to me, means quieting a mind that never stops running. It means giving myself permission to read a book, to lounge, to have a lazy day where I do absolutely nothing that anyone asked of me. It means remembering that before I am a mother, before I am a partner, and before I am a founder, I am Charnice first.

I built Quiet Hour because I know I am not the only woman who was raised by an Energizer Bunny and became one without ever choosing to.

I have sat in the mom groups. I have watched the way women get judged for wanting to pour back into themselves. I have watched mothers explain and defend why they feel lost, why they feel depleted, and why they need something that belongs to them alone. Most of us do not have that time freely. We are raising more than one child. We are working one job, or two, or three. We are holding every moving part of a household together while quietly disappearing inside of it.

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So I made something that does the thinking for you. I called it an hour on purpose, because an hour is a boundary with a beginning and an end, and it is a container that even the busiest mother can actually hold. I put it on your calendar. I assign you one small thing, and I keep it small by design. All you have to do is show up and take your hour. For that hour, the boundary belongs to you and the time belongs to you.

This does not stop with me, and it will not stop with you. When a mother is cared for, her whole family thrives. Everything I am building through Nurtured Echoes exists because I want to leave a real legacy for my daughter. I want her to look back one day and know how to rest. I want the thing my mother could not teach me to be the very thing my daughter grows up already knowing. We as mothers raise the next generation, and that has to count for something.

So this is my invitation to you. Give yourself the hour. Pay attention to how you feel when it is over. Notice how you move through your days once you stop carrying everything alone.

You have spent so long thinking ahead for everyone else. Let me think ahead for you.

[ Your quiet hour starts here ]

-Charnice

P.S. One quick thing so nothing catches you off guard. You will sometimes hear from me over at Nurtured Echoes. That is my home base, where the guides, the Quiet Hour, and everything I build for you actually live. Same voice you know here, just a different room in the same house.

I used to take pictures of us all the time. We would go on little adventures, enjoy our lives, and document the memories we were making together. My camera roll was full of her beautiful face, but it was also full of us. Proof that I had been there too. Proof that I had not only witnessed the joy but allowed myself to be part of it.

Then, somewhere along the way, I stopped putting myself in the frame.

I still took pictures of her, of course. Mothers are often the keepers of everyone else’s memories. But when I looked through my phone, I began to notice that I was missing.

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When I Realized I Was Eroding

At first, I could have blamed external factors. There were plenty of them.

I had been unemployed for a year and a half, and during that time, I became deeply depressed. I ate more. I gained weight. I stopped doing many of the things I enjoyed. My daughter’s beautiful face and my faith were two of the things that kept me going when I felt like I was barely holding myself together.

When I finally found a job, I thought that part of me would naturally come back. I thought once the difficult season was over, I would begin enjoying my life again. I had an amazing village. I was working and things had improved.

But I still did not feel like myself.

My life had become centered around other people. I was showing up for my daughter, my relationship, my job, and the responsibilities waiting for me each day, but I was no longer showing up for me.

The things I used to enjoy had quietly fallen away. I stopped going on adventures. I stopped taking pictures. I stopped finding reasons to celebrate an ordinary day. I was present in my life, but I was not fully living inside of it. I felt like I was eroding.

Not all at once. Quiet erosion does not usually announce itself but it happens slowly, in the things we stop doing and the parts of ourselves we keep postponing. It hides behind responsibility and looks like taking care of everyone else. And it also sounds like, “I’ll get back to myself when things calm down.” But things do not always calm down on their own. Sometimes we have to decide that our lives still belong to us, even in the middle of everything.

Stepping Back Into the Picture

The day I noticed the missing pictures, I took out my phone and started snapping away. I was standing there in my soft red robe. I did not have on a carefully chosen outfit. I had not done anything special to my hair. I did not feel camera-ready, but I grabbed my daughter and my boyfriend and told them to get in the pictures with me.

They had no idea what the sudden photoshoot was for, but they were down. So we smiled and posed.

I did not wait until I had lost weight. Most importantly, I did not wait until I felt more beautiful or more confident. I stepped back into the frame exactly as I was. Such a small action, but it made me proud. I had noticed one of the ways I was disappearing, and instead of continuing to watch myself fade, I did something about it. That moment did not fix everything. One photoshoot could not undo years of neglecting myself. But it became one of the first steps I took toward building myself back up.

Caring for the Woman Behind the Mother

After that, I began looking for more ways to care for the woman behind the mother. Around that time, I was speaking with a financial advisor because I wanted to get a better grip on my finances. As we looked at where my money was going, she noticed that I had some extra funds available for what I like to call dilly-dallying.

Instead of letting that money disappear into random spending, I decided to intentionally use some of it for my self-care routine. As cliché as it sounds, I needed something that belonged to me. I needed practices that reminded me I was a whole person and not just the person responsible for holding everything together. And if you know me, you know Charnice loves a good hot stone massage.

I started getting them more frequently because I needed to regulate my nervous system again. Massages has always been one of my go-to ways to release tension and reconnect with my body. There is something about being able to lie still, breathe deeply, and let someone else take care of me for a change.

In between massages, a hot shower with the water hitting my scalp became another kind of relief. Sometimes that is all I need to feel the day begin to loosen its grip on me. I also started creating a nighttime routine. I bought aromatherapy products, books, a journal, beautiful pens, and word-search books because I love, love, love a good word search.

None of it was complicated, which was the point. I was not trying to reinvent myself…only remember Charnice.

Finding My Quiet Hour

These small comforts eventually became part of what I call my quiet hour.

Almost every day, I try to give myself a little time to come down from the day and find my center again. Sometimes I journal. Sometimes I read. Sometimes I do a word search, take a hot shower, turn on the aromatherapy, and sit in the quiet. Sometimes I do nothing.

My quiet hour is not another performance or something I complete perfectly, and it is not a test of how disciplined I can be. It is simply a rhythm that helps me return to myself no matter what life throws at me. And don’t get me wrong, I love having that time to center myself after the day so I can show up brighter for my fiancé, my daughter, and my job.

I used to think pouring into myself took something away from the people I loved. Now I understand that caring for myself changes the quality of what I am able to give them.

I Still Abandon Myself Sometimes

I wish I could say I created this rhythm and never struggled again. That would not be a bold lie. I still abandon myself sometimes, get busy and still become overwhelmed. I still place my needs at the bottom of the list. There are days when the journal stays closed and the quiet hour disappears beneath everything that feels more urgent.

The difference is that now…I notice it quicker. I do not stay gone nearly as long as I used to. I know what it feels like when the erosion begins. I now know what happens when I stop doing the things I enjoy. I know what it means when I stop taking pictures, resting, and feeling present in my own life.

And now, I know the way back to myself. Sometimes the way back is a massage, a hot shower, a beautiful pen and a word search, or my quiet mom cave. Sometimes it is pulling out my phone, gathering the people I love, and putting myself back in the picture.

She Is Watching Me Return

The best part is that my daughter is watching me learn how to return.

After the long drive home from the office and picking her up from school, I often go into my bedroom to unwind. I need a few minutes to let go of the traffic, the workday, and the noise before moving into the rest of the evening. Now, when we get home, my daughter grabs her snack and announces that she is going to unwind from her day too.

I love that she says that.

She is already learning that caring for yourself is not something reserved for mothers or adults. Also, learning that she does not have to wait until she is completely overwhelmed to rest. She can notice what she needs and respond to herself.

After her bath, I sometimes give her a massage. It helps her relax and sleep better.

In those moments, I am not only helping her settle for the night. I am teaching her to listen to her body. I am showing her that care can be gentle, intentional, and familiar. One day, she may become an overwhelmed teenager, college student, a business owner, a mother, a wife, or something neither of us can imagine yet. Whatever she chooses, I want her to know how to return to herself and teach her the methods her mama used to stay grounded.

I want her to recognize when she is beginning to disappear from her own life and recognize that caring deeply for others does not require leaving herself behind. She will become an amazing individual, I pray. And when the time comes, I cannot wait to meet the woman she becomes.

The Mother I’m Becoming

I used to think being a good mother meant pouring everything I had into my daughter. I thought love was measured by how much of myself I was willing to give away. The mother I am becoming understands something different. She knows that love does not have to end in emptiness and that rest is not selfish. She knows that joy deserves a place in the family rhythm.

This mother knows that her daughter is not only listening to what she says. She is watching how her mother lives, how she rests, how she recovers, and how she returns. The mother I am becoming still gets tired. She still loses her rhythm and still forgets herself sometimes.

But now she notices.

Now she reaches for the journal, the beautiful pen, the word search, the warm water, the massage, the quiet room, or the phone camera.

Now she steps back into the frame.

I used to think being a good mother meant pouring everything I had into my daughter Now I want her to see that a woman can give deeply without emptying herself completely.

- C

I knew the other version. Everybody knows the other version. The mom drowning in a hard season, no sleep, no help, no minutes left in the day. That’s the woman the self-care articles are written for. That wasn’t me...well, kinda.

I was on my way up. Degree almost in hand after a year of grinding for it. A new job that felt like the door I’d been knocking on finally opening. My family was fed, loved, handled. If you’d looked at my life from the outside, you would have clapped.

But somewhere in all that fighting to get us to a better place, I quietly filed myself under “later.” I stopped cooking, and my fiancé took it over. I stopped getting the massages my body was genuinely asking for. I stopped doing anything that existed only because I enjoyed it. I didn’t decide any of this. There was no meeting where I voted myself off the list. Things just got set down, one at a time, the way they do. Gently and politely. While I was busy doing something loving for someone else.

And here’s the part that stings. My fiancé saw it before I did. He stepped up for Charnice. Which sounds beautiful, and it was, but it took me a while to admit the truth underneath it: being taken care of is not the same as taking care of yourself. Charnice needed to do for Charnice.

The comeback was embarrassingly small

I wish I could tell you it started with a retreat or a therapist or a life overhaul. It started with body wash.

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A really good body wash. Then body oils. Then lotion I actually liked instead of whatever was on sale. Serums for my face. Real attention to my hair. Pedicures came back like an old friend I’d been dodging calls from.

Small things. Almost silly things, if you’re grading them from the outside. But here’s what I learned standing in my own bathroom smelling like something I chose on purpose: when I look good, I truly do feel good. And pair that with some cocoa butter and gold jewelry, you can’t tell me nothing! Kanye said what he said.

The small things weren’t the point. The small things were the practice. Every serum, every pedicure, every unhurried shower was me casting a vote that Charnice was back on the list. Tiny votes. Daily votes. They added up.

Where we learned to file ourselves under later

Here’s the question I had to sit with once I saw my own erosion clearly: where did I learn that move. Because I didn’t invent it. Somebody showed me.

Think about the women who raised us. How many of them rested without earning it first. How many had a thing that was just theirs, that the whole house knew not to touch. How many treated “I’m fine” like a complete sentence and “later” like a real time on the clock.

We watched all of it. We took notes without knowing we were taking notes. And then we grew up and promised we’d be different, and in a lot of ways we are. We’re softer with our kids. More present. More intentional. But watch what we kept. The apologizing for sitting down. The needs that never make the calendar. The reflex to handle it before anyone even asks.

That’s not personality. That’s inheritance. And it’s exactly the kind of ish our moms didn’t teach on purpose, because nobody taught them either.

She was watching the whole time

Now here’s the part that undoes me a little.

My daughter is seven. Seven, and she plans us whole itineraries for our days together. Sits down and lays them out like a tiny event coordinator…I’m not kidding when I tell you this lol. And when I started coming back to myself, she noticed before anyone.

We painted each other’s nails not long ago. And she sat there with her fresh little manicure feeling so pretty, and she liked being pretty, and you know why? Because mommy gets pretty.

She’s not learning self-worth from my speeches. She’s learning it from my Tuesday. From whether the woman she loves most treats herself like she’s worth taking care of. When I filed myself under later, I was teaching her that later is where women live. When I came back, I taught her the way back exists.

That’s the real stakes of all of this. Not bubble baths.

The mirror is free

Everything I just told you took me a long time to see, because the erosion is quiet. It’s polite. It looks like being a good mom. Nobody throws anything away. Things just get set down until the woman underneath gets hard to find.

So I spent five nights writing the mirror version of this essay. It’s called The Quiet Erosion. One email a night at 8:30, each one naming a piece of what got set down, each one asking a question you won’t be able to unsee. No tips or checklists. Just the seeing part, done properly.

It’s free, and night one arrives the second you sign up.

I'm eroding, Help

Come look. Most women never even do that part.

-C

That was not a part of any masterclass I had going in. I was heavily consuming motherhood, postpartum, and baby knowledge for over a year at that point, and I had learned a lot. Then I stumbled upon a treasure.

Something I had never heard of before. Baby sign. Like, baby sign language. My prayers were answered, lol. I think I saw that you could start teaching your child around 4 to 6 months of age. And once I learned how to communicate effectively with my freaking baby…we became a solid team.

It blew my mind.

Because babies are super smart and very capable. God truly did His thing when He made humans. Baby sign helped me traverse Ellie's different moods, our daily lives, and being out in public with others. It was beyond helpful that a baby could communicate with me about a wet diaper, or wanting more food. I was astounded at how fast she picked it up and how it actually worked. I tell every new mom about baby sign because it cut down heavily on tantrums and frustration from the both of us.

Now, as my baby began to use words and grow into the bright seven-year-old she is today, I do my best to maintain an effective method of communication. One thing my daughter is, is inquisitive. She will always ask a question. So to grab her attention, I use big words, knowing she would ask, "What does that mean?" I use that on purpose, to keep her engaged and wanting to speak to me.

For example, a kid will not say anything further than school was ‘okay’ if you just ask how their day was. I do not know any kid who really tells you what happened at school unless it was some gossip or something crazy, and that is usually where the conversation fizzles off. So I go deeper with Ellie. Open-ended questions. And she is slick sometimes, especially at bedtime, Uno reversing me so she can stay up longer. (I peep you, Ellie, lol.) But I let it slide because it is bond building.

I want Ellie to know that I am here for her at every stage and that I am willing to put in the effort for her to always trust me. I want her to grow to do the same as she gets older. And it has paid off because she is an effective communicator and good at gauging her emotions.

I did not have an engaging mother as a teenager. She was more than likely stressed out and working in overdrive for my older siblings who went off to college. There was no room for me in that dynamic. So I am building something different with Ellie from the ground up, starting with a wet diaper and a little hand sign that meant more to me than I can fully explain.

Overall, I look forward to the tween and teen years and what our way of communicating will look like. We started with our hands. We are going to be just fine.

How are you communicating with your daughter? Is it hard?

If you need help connecting and communicating better with each other, drop it in the comments or hit reply. I read every one.

We are here to help each other be the most present moms we can, to give our babies a fighting chance at being great women.

If this spoke to something in you, I created a free Mother’s Guide just for you. Check it out here

With Love,

-C

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Wisdom got passed down on that porch. Funny stories. Family history. Permission to be exactly who you wanted to be.

My grandmother is the one who first taught me that my body is mine. And she didn’t just teach me with words, she showed me. When Ellie was small and didn’t want to give a hug, or got too shy to speak, my grandmother never got angry about it. She’d say it’s okay. Leave that baby alone until she wants to talk, until she wants to hug, on her own terms. My grandmother was protecting Ellie’s no before I even knew that was something a mother was allowed to do.

Here’s the thing though. Most of us don’t have that porch anymore.

The women are scattered now. Different cities, different states. The wisdom that used to pass down so easy, just from sitting close to somebody who already lived it, doesn’t move the way it used to. And the judgment we used to escape when we walked out onto that porch? It followed us online. It’s everywhere now.

So mothers are tired. And a lot of mothers are alone in a way their grandmothers never were.

That’s why I built this.

The Nurtured Mothers Porch is exactly what it sounds like. A porch. A screened-in one, the kind the internet can’t take from you. A place you can come back to every single month and just be.

Once a month, mid-month, I pull up to The Porch with you. A letter to sit with. A voice note like I’m right there beside you. A real story from my own week of raising my daughter on purpose. And a video where we slow down and reflect together before the month rolls on. That’s the rhythm. Themes that actually matter, every single time.

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So here’s what I want you to know, right now, sitting here reading this.

You can do this. It takes a village, and you just found one. You found a mama who gets you. You’re surrounded by women reaching for the same thing you’re reaching for.

You can grow here into the mother you always wanted to be. You can become the mother you never had…this time with guidance. And you’re not only here to receive. One day soon, you’ll be the one giving advice to a mama who needs a village, and she will listen. Because everybody on this porch chose to be here. They want to be here.

Pull up a chair.

Welcome to The Porch.

-C

Tonight she had this semi-funny, semi-creepy story about a little boy on a bicycle riding around in people’s driveways. I told her to think happy thoughts. Then I thought to myself, who the heck wants to hear that when they are in distress? So I switched gears and told her a funny story about that SpongeBob episode where him and Patrick are camping and eating chocolate.

She got in bed. Twenty minutes later she came back. Same daydream.

Now if you know me by now, you know I am going to say some outrageously funny things. I told her to imagine that the boy had a brick thrown at him and it knocked him clean off the bike.

Laughter immediately erupted. I tried to hold it in but I could not help it. I laughed too.

Then I got serious with her. I told her she has to be brave with her thoughts and not let them defeat her. I told her to think of something funny that could happen to the bicycle kid, and she did not even try. I worked on speaking confidence into her. I taught her that she has the ability to turn an untrue situation into something she could control.

I realized in that moment, I was seeing myself in her. A 7-year-old who needed somebody to tell her this. And I cannot allow her to live scared in her own body like I did and sometimes still do.

In the Marine Corps, we are taught that our body does as we say, not the other way around. I have witnessed how powerful the mind is while serving in the military. And I want my daughter to get that knowledge beforehand, not twelve years later because her mama did not teach her.

I have been through different rounds of therapy over the years and I tend to forget about this particular exercise I shared with Ellie tonight. But I am grateful for that one session with my therapist from years ago, because it is what helped me help my baby. Crazy how the village can come full circle, heh.

If you know me, you know I want Ellie to be better than me. To have full confidence over her own autonomy. Believing you control your thoughts and they do not control you is a powerful thing. And when you understand that, girl, you could do anything.

I wish my mom had taught me that she gets scared too. That it is normal. But you cannot STAY scared. At some point you have to stand up and move. As my sister always says, are you gonna barbecue or mildew?

I had no one sit with me the way I sat with Ellie tonight. I want to bring her back to this story one day and remind her how brave and how courageous she was. How she conquered her fear in five minutes because thoughts are just thoughts. We cannot always help which ones show up. But we can control our reaction and how we behave afterwards.

I feel happy I could redirect her thinking. She is sound asleep as I write this…I’m guessing she threw that brick.

I’m sure as a woman, you have thought some scary thoughts and had trouble getting back on track. This is for you.

The next time a thought tries to take you out, remember. You are allowed to throw a brick at it.

You know what to do. Be her guiding light.

- C

By the time she's sound asleep, you've forgotten what you needed yourself. The Quiet Hour is for that exact hour. A 7-night jumpstart that opens into a 30-day challenge. 60 minutes of calm that belong only to you, until the ritual becomes the rhythm and the rhythm becomes her inheritance.

Get the Quiet Hour

Happy Mother’s Day.

If today is simple for you, beautiful. Soak it up. Let yourself be celebrated. You earned every second.

If today is complicated, this is for you.

For the mamas who got mothered hard and are out here trying to figure out what soft mothering looks like with no manual.

For the mamas whose own moms aren’t here. Or aren’t safe. Or aren’t speaking. Or aren’t who they wish they were.

For the mamas grieving the mother they wished they had while raising the kids they actually have.

For the mamas standing in two truths at the same time. Loving today and aching today. Both.

I see you.

I want to honor you specifically this morning. The ones doing the quiet, invisible work that does not get a card. Re-parenting yourself while you parent your kids. Choosing different at every turn. Building patterns that didn’t exist in your line before you got here.

That’s holy work. Even when nobody says it out loud.

Especially when nobody says it out loud.

I built Nurtured Echoes because mamas like us deserved a place where this version of motherhood gets named. Where the cycle-breaking and the wisdom-building and the quiet rebellions get honored. Where you don’t have to pretend Mother’s Day is simple to feel valid here.

You belong here, mama. Just as you are. Today, whatever today is for you.

If at any point today you find yourself wishing somebody had made something just for you, The Quiet Hour is still there. Tonight at midnight is last call on the Mother’s Day pricing. After that, regular.

But honestly? Whether you grab it today or you don’t, the most important thing I have to say to you this morning is this.

You are doing it.

You are doing the thing your mamas couldn’t. Your daughters, and the daughters you don’t have yet, are going to be different because of you.

That alone is worth a whole holiday.

👉🏾 The Quiet Hour, 20% off through tonight with code MOTHER20

Lead her by living it. Be her guiding light.

- C

P.S. If you cry today, that doesn’t mean it’s a bad Mother’s Day. Sometimes the tears are just water for the seeds you’ve been planting all year.

It’s Mother’s Day Eve. Which means right now, in this exact moment, two completely different versions of your tomorrow exist.

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Version one. You wake up early because somebody else’s schedule is already running in your head. You make sure your mama gets called. You smile through brunch you probably helped book. You pretend the bath bomb set is exactly what you wanted. You pour from the same empty cup you’ve been pouring from for a long time. By 9pm you’re on the couch wondering why a holiday meant for celebrating you somehow left you more depleted than a regular Tuesday.

Version two. You wake up. You still call your mama (we are not heathens over here) or give honor to her memories 🤎🕊️. You still go to brunch (yes, still 90 minutes too long). But somewhere in there, you carved out a sliver. After the kids are down and the day has done its thing, an email lands in your inbox at 9pm with one PDF and one quiet instruction. You actually sit. For the first time maybe in months, somebody has handed you an hour with a plan inside it.

Same Sunday. Two completely different nights.

Listen.

Share Ish Our Moms Didn't Teach

I’m not telling you to skip brunch or refuse the bath bomb set or cancel the family thing. I’m telling you there is a sliver of tomorrow you can claim back. One hour. That’s all this is.

The Quiet Hour starts the night you buy it. So if you grab it tonight or tomorrow morning, your Night 1 is happening tomorrow night while everybody else is heading to bed. That’s the whole gift.

It’s still 20% off through tomorrow night at midnight with code MOTHER20.

Tomorrow’s coming. The only question is which version of you is showing up to it.

Give Me The Quiet Hour

Lead her by living it. Be her guiding light.

- C

P.S. If “still 90 minutes too long” wasn’t a typo and you knew exactly what brunch I meant, you’re already in the right place.

If you read “Nobody Taught Us How to Walk Into a Room Like We Belong,” you got the public version of what happened with my old boss. The version I was comfortable putting in everybody’s inbox. There’s a deeper version of that story though, and I haven’t told that one yet. Until now. Right here.

Real quick. If you’re new here and you came across this letter without knowing me, I made a free guide for you. The Mother’s Guide to Raising a Daughter Who Knows Her Worth. [Yours here, no subscription needed.]

Get Your Guide Here

Let me back up.

I had been at this company for a while, and the math wasn’t mathing. My pay was slowly decreasing every paycheck. Not in big drops, just a quiet downward slide that you’d only catch if you were paying attention. And I was paying attention, because 14 months of being unemployed before that job had set me back enough that every dollar mattered. I needed to make enough to put my daughter in daycare I could actually trust. Not just any daycare. I was doing this for our growth, hers and mine. So when the paychecks started shrinking, I felt it.

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Being a cycle-breaker is a WHOLE job.

Like an actual job. With a workload. And overtime. And absolutely no PTO.

We are out here re-parenting ourselves while we parent our kids. Reading books our mamas didn’t have access to. Going to therapy and explaining the same trauma five different ways to five different therapists until one of them finally clicks. Saying NO to things our family always said yes to and getting called difficult for it. Having uncomfortable conversations at the dinner table that make everybody mad. Building emotional vocabulary from scratch because we didn’t grow up with one. Pouring into our daughters with intention because we know what it costs not to.

AND running the regular mama tasks. Laundry. Lunches. The 47 daily decisions.

And we’re doing all of this while watching our timeline fill up with women who got mothered well making content like “just love yourself, mama!”

Like sis. What do you think I’m doing? I’m trying here, lol.

But also? I’m tired.

Here’s the part nobody warned us about.

The work of breaking a cycle is not a one-and-done. It’s not an “I went to therapy in 2022 and now I’m healed” situation. It’s daily. Sometimes hourly. Every single time my daughter does something that triggers a memory I didn’t know I had, I have to make a choice. Repeat the pattern or interrupt it.

Every. Single. Time.

That choice is what costs us.

It costs us sleep. It costs us nervous system regulation. It costs us the relaxed kind of motherhood where you don’t have to think about every interaction because the patterns are already healthy.

We don’t get the relaxed version. Because we are LITERALLY MAKING THE PATTERNS. You know what I mean?

(I need a second.)

Okay so here’s where this circles back.

When I built The Quiet Hour, I wasn’t trying to make another self-care course. There are 8,000 of those. What I was trying to make was a tool that acknowledges the actual work we are doing. Seven nights of small, structured returns to yourself. Not because you need a vacation. Because you need maintenance built into the work itself.

You wouldn’t drive a car a hundred thousand miles without an oil change. But somehow we expect cycle-breaking mamas to do this work indefinitely with no scheduled rest.

That is the gap I’m trying to close.

Mother’s Day is Sunday. The Quiet Hour is 20% off through Sunday at midnight with code MOTHER20.

Not because rest is a treat. Because rest is the maintenance. And maintenance keeps the engine running.

👉🏾 Get The Quiet Hour at nurturedechoes.com

If you’ve made it this far and felt seen, hit subscribe. There are more of us than you think out here. The “ish our moms didn’t teach” club is growing every day, and I would love for you to be in it.

Subscribe now

Lead her by living it. Be her guiding light.

- C

P.S. If you’ve ever cried in your car in the parking lot because you were just RELIEVED to be alone for 30 seconds, this whole brand is for you.

If you’re new here, welcome. Pull up a chair and let me tell you what this is.

I’m Charnice. Mom. Veteran. Compliance professional by day. And a woman who got tired of figuring out things in her 30s that somebody should have told her at 15.

That’s why this exists.

Ish Our Moms Didn’t Teach is the conversation your mom probably wasn’t equipped to have with you, and everything we are going to do DIFFERENTLY for our daughters. This isn’t another newsletter. It’s real conversation for the mothers who are tired of running the same cycles their mamas ran, and the women who didn’t always know their own worth.

Both can be true. That’s most of us, honestly.

Three things, mostly, sometimes all at once.

The ish our moms didn’t teach us. The lessons we had to figure out alone in our 20s, our 30s, our 40s. The confidence we didn’t get handed. The conversations that never happened. What we had to learn the hard way and what we are not going to let our daughters learn the same way.

Raising daughters who know their worth from day one. Because my daughter, Ellie, will not be second-guessing herself in her 30s. That part is already handled.

Rest, identity, and refusing to disappear into motherhood. Because mothers are not supposed to vanish. We are supposed to evolve.

If you’re new, start with these:

Y’all, I’m Gifting Myself This Mother’s Day. On breaking the Mother’s Day script and choosing yourself for once.

What We Don’t Heal, Our Daughters Inherit. On why I built Nurtured Echoes and why intentional mothering matters so much to me.

Nobody Taught Us How to Walk Into a Room Like We Belong. On confidence, my old boss, and what I refuse to pass down to my daughter.

The Quiet Hour

If you’ve been running on empty for a long time and you don’t know where to start, I built something for you. The Quiet Hour. Seven nights of small returns to yourself. One PDF a night, delivered to your inbox at 9pm, so you don’t have to remember anything or download anything ahead of time or think. Because if there is one thing mothers do not need more of, it’s another thing to think about.

I am not gatekeeping rest from you. Now if you’re serious about your peace, I’d advise you to use it.

👉🏾 Get The Quiet Hour by clicking here

Want to come closer inside the house?

I have a paid tier here on Substack. $36 a year or $9 a month. Paid mothers get a subscriber only posts from me each month, the kind I don’t put out in public. They get first access to new products before they launch publicly. And they get the Nurtured Mother Circle Chat, a private space where we go to commune together.

No pressure. The free conversation will keep going. But if you ever want a seat at the table, the door is open.

Last thing

This whole publication was built for the woman doing this thing intentionally. The mama who is tired of generational cycles and wants to break them, even when nobody around her is. The woman raising a daughter who is going to walk into rooms like she belongs in every single one of them, because her mother did first.

If that’s you, you’re in the right place.

Hit reply on any post and tell me one thing your mama didn’t teach you that you wish she had. I will read every one.

Lead her by living it. Be her guiding light.

-C

P.S. check out nurturedechoes.com

I had a moment last week. The kind of moment that creeps up on you while you’re loading the dishwasher and contemplating whether you can get away with hiding your snacks from your kids.

I caught myself saying out loud, “This year I’m gonna do something nice for me.”

Then I stopped. And I really sat with that while I was in HomeGoods staring at the mother’s day items.

Because how many times have I said “I should really treat myself” and then bought a gift card for somebody else’s mama at CVS?

Listen. The Mother’s Day script is wild when you really think about it.

We wake up. We make sure everybody else’s mama gets called. We post the slideshow. We coordinate the brunch reservation that we are going to. We pick out the card for our mom. We smile at the bath bomb set and pretend it’s exactly what we wanted.

And then by 9pm we are on the couch with our phones face-down, asking the ceiling if anybody actually saw US today.

Just me?

Okay so here’s where I am this year.

I am breaking the script. Politely. I’m still gonna call my mama. I’m still gonna show up to whatever brunch situation we land on. (Side note: why is brunch always 90 minutes too long? Discuss.)

But this year I’m also doing something for me.

Specifically, I built something for me. Then I realized oh wait, I am not the only mama who needs this.

So I’m releasing The Quiet Hour. Seven nights of small returns to yourself. One PDF a night, delivered to your inbox at 9pm EST so you don’t have to download anything in advance or remember anything or think.

Because if there is one thing mothers do not need more of, it’s another thing to think about.

It’s 20% off through Sunday at midnight with code MOTHER20. (I am not gatekeeping rest from you.

👉🏾 [Get The Quiet Hour at nurturedechoes.com]

That’s all I came to say.

If you want to follow along with the messy, joyful, “Ish Our Moms Didn’t Teach” version of motherhood, hit subscribe. We are out here breaking generational cycles AND making jokes about it. Both can be true.

Lead her by living it. Be her guiding light.

- C

P.S. If you’ve ever hid in the pantry to eat a snack you didn’t want to share, you’re among friends.

I made this particular part of the internet for those of us who want to do things differently and actually contribute to young girls and our older (young at heart, body, mind, and spirit) selves. Not for classism, not for elitism, not to be mean girls. We are here to talk about the Ish Our Moms Didn’t Teach.

Welcome ☺️

This matters to me personally because I see how the world is turning out. I see how far gone astray society is, especially for young girls. Women lead society. Specifically mothers. What mama says and does, goes. That is why I love to work with intentional mothers who are determined to do things differently when it comes to raising their daughters. Sometimes we moms need to start with ourselves first. When we start with ourselves, the babies follow. Then the teenager. Then the adult who starts the cycle over again. We pray as mothers that the cycle continues positively.

I built Nurtured Echoes to be part of my legacy. Something I leave for my Ellie. Because society needs a beacon, a place to be honest, somewhere safe to look at yourself and tell the truth.

One specific thing my mom did not teach me was confidence from the start, no matter what. I believe that is the thing that ensures you can always begin something, even when you are unsure, and have courage when you are scared. I learned the courage piece when I joined the Marine Corps, so I was 18 years late. But a W is a W…right? lol

Since I know this now, I make sure to teach my daughter to have courage and confidence in herself. Because if she cannot believe in herself, do not look for someone else to do it either.

I made a free guide specifically for the intentional mom who is tired of the cycle and serious about what her daughter inherits from her. It lives at nurturedechoes.com. If this post resonated, that guide was written with you in mind. Go get it here.

Lead her by living it. Be her guiding light.

- C

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One thing my mom didn’t teach me was to have confidence in myself. I wasn’t raised to compete with others, so there really isn’t a competitive bone in my body. That is good and not necessarily bad. I do not see competition because I am great at whatever I do. When it comes to coming out of my own version of Charnice land, that’s when my confidence can go down. Over time, I’ve gotten better, and I know what that drop feels like up close.

My previous boss told me I had no skills to ask for a raise, and this was after they moved me into a new position that was supposedly perfect for me because of my skill set. It seemed like all the hard work I put in was still amounting to nothing, no matter what I did at the company. I actually lost money because of that new position. I got a promotion on paper and a demotion in everything else, from health to finances. I hate how that made me feel, how anxious and upset I was about my job around my daughter. I didn’t want my woes to be hers, so I put my head down to change things. Within two years, I ran an entire department by myself, graduated from a master’s program, earned a couple more certifications, and left that job for a better opportunity, with no plans to look back. It was as though they were purposefully undervaluing and underpaying me. They underestimated what one person could do, so I made sure they remembered.

I am now in a season of leveling up, having pivoted professionally, earned my master’s degree in under a year, and started a business spanning generations. When I step out in front of new faces, it is a lot to not feel like I belong when I know good and well that I do. My mom didn’t prepare me for growth and the ebbs and flows of confidence, or how your confidence NEEDS to grow as you do.

What I wish someone had told me at 15 is that the world is not nice and it’s not meant to be. If I had known I was capable of so much, I would not have let what people think of me get in my head and cause me to falter on the path I was going. But since I didn’t have that advice, I earned it through hard times, moved accordingly, and turned their doubts about me into stepping stones.

People will try to make it seem like you shouldn’t be pursuing what you are because they secretly want it for themselves. The invisible enemies, the trolls on social media, they’ll tear apart your body, your face, or more for whatever reason. We’re not here to dive into this, though. What I will do differently is teach my daughter young. So far, my daughter sees that I do not care what anyone thinks, and will say it out loud or directly to her. I model that I belong in rooms and wherever we go. If someone says something that makes my girl doubt herself, the questions are simple: Is it true? And do you believe it? Then you choose the path to remedy what you believe. Move around, ascend above, or pivot. The world is too short, and life means too much to worry about what a person is doing to purposefully keep you down or push you out. All I know is, Ellie will not be second-guessing herself in her 30s. That part is already handled.

If you are somewhere in the middle of this, still learning what it feels like to walk into a room and know you belong, I put something together for you. It is called the Mother’s Guide, and it is free. It is for the mom who is still figuring herself out and wants her daughter to start from a different place. You can find it here.

Charnice T