The Mother I Thought I'd Be

This morning felt small. Quiet. Ordinary.

And somehow… unforgettable.

DJ was laying on the couch eating bacon I had just made for him, and I found myself just sitting there looking at him with this overwhelming feeling of gratitude.

Not the rushed kind of gratitude.Not the “I know I should appreciate this” kind.

Real gratitude.

The kind that stops you in your tracks for a second because you suddenly realize: this is the moment.

I told him how proud I was of him. For all the progress he’s made at school. 

For being kind. Helpful. Gentle. For trying hard. For growing.

And then I told him how grateful I was for him. He looked at me and said: “I’m so grateful for you.” Then: “I love you so much.”

And I realized something in that moment.

This… this is what I imagined motherhood would feel like.

Not perfection. Not Pinterest. Not constant happiness.

But connection. 

Softness. 

Presence. 

Love that can actually be felt.

And the truth is… it wasn’t always this way for me.

I struggled after becoming a mom.

Deeply.

I was overwhelmed, overstimulated, short-tempered, reactive, exhausted, disconnected from myself, and honestly confused by how hard motherhood felt compared to what I thought it was supposed to feel like.

And I don’t think enough women talk about that.

I think a lot of mothers silently grieve the version of themselves they lost while trying to survive taking care of everyone else.

Because women change after children.

Emotionally. 

Physically. 

Mentally. 

Spiritually.

And sometimes it takes years to find your way back to yourself again.

Sometimes you need support getting there.

Sometimes you don’t even realize how disconnected you’ve become until one day… you finally slow down enough to notice it.

That’s what’s been happening to me lately.

Slowing down.

Becoming aware.
Actually being in my life instead of racing through it.

Even the smallest things have started to feel sacred to me.

Feeding the birds in the front yard.

Watching my little squirrel friend come by.

Stopping to smell my roses before getting in the car.

These moments were always here.

I just wasn’t here enough to see them.

And now I understand something I didn’t before:

Joy isn’t hiding somewhere far away waiting to be found.

It lives in the ordinary moments we rush past.

In the couch conversations.

The sleepy morning snuggles.

The birds singing outside.

The pause before walking out the front door.

Life was never missing.

I just needed to slow down enough to finally arrive in it.