Motherhood has profoundly transformed me. It has dismantled my preconceived notions and unveiled my true self. And I don’t mean that in a negative way—I mean it in a real and honest sense.
Having been a mother for just over eight years, I’ve embarked on a journey of self-discovery that has revealed truths I never anticipated.
Since I embraced the role of a mother, everything feels more intense—my heart, my tears, my thoughts, my pain, my joy, and even my guilt. Every emotion weighs heavily on me, causing my steps to feel like a struggle between two opposing forces. It’s an overwhelming burden, heavier than I ever imagined. This journey has been unexpected and challenging.
Welcoming two little beings into the world left me feeling utterly unprepared. I once believed I could excel in this role, but now I question whether I’m creating the childhood my kids truly deserve. They deserve more than I can often provide—structure, proper discipline, and nutritious meals, even if they refuse them. Too often, I fall short in offering those choices. I wish I could be the mom who cooks every meal from scratch, but that’s not who I am.
Currently, I’m focusing on my passions and career, and yes, the guilt is relentless. My youngest is four, and I once convinced myself I needed to stay home with him, only to realize that it made me unhappy. I thrive on movement, creativity, and pursuing something beyond just raising my wonderful children.
Admitting this feels like a confession of failure. Am I a bad person for wanting more beyond motherhood? Aren’t my kids enough to bring me joy and fulfillment?
My children are indeed enough—they’re more than I ever dreamed they would be. They inspire and energize me. They are everything to me, yet I find myself in turmoil.
During my eight-and-a-half-year journey of exploration and realization, I uncovered a profound truth: I am not enough. I’ve spent too long believing I’m not doing enough for my kids, convincing myself that they deserve more than I can give. I’ve become a self-critical mess, feeling unworthy of the beautiful life I have and believing that wanting more is somehow wrong.
The truth is, I haven’t been giving myself enough attention. I’ve treated myself as if I don’t deserve a full life, punishing myself with guilt for wanting to achieve more. My heart doesn’t just reside at home; it lives within my children. I can’t continue to berate myself for wanting more. I can’t downplay the woman who brought life into this world.
That mother deserves to hear: “You are enough! You are more than enough.”
It’s OK if I don’t cook every meal from scratch (let’s be honest, I don’t cook any meals from scratch). It’s alright if my discipline wavers because sometimes I just can’t handle it. And it’s perfectly fine if our home structure remains intact without brushing our teeth every Friday night. What matters most is the love we share—there’s more than enough love for my children to give and receive tenfold.
I’m stepping into a new phase of motherhood, ready to discover something profound—something that will mend the pieces of me that need healing. I am enough.
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