Inside My Mom Brain…
Motherhood is a journey of constant change—filled with joy, challenges, and moments that take your breath away. Here’s my honest reflection on the stages of raising boys, the lessons I hope to leave them, and the love that never fades.
Being a mom is the most beautiful contradiction. It’s amazing and exhausting. Fulfilling and depleting. A constant tug-of-war between wanting to slow time down and fast-forward through the chaos.
Some days, I look at my boys and can’t wait for them to grow up—to see who they become, to watch them thrive in the world on their own. But in the very same breath, my heart aches knowing they’ll need me a little less with each passing day. It’s bittersweet watching their independence bloom. I’m proud—so, so proud—but also quietly mourning the versions of them that are slowly fading into memories.
People always ask me, "What’s been your favorite age?" And truthfully, I can’t choose. Every stage has been the best. Each chapter brings something new to love, and somehow, my heart keeps making room. It just keeps getting better—even in the hard moments.
What matters most to me is that no matter how independent they become, they always know I’m here. That I’m their safe place. That even when the world feels too big or too loud or too much, they can come to me without hesitation. That lesson—of unwavering support and unconditional love—is one of the most important I want to give them.
I look at my relationship with my own parents now. I’m grown, with kids of my own, and yet they’re still my rock. They’re who I turn to, who I trust, who I lean on. And I want my boys to have that too. Not just now, while they’re small and need help with everything, but always. When they’re teenagers, men, fathers… I want them to know that I’ll still be (one of) their mom. Their safe harbor. Their constant.
Motherhood is hard. It tests every part of me—my patience, my strength, my self-worth. Some nights I lie awake, questioning everything I did. Wishing I had reacted differently, been more patient, been more present. But I think that self-reflection, that worry—it means I care. Deeply. And I hope that’s what my boys feel too. That even when I mess up, my love for them never wavers.
I always wanted to be a mom. And now, here I am. Living it. And it’s more beautiful, more overwhelming, more heart-filling than I ever imagined. There’s no manual, no perfect way to do this, but I lead with love—and that has to be enough.
Because at the end of the day, they’re growing, and so am I. Together
