Pregnancy was nine of the hardest months of my life. Times three. Miscarriage marks my soul and our beloved tiny one waits in heaven (read his story at #losingzion). Motherhood is my greatest joy and a daily reminder of my brokenness and my humanness. A public showcase of the very best and the absolute worst parts of me.
I love cosleeping, but I miss actual sleep.
I love the creativity of my boys, but I don’t love the hurricane of projects and toys and snack crumbs they leave in their wake.
I want to be the free range mama that my heart admires, but I tend to be more of a helicopter.
I love the friendship my boys have and I wouldn’t change it for a thing, but sometimes I have to plug my ears because the volume, all the volume.
I could not be more proud to be a boy mama through and through, but sometimes I still walk a bit more slowly past the little girls section at target and wonder if I’ll ever get to shop there.
I am in awe of the powerful bond that exclusively breastfeeding all of my boys created, but sometimes I miss my body being mine.
Do I cringe writing those things? Yes. Do I know some people will read this and their heart will agree with every word? Yes. Do I know someone reading this will have struggled with infertility or struggled to breastfeed and be hurt that I would say there are things about motherhood that I don’t love, that I struggle with? Yes. Does that make me want to delete this post? Yes. But I won’t.
The beauty, and the pain, of motherhood is that every single journey is unique. One of a kind. Incomparable. But what do we do? We compare. We assume. We judge, ourselves and others. We look at others to gauge if we’re doing this thing right. We secretly congratulate ourselves when the kid throwing a tantrum in the grocery store isn’t ours. And when it is? We assume everyone must think we’re the worst mama in the world.
Motherhood has lost its grace.
Let me say it again.
Motherhood has lost its grace.
We have lost our grace.
For ourselves and for others.
Because for so many, motherhood has lost the heart of the tribe and has become another form of competition. If we can prove we’re doing better then the mama over there, then we can feel better about the places we know we’re failing.
Friends. Mamas. We can do better than this. We need to do better than this. For ourselves. For each other. For our daughters who will grow up and become us. For our sons who will grow up and marry someone like us. For all of us.
And it starts by agreeing that each of our stories are wildly unique, and deeply important. When we know there is room for all of our journeys, then we can stop comparing and we can start linking arms and walking this path together. Learning. Teaching. Encouraging. Guiding. Loving. Living. Together. A tribe as it was meant to be. A sisterhood that changes everything.
There is nothing more powerful than the heart of a mother. Wherever you are in your motherhood journey, whatever your story looks like, keep writing it. Don’t doubt it’s validity or it’s power. No one else’s story takes away from the importance of yours. We’re in this together. Don’t ever forget that. #savingsisterhood