MOTHERHOOD IS A SACRED STRUGGLE: A Love Letter to all Mamas
A Soulful Reflection for Every Kind of Mama
With Mother’s Day around the corner, I wanted to create a space to speak directly to the hearts of moms—the ones quietly holding it all together. This isn’t a highlight reel or a polished Pinterest-perfect post. This is an honest, layered reflection on what it means to be a mother in all its forms: whether you're partnered, solo, neurodivergent parenting, or simply trying to remember who you are outside of your role as “mom.”
This is for the mothers in survival mode. For the ones showing up with strength no one can measure. For the women carrying invisible loads no one sees—and rarely claps for.
Becoming a Mom Before Becoming Myself
I became a mom at 19—before I had a real chance to discover who I was as a woman. I had always dreamed of having a child, partially because I lacked a strong mother-daughter bond growing up. I thought motherhood would be the way I could reparent myself, break cycles, and finally feel a sense of purpose.
But even though I was excited, I had no idea what was coming. The day I found out I was pregnant is etched into my memory forever. It was 5AM, I was starting a new job, and something told me to take a test. I wasn’t prepared for the word “pregnant” to flash back at me. I wasn’t prepared for the way that one word would shift the entire trajectory of my life.
I didn’t expect to do it alone. But life had other plans. By the time my son was about eight months old, I officially became a single mother.
Solo but Never Stopped
Doing it alone wasn’t easy. I didn’t have consistent support. I didn’t always trust others to follow my boundaries or care for my son the way I would. So I did most of it by myself.
I breastfed for 18 months. I navigated early intervention when my son wasn’t meeting milestones. Eventually, he was diagnosed with Autism and Global Developmental Delay. And while some might view that diagnosis with fear, I viewed it as a doorway. An answer. A path forward.
Because my mission as his mother is simple: get him everything he needs to thrive.
And now? He’s almost six. He’s talking. He’s potty-trained. He’s asking for Oreos (constantly). He’s affectionate, brilliant, silly, and full of light. And I wouldn’t trade any of it.
The Mental Load No One Talks About
Whether your child has special needs or not—being a mother is hard. The mental load is invisible, and yet so heavy.
You’re remembering appointments, school events, playdates, meals, laundry, tantrums. You’re doing it all on two hours of sleep, while also trying to hold onto your sanity. One forgotten load of laundry can feel like the thing that tips your cup over—and not in a good way.
Mothers carry a weight that few recognize. And even when you do ask for help, there’s guilt. There’s judgment. There’s pressure to be strong at all times. And there’s grief.
Grief for the woman you were before motherhood. Grief for the freedom, the spontaneity, the dreams that had to be delayed. And the complicated truth? You can love your children with your entire being and still say, “This is hard.”
Finding Myself Again, Slowly
When you become a mother, it’s easy to forget who you are outside of that title. You tell yourself you don’t have time for hobbies, for self-care, for silence. But what you tell yourself becomes truth.
So I started asking:
Who was I before I was a mother?
Who do I want to be now?
What lights me up outside of parenting?
And I began to reclaim little pieces of myself. Journaling. Resting. Reflecting. Allowing myself to grieve and celebrate at the same time. I stopped waiting for recognition, and started giving myself the grace, love, and permission I needed to heal.
A Message to Every Kind of Mama
This is for you if you're:
A single mom with no support system.
A married mom who still feels emotionally alone.
A special needs mom who never gets to clock out.
A mom who feels like she lost herself and isn’t sure how to find her way back.
A stepmom, a hopeful mama, a grieving mama, or a mama in-between.
I see you.
I honor you.
I love you.
You are allowed to be messy and magnificent.
You are still healing and still worthy.
You are not just a mother—you are so much more.
Motherhood isn’t a performance. It’s not productivity. It’s not a Pinterest board. It’s real, raw, daily, soul-stretching work.
And even when no one claps for you, I want you to know:
You’re doing sacred work.
You deserve rest.
You deserve reverence.
You deserve more than just a day of flowers.
You deserve your own damn crown!