identity, anxiety, & imperfection

I’m not going to sit here and sugarcoat it: motherhood is the most beautiful kind of struggle I’ve ever experienced.

There are moments when I stare at my boys and feel a love so fierce it’s a physical ache. Then there are moments — many, in all reality — when I want to lock myself in the bathroom and scream into a towel. Because it’s just hard. It’s really, really hard.

No one told me how lonely it could feel as a new mom, even when I am never physically alone. No one warned me about the identity crisis — the woman I used to be versus the woman and mother I’ve become. She’s still in there, somewhere beneath the spit-up-stained hoodies, the mental exhaustion, and the constant anxiety of keeping a tiny human alive and thriving.

There are days when I absolutely knock it out of the park. The boys and in their matching little outfits, meals are cooked, laundry is folded, dog is walked, and I even get a hot shower myself. Then there are days where everyone cries, including me. Days when cereal counts as dinner and the laundry piles up like a monument of my self perceived failure.

I’ve learned that loving my boys doesn’t mean I have to love every single moment of motherhood. I still do my best to find reflection and appreciation for every moment, even the challenging ones. I give my heart the space to simultaneously adore my babies and dread the sleepless nights. I can be grateful and also exhausted beyond belief. And that’s okay. That’s real. It doesn’t make me any less of a mother.

Social media shows the highlight reel — matching outfits, milestones, and everyone smiling at the same time. But what you don’t always see are the postpartum tears, the mental battles, the feeling of being totally touched out but still needed 24/7.

There is beauty there, too. In the chaos. In the mess. When the whole world is quiet and it’s just us. In the giggles, the family dinners, the little arms wrapped around my neck, the whispers “I love you, Mommy.”

Motherhood isn’t perfect. And I am definitely not, But we’re figuring it out — all together. And maybe that’s what makes it real.