Then & Now: A Gentle Reflection for the Moms Walking Behind Me

There was a season of my life where everything felt full — full hands, full heart, full days — and still, somehow, not enough of me to go around.

When my kids were little, what felt heaviest was trying to give my undivided attention to each child while knowing the other needed me just as much. I was learning how to juggle three very different personalities, all while quietly learning how to re‑parent myself at the same time. It was never easy. There were a lot of tears — mine and theirs — but there was always love. Always smiles that broke through. Sunny days and gloomy days alike, we just kept going. Growing. Evolving.

What I worried about more than I ever said out loud was whether my kids truly knew how deeply I loved them. I worried every single day that I couldn’t show them enough, give them enough, be enough. That fear lived quietly in me — even on the good days.

Looking back, I see how much support I needed and didn’t fully have. I needed a more emotional partnership from my husband, but he wasn’t taught how to step into that role or take the lead in that way. I needed a world that saw me as a mom who needed an extra five minutes to breathe — and told me that was okay. I needed to take five more minutes to play, to pause, to regulate my own nervous system that wasn’t prepared for the enormous undertaking of not only creating a child… and then two more… but shaping the emotional world of these little humans who would one day step out into the future.

I carried a deep worry that I wouldn’t teach them enough kindness or acceptance — that I wouldn’t do enough to help them create a ripple of goodness in the world. They were made from love, and I wanted love to be what they gave back. Don’t we need that now more than ever?

When I think about those years, my body remembers them like yesterday. I can look at old pictures and feel the sun on my skin as I watched them splash into the pool. It all moved too fast — and it really was too fast. I can still feel their tiny knuckles curled into my hands as newborns, sitting in my lap, staring at them in disbelief that I had somehow put something so beautiful together. Suddenly, I was holding an entire new world.

It was a whirlwind — and if you don’t slow down, you really do miss it.

What I now realize is how much I carried alone that I never should have had to. Somewhere along the way, I picked up perfection guilt — constantly worrying about the impact I was making and the impact they would make. I still carry guilt for moments where I chose myself, or chose survival through situations that weren’t healthy. I carry guilt that my kids had to watch their mom grow up too — something I didn’t fully realize until they were already grown.

There was a season where I remember thinking, Why does this feel so hard for me? I was burnt out, overstimulated, and exhausted from holding everything together. I came undone for years trying to find myself again — my purpose, my footing, my sense of identity. As the kids’ schedules grew, my inconsistency grew with them. Over time, I learned that much of this came from neurodivergent burnout. I had to slow down. Take different paths. Make choices that some people couldn’t understand.

But I had to listen to myself — so that I could truly listen to my kids.

Now, with my kids grown — 20, 19, and 17 — I see those years differently. So many of my worries could have been softened with a few more deep breaths. It wasn’t all as bad as it felt at the time, even though it felt overwhelming in the moment. I made hard decisions — some mature, some not — but they were all made from the heart.

What I wish someone had gently told me back then is this:

learn grace.

Real grace.

Grace with yourself.

For me, grace means forgiveness..

Especially in those quiet moments at night when you replay the day, or the week, or the years gone by.

It’s being able to take a breath, be honest, and say: I tried my best. I loved. And I can try again tomorrow.

Be your own biggest cheerleader. That’s the voice your child is growing up alongside — so let it be kind & proud.

What I now know about children — something I could only learn by living it — is that they notice everything. They listen to more than we think & they feel our moods before we even recognize them ourselves.

That knowing, is part of why creating this space for families — not just kids — matters so deeply to me. Our family lived at a different pace.

We weren’t a typical, perfectly scheduled household.

We were a railroad family, with unpredictable schedules that often worked against everyday life. When our kids entered school, they missed crucial time with their dad, and life became more complicated.

I learned that learning shouldn’t feel like a chore. That quality time with friends and family is essential for building self‑esteem, autonomy, and true understanding. Childhood deserves room to breathe.

When moms walk into our space, I want them to feel safe & at home. I want them to feel comfortable grabbing a quick cup of coffee with another mom — or confident dropping their child off so they can take a much‑needed breath, run an errand, or simply sit quiet for a moment. WITHOUT THE GUILT. I want you to feel like you’re leaving your child with a sister or a best friend — knowing they are safe, seen, and cared for.

And at the same time, knowing their child is learning, growing, meeting meaningful milestones, and being gently prepared for the bigger world ahead.

I’m not here because I have it all figured out.

I’m here because I believe childhood is magical — and kids can, and should, be allowed to grow up gently.

If you’re in the thick of it right now,

I hope you know this:

you’re not behind,

you’re not failing,

and you’re not alone.

I’m walking a few steps ahead — and I left the light on for you.