You’ll often hear people say, ‘Savor every moment. You’ll miss these days.’ It’s well-intentioned advice, really meant to encourage gratitude and presence in the midst of our venting sessions. But when you’re in the thick of parenting, while running on fumes, juggling endless tasks, and barely holding it all together, those words can feel more like pressure than comfort. I used to feel that for so long. Why couldn’t I savor these moments? I was in the midst of this thick, heavy, disorienting fog. I was not only tired from the wake ups at night to nurse a baby, or to deal with an overtired toddler waking up screaming at 5am, or having to pee a million times because of a uterus pressing my bladder, but I was also so drained that I could not even see it. It was post partum anxiety and post partum depression.

Looking back, I grieve a little for that version of me: the one who couldn’t always enjoy the baby snuggles, who felt guilty for wanting space or for feeling trapped by a sleeping baby on my chest, who moved through the days like a ghost of herself.

But now, for the first time in years, two years after my last delivery, I’m not pregnant. I’m not postpartum. I’m not gearing up for another birth or healing from one. And the fog is finally lifting. My brain feels clearer. And for some reason, my heart feels calmer. And with that clarity comes a new awareness — a tenderness toward my past self, and a deep compassion for other moms who are in this space.

Parenthood is hard. Life is hard. We go through the motions, often on autopilot. Some days are beautiful. Some are brutal. Most are somewhere in between. And while it’s helpful to look for the joy, to notice the little things in life that can make you smile, it’s also okay to say, “This is really, really hard.”

The parents who came before us? They’re not trying to dismiss our struggle. They’re speaking from a place of love as they long for those memories. They are remembering the softness of those early days, the innocence of small voices, the kind of chaos that now feels like a blur to them.

But I think what we need more than nostalgia is validation. We need people to say:
“I see you.”
“I know it’s exhausting.”
“It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”
“It’s okay to not love every second.”

Showing up for one another can mean listening, venting together, holding space, recounting similar stories about the craziness that is life.

This is something that goes even beyond parenthood, it is a part of life. We have ups and downs in life, filled with moments of joy and grief. In life’s journey, you will hit moments full of clarity and some moments bogged down by a fog. And you should be allowed to feel it ALL. Please remember you are allowed to slow down and to fall apart a little. You can cry, you can question it all, you can melt into the ground. Give it time. Because the fog will lift.

When the fog does begin to clear, that is when you will see the glimmers in life. You can breath in that moment of quiet to make your day feel lighter. My brother-in-law is a big advocate for meditation, and it something so beautiful to explore. It’s really what prompted me to teach the kids how to embrace ourselves (thank you K!). I am not perfect at it yet, but I am trying to teach deep breathing and reflection for myself and for the kids, and encourage you to do the same.

I want to notice those glimmers more. I want to find the simple joys in life. Even if it is just looking for the shape of a heart in my day to day life, like in the flower I see on a windowsill. Not just for my family, but for the moms out there who are still in it, who are still exhausted, still unsure, still trying to find themselves in the blur. I wish I had someone telling me how it was okay to not be okay. How I wasn’t doing anything wrong. How it will pass. I want to be that voice for you all now.

Embrace the moment, not perfectly, not always joyfully, but honestly. Embrace it for what it is. It is messy, it is fleeting, it is complicated, it is beautiful. Because even in the hard, there is meaning. And even in the fog, there is light. ❤