Last week, I traveled to Portugal with my husband for a cousin’s wedding without the kids, and it was exactly what I needed: a chance to recharge. And honestly? I need to do that more often.

We fully expected for everyone to give us grief about not bringing the kids to a family wedding, for leaving them at home while we traveled, and for not including them on this vacation. Dh and I even planned on a drinking game every time someone did complain about it or even came up with one liners in response (Bringing four kids to Europe isn’t tourism, it’s terrorism! Or, We came to Europe to drink wine, not to listen to the kids whine!)

We made this decision after much thought to not bring them. We know that while the kids love their family, it was important to prioritize THEM. A 15 hour journey via flights and layovers, and then an 8 hour time difference would have been very difficult for their little brains and bodies to handle. It would have been a nightmare for them, and they honestly enjoyed a week with their nani, nana, mama, mami, and Miss Angela at home. They were pampered and had lots of treats and toys awaiting them. We are blessed to have a village who loves the kids so much and who the kids love back. In reality, they were more excited for the Godzilla waiting for them upon our return than they were for us!

But no one gave us grief for not bringing them!! I think it was because for the first time, they saw us differently-not running after kids, not trying to feed the kids in a rush, not stressed. We looked carefree and happy. This isn’t to say we don’t love the kids, but that we needed a break for the first time in almost eight years. Life at home is chaotic to say the least, if you need an example, refer back to the poop post! We needed to fill our cup so we could be whole, so we can be the best versions of ourselves. And boy oh boy did we have a blast!

For years, I watched my husband play tennis every single week. I used to resent him for it. How could he just carve out that time for himself while I was nursing, buried in laundry, cleaning and cooking, managing kids’ schedules, and going through the never-ending to-do list? But now I see it differently. He made space for something that filled his life with happiness. And maybe instead of resenting that, I should be learning from it. I tell him all the time that I admire him, and maybe this should be one thing I should model!

The truth is, from my own life and what I have observed of others, it seems it is always expected for women to just power through. I used to pride myself on making sure my husband slept soundly through the night so he was rested and functional the next day, while I was up every couple of hours feeding. Even on this Portugal vacation, I’d be awake from 1–3 am helping my parents settle the kids, figuring out bedtime, sorting through homework, or answering my mom’s questions. Somehow everyone else’s rest was essential, but mine was always optional. Why is that fair? Our rest as women is just as important!

Could it be because our brains are wired differently? Of course!

After my ectopic pregnancy, that way of living only deepened as I fell into severe postpartum anxiety. My brain never stopped spinning about the kids’ schedules, what they were eating, or whether the floors were clean enough. I lived in constant fear. Fear of failing, of being judged, of not being the “perfect” mom. I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t breathe. And it just really hurt that no one ever stopped to think that it wasn’t just me being difficult, but it was me suffering.

A couple of months ago, after struggling quietly, I asked to be started on a medication to help with my anxiety. I was feeling severe palpitations, constantly feeling wired, just always on edge. It made me very very drowsy, so I stopped it after two weeks of trying it. But I noticed a change a few weeks later, as if the medication had done exactly what it meant to do: it rewired me. For the first time in years, I felt a little more at ease. Suddenly, walking on dirty floors wasn’t the catastrophe it once was. That might sound small to you, but for me, it was huge. It was proof that the fog was finally lifting.

Now, when I see other moms in that same phase, with all the anxiety, the exhaustion, the endless pressure, I just want to hug them and whisper, This won’t last forever. You will breathe again. I know everyone’s experience is different, and it may not be as extreme as it was for me. But I see it. I see everyone’s concern for what they are feeding their babies, what they are doing for their babies, how they are caring for their families. It is so valid to be confused and concerned at the same time. And it is so so hard. I remember printing out growth charts to prove to family that my children were growing well when I was guilted for choosing to breastfeed. I remember pressuring my eldest to eat purees and feeling like I was a failure when he didn’t like it. I remember feeling like the worst mother ever by choosing daycare over staying at home with the kids. I remember feeling like a bad mom for choosing a role in my career that involved admin instead of taking more on at home.

But why? Why did I do that to myself?

Yesterday, we took the kids to Disney as a treat for doing so well while we were gone to Portugal, and of course it wasn’t the Instagram version of Disney. In fact, when I saw the picture of us in front of the castle, I pointed out to my husband why our kids couldn’t smile like others on their Insta profile. How silly of me! On the way there, two out of four kids threw up in the car. But I caught it like a pro! Thank you, years of having all the kids throw up on every car ride over 20 min, so having those wipes and vomit bags for “just in case” moments came in clutch. At the park, they all had complete meltdowns in the heat (picture above is animated version of the real picture capturing the meltdowns!) Dh and I ended up leaving early with the younger two so they could nap while everyone else stayed. That’s motherhood in a nutshell: always adjusting, always sacrificing. I felt so sad that the older two got to enjoy Pirates of the Caribbean with their mama and mami (and of course, as a reframe, I had to remind myself that my kids are so lucky to have them as their family, who love them so so much to take them on this experience!) I felt so sad that I was missing out on that with them. Why? Because I don’t want to just be the mom who cooks, cleans, and schedules. I want to be the fun mom.

Last week, I actually was. I danced on a dance floor like nobody was watching. I’ll admit that I got too drunk (the kind where I was crying at the bar over how much I missed my kids haha) , and I was embarrassed the next morning. But I also realized I hadn’t had that much fun in over eight years. Carefree, dancing, laughing. And it felt incredible.

That’s the balance I’m chasing now. To embrace myself, not just the roles I play. To let go of the resentment, the perfection, the weight of always doing it all. To carve out space for joy, even if it looks messy or imperfect.

Because in the end, that’s what I want my kids to remember. Not the spotless floors. Not the laundry that is perfectly organized. Not the bhindi and daal for dinner. I want them to remember the mom who laughed with them, who danced like crazy, who sometimes got a little messy, and who loved the ride enough to enjoy it right alongside them. It is a work in progress, so I hope I excel at it. I also hope I give myself grace for the times when I don’t.

So here I am, finally learning what I should have known all along, how sometimes the best thing you can do for your family is to embrace yourself.