I’m not perfect, but I am the perfect mother for my child

In the times of ease, I am their perfect mother. In the times of challenge, I am their perfect mother.

I’m not perfect, but I am the perfect mother for my child

I am their perfect mother. I’m not a perfect mother. I’m their perfect mother.


In the times of ease,I am their perfect mother. In the times of challenge,I am their perfect mother. They chose me to travel this path with them. During times of confusion, I enter the silence of my being and remember – I am the right mom for my two small human beings.

My journey to family began with two short pregnancies. Back-to-back pregnancies that ended without a baby, only with heartbreak. A large part of my healing came from my search for spirit and spiritual practice.

Having my heart cracked open from my miscarriages also left my heart wide open for insights, quiet voices, and new light to come through.

It was a time of profound change.

My third pregnancy was my five year old son’s—Tucker. His pregnancy was filled with anxiety—for obvious reason. The one thing that kept me going was a vibrational hum I could feel, the entire time I was pregnant with him. Everyday I had to feel that humming sensation in my womb, so that I would know all was well. If the hum were faint, I would get very quiet, meditative, and sit until I could feel it again.

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Toward the end of his pregnancy, I had a dream that has stayed with me since. In the dream, it was as though his soul was taking my soul out into the universe, he was showing me all of it—everything—the cosmos.  All beings made sense for a moment of time—fo rall I could feel was love. He told me that he was fine. That people would think he wasn’t healthy, but not to worry—that he would be small, but healthy. He told me he had chosen me. He told me he was coming to be my teacher. I awoke with a sense of peace I had never known before.

Not long after, on his due date, I found myself at the dreaded Ultrasound center (anyone who has lost a pregnancy knows why they become dreaded) having an “emergency ultrasound” to determine whether or not his blood flow had stopped. If his growth had stopped. If he was in distress. I should have been an absolute wreck. Somewhere inside, I knew he was fine. My heart was at peace, even when my brain was doing it’s “what if” thing.

Low and behold, the ultrasound discovered he was completely healthy, no signs of distress at all. He did measure to be very small. So small, in fact, the ultrasound techs decided to use the word “abnormality” with me. Side note: I could write an essay on words and phrases an ultrasound tech should not use vs. ones to use. For a moment, I was terrified, but when I fell into my silence and felt him, felt his being, all worries faded away.

He was born two days later, six pounds even.

He looked right at me, and I could feel: We knew each other already. And that I was his mother.

Five years into this dance together, I can attest to the fact that he is, in fact, one of my greatest teachers, in every sense of the word. I find myself needing to be humble to that. My brain or my education doesn’t always have the answer. My answers are often within—buried deep under the to-do list, the noise of the outside world, and the endless stream of information coming at us these days. My answers lie in the quiet recesses of the soul, where I once again can meet him as spirits. Not mother and son, but two spirits on this path together.

My son is a delightful little man. Truly. He has the most infectious giggle I’ve ever heard, and eyes that dance with joy.  But he’s also quite intense, in many different ways. He’s complicated. I feel every nuance to his complexity, and he feels my reaction to his nuances. Tucker, his sister, and myself, are a whirlwind of emotions. It gets overwhelming at times.

We are currently in one of those times. A time of discomfort before the next level of beauty and growth and maturity evolves. It’s a challenging place for me to be, and a difficult place for me to hold for my son. I’m struggling to find ease. The best how to books and expert advice don’t have all the answers. So I remember—I ­re-member—connect with myself and enter the silence. I return to that dream, that time before all the influences of this world were upon us. I again feel his presence, his otherworldly presence, the essence of his being telling me, I am here. I chose you.

I am his perfect mother.

When I feel confused or worried, I can still look into his deep blue eyes and see his trust.  He trusts the process, and so should I.  I’m not supposed to have all the answers. It’s not supposed to be easy all the time. That doesn’t mean it can’t hurt when we get lost for a bit. That doesn’t mean the search for what’s right won’t be painful. It is always a work in process.

I make a lot of mistakes.

But when I say I’m his perfect mother, I truly do believe it.

I rely on it to guide me. Our journey together may not look like another family’s. And that’s ok. I am who he needs me to be.

The next time you find yourself wading in the river of challenge with your children, please remember you are good enough, you are more than good enough—you are their perfect mother. They chose you.

I am his perfect mother. I am the right mother for my children. And so are you.

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