Without a doubt, I'm getting better at it. Motherhood is like a muscle that just keeps getting stronger, every time you use it.
I was lying in bed after another marathon day of motherhood.
Work, cooking, cleaning, doctor's appointments, bedtime stories.
My emails filled my inbox. Our laundry flowed over and out of the basket.
I was working a full time job on East Coast hours—while living on the West Coast. So I worked 6 am to 2 pm every day, and then took over toddler-watching duties until bed time. I cleaned the house in the evenings, and then squeezed in a few hours of sleep before the next round started all over again.
Life with my toddler and my second son on the way felt exhausting. At nine months pregnant, I worried about how I was going to manage it all with two kids, when keeping up with life with just one child felt so challenging. I was scared about growing our family—but our little one was about to show up any day.
And that's when I saw it.
Scrolling on my phone when I should have been asleep, I read eight simple words that shifted my entire perspective on motherhood. It was an Instagram post that honestly changed my life. It read—
It doesn't get easier. You just get stronger.
It was as if a ray of hope entered my heavy burdened life.
You see, I had been struggling against motherhood. I had been sinking underneath the weight of the work. I had been fretting amidst the constant demands and the growing expectations of raising two tiny little people. I had been staring down the challenge of parenting and swearing to myself that some day, somehow, it was going to just get easier.
It HAD to get easier, I told myself.
Because becoming a new mother, especially those first few years, just. felt. so. hard.
And those words, this insight, made me realize that motherhood actually wasn't going to get easier, but that I was going to rise to the occasion.
“It doesn't get easier, you just get stronger."
It transformed me.
My house wasn't going to get magically cleaner—but I'll get better at living more simply and hiring help when I can.
My kids won't necessarily sleep through the night—but I'll prioritize self-care and my own rest in a new way.
Toddler tantrums will still raise my blood pressure—but I can use motherhood as an opportunity to become the calm, peaceful woman that deep down I long to be.
Our laundry piles will not suddenly disappear—but I'll find ways to build it into my routine and not get so behind.
I won't stop missing alone time with my husband—but we'll keep becoming stronger partners and finding joy in our roles as mom and dad.
The email will never stop arriving—but I'll get better at managing working motherhood and knowing what to prioritize, and what to let go.
I won't suddenly stop worrying about money— but I'll learn to find joy in experiences, not things.
Because deep down, I knew that motherhood wouldn't suddenly get easier. Talk to a mom a few years ahead of you, with kids a few years older than yours, and you'll realize that things aren't easier, they're just different.
The worrying doesn't disappear—but what you worry about does.
The demands won't lighten—but the tasks that occupy your time can change.
So while today I worry about getting to preschool on time, later I'll worry about where my kids are out so late.
While today I wonder if their clothes are clean, tomorrow I'll worry if they are up to the challenge of caring for themselves.
While today I fret over toddler skirmishes, tomorrow I'll fear bullies and online harassment.
While today I worry about being SO needed all the time, tomorrow I'll miss the days when I could solve all their problems with just my presence.
But my ability to handle it all? Without a doubt, I'm getting better at it. Motherhood is like a muscle that just keeps getting stronger, every time you use it.
It's not get easier, but I'm getting so much stronger.
And there's no one stronger than a mother.