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The only difference between you and I is that it’s all new to you. It’s like learning any new skill. It’s not supposed to be easy or feel comfortable.
When the world tries to make you tough and rigid, I will understand your need to be a soft thing. I will help you navigate your emotions. I will make mountains tremble at your name. I will carry you, again and again.
I don’t want to say my life stopped because I had kids. I had kids, and then I continued. But this time, with more passion and more drive. Because I want my kids to see how much I love what I do so that they chase after their dreams and do what brings them joy, too.
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I hear you mama, when will it all end? The thing is, one day it will. Sooner than we anticipate.
Nothing has brought me greater joy than motherhood, but nothing has brought me greater grief than becoming a foreigner to my own skin.
I have to imagine you feel this too. I have to believe that these feelings, these days of mine are felt by others. I’m saying it out loud because this rawness is so very real, it’s oh so real, and I can’t cover it up.
It’s holding on. To firsts and lasts, to moments of magic in the mundane, and to an ache of loving so deeply.
You taught me that mothering—or womanhood—does not always have to be synonymous with strength. That there is room for weakness and error. That I have somewhere to rest my weary head until I have the wit to rise again. Thank you for being a resting and a rising place all within the same breath.
I’m a mama in Oregon. But, because I’m a mama, my heart feels the terror of a mama in Ukraine.