Motherhood has reshaped everything I thought I knew—about love, identity, purpose, and strength. It’s not just a role I’ve stepped into; this first year of motherhood has completely transformed me. In this post, I’m sharing a personal reflection on what it has felt like to become a mother— the overwhelming love, the quiet moments, the internal shifts, and the beautiful (and sometimes bittersweet) realization that life will never be the same again. This is for the mothers, the soon-to-be mothers, and anyone who has ever loved so deeply that it changed them…
My heart, once safely secured inside of my chest, now lives outside of it. It has tiny hands and feet. And bright eyes that look up at me with wonder. There are moments of temporary relief when my child is protected within my arms. I feel like I could live in those sweet moments forever. But those moments are fleeting and the days when she is small enough to fit here are dwindling.
I have loved many things in my life, but nothing compares to the love I feel for my child – or the love she has for me. She doesn’t have the words yet, but she tells me in her own sweet ways. Like when she rushes towards me from across the room. When she grabs a hold of my leg and doesn’t want to let go. It’s in the way she needs me, in the way her face lights up at the sight of me and in her constant desire to simply be near. Since she was born my heart has expanded beyond what I thought possible. This type of love opens my eyes to two truths: First, nothing in the world matters more than the raising of my child. Second, everything in this world matters- because it is the world she will grow up in. This love compels me to speak more boldly, to choose more carefully, and to build a home that feels safe, nurturing, and whole.
God has given the world many peaceful sounds—the morning songs of birds, the gentle rhythm of a river making its way to the ocean. But I was not prepared to find the beauty in the laughter of my own child. It demands the stillness of the world around me. I am instantly brought into her energy field of pure joy. Her laughter feels like her heart’s way of reaching out and touching mine. A reminder that sometimes love isn’t something we do, but something we are. I find that I desperately want to protect that sense of joy inside my child for as long as possible. To protect her from anything or anyone that might try to dim her light.
Since becoming a mother, I realize that no grand adventure I have ever been on can compare to this one. No accomplishment achieved is as great as growing such a perfect human being. All my past ambitions pale in comparison to this new calling: To use my own wisdom to help carve a better path for my child than the one that was carved for me. To pour love into my daughter so that she may know what love is. To treat her with kindness so that she may become kind. To set an example with my own life because I know she will learn by watching me more than by any words I speak. To realize the best way I can help contribute to a better world is by starting with the one within my own home.
Women are strong all on our own, yes. But I believe motherhood asks something deeper of us. It requires strength wrapped in softness. It is a constant dance between holding on and letting go. Of both our children and our selves. I hold on to my daughter to comfort her. To provide a safe and loving space for her. I hold on because I know these days won’t last for long, so I try to soak it every minute of it. But I let go so that she may learn on her own. I let go so that she may grow, even when it hurts me to see her stumble. I hold on to myself because I am still me—a woman with dreams and needs and growth still to come. But I let go of the impossible expectations of myself. I release the woman I once was to fully embrace the woman I am becoming. True strength isn’t about perfection. It is the quiet fortitude to keep going—especially when quitting isn’t an option. And as mothers, we carry on, we smile, and we persevere.
This journey has transformed me. My value is no longer measured in an annual salary or how much I can accomplish in a day. It is found in being fully present while my child cooks me imaginary meals in her toy kitchen. It is found in how I show up – again and again – for my family. I’m no longer chasing the beauty of the world – because I’ve found the most breathtaking view in the eyes of my child as she looks up at me with love. Time in nature now means sitting right outside our home and watching her clap rocks together between her tiny hands. I am forever changed – and for the better. Because I’ve come to understand that the most important set of eyes is always watching. And learning. And becoming. The old version of me got us here. But the best version of me—the one I’m becoming today—will take the hands of my child and guide them through all the tomorrows we have yet to live.
