Standing in the checkout line at a grocery store, I watched a mother holding a crying baby in one arm while unloading her cart with the other. Her toddler was knee-deep in the candy shelf, creating chaos with sticky hands and zero awareness. My former self—before motherhood—would have judged that scene. I would have wondered why she couldn’t control her kids, why she didn’t look more put-together, why everything seemed so… messy. It breaks my heart now to remember how I used to see mothers and their children. I thought becoming a parent would grant me access to the so-called “parent club”— a group of adults who swap boring stories about their kids and insist on showing strangers hundreds of baby pictures on their phones. But I was wrong. Motherhood didn’t just change my role—it transformed my perspective. It gave me eyes to finally see. Not a new world, but the same one I’d been living in all along. One I had been blind to. I see now that children are not burdens to be managed —they are blessings to be nurtured. And the mothers I used to overlook? They are warriors in yoga pants, holding their families together through sleep deprivation, self-doubt, and invisible sacrifices. This post is both a confession and a love letter. A confession of what I didn’t know. And a love letter to the mothers who are doing an incredible job—even when it doesn’t feel like it.
Before I became a mother, I thought I understood. I thought moms didn’t really need help—or at least that there was nothing I could do to make a difference. I felt disconnected, unsure, like an outsider looking in. I watched from the sidelines, assuming they had it handled. Looking back, I see how wrong I was. I had no idea what mothers carried every day—mentally, emotionally, physically. I didn’t understand the constant juggling act: the fatigue layered over worry, the endless to-do lists, the invisible weight of being everything to someone, all the time. I used to silently judge the women I saw in public, frazzled and flustered with their kids. A child melting down in the grocery aisle. A mom struggling to keep her toddler seated at a restaurant. I thought they looked disorganized or overwhelmed. What I didn’t see was the courage it took for them to even step outside that day. I didn’t see how badly they needed to leave the four walls of their home. To put on real clothes—whatever they could find—and just go somewhere. I’d glance at moms with messy buns, stained T-shirts, and baggy sweatpants and think, When I’m a mom, I’ll try to look a little more put-together. What I didn’t see were the battles being fought behind closed doors: the postpartum body they didn’t recognize, the silent tears in front of a closet full of clothes that no longer fit. Even when they did find something to wear, chances were, before the day ended, it would be marked by milk, spit-up, or sticky little hands. A badge of motherhood. I even believed that moms who stayed home had it easier — setting their own schedules, living at a slower pace. But I didn’t realize that being home with a child is not a break; it’s a full-time job with no lunch breaks, no coworkers, and no clocking out. It can come with long stretches of loneliness, limited adult conversation, and often, very little recognition. Instead, there are plenty of comparisons: Well, at least you only have one… At least you don’t have to work… At least it’s not full time … As if the exhaustion of motherhood could be measured by headcount or hours. Back then, I only saw the surface. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t surrounded by mothers. Or maybe… I was just afraid to look deeper.
Motherhood cracked me open in ways I never imagined. It taught me that love can be fearless and terrifying all at once — that I can be exhausted and still show up with everything I have. I used to think love was soft. Now I know it’s also sleepless, selfless, and sometimes held together by nothing but a prayer and a cup of coffee. It taught me that I could feel both immense joy and deep grief at the same time. I’ve mourned the freedom I once had, even while being completely in love with this tiny human who has given me a new and beautiful life. I’ve smiled through tears, rocking a baby at 10 pm, 1 am, 3 am… wondering if I’d ever feel like “me” again. Motherhood showed me how much work goes unseen — the constant thinking and planning. It’s the way I can recall exactly how many diapers we have left or knowing how many days until we need to buy the next size of clothing. It’s the mental gymnastics of balancing meals, sleep schedules, and emotions — not just my daughters, but mine too.
Motherhood didn’t just shift how I see myself — it completely changed how I see other women. Now, when I see a mom in public juggling a screaming child, my eyes don’t bulge out of my head. I soften. I see her. I want to offer a hand, a smile, or some sort of silent understanding. I no longer assume she’s unprepared or flustered. I assume she’s doing her best — because I know I am. When a friend doesn’t text back for days it doesn’t mean she’s distant, it often means she’s drowning. That sometimes a text saying, “You’re doing a great job,” is more valuable than a long phone call she doesn’t have time for. It taught me that asking for help isn’t a weakness — it’s how you survive. And offering help without judgment? That’s compassion in action. There is so much help that can be given, no matter who you are: holding a door for a mom pushing a stroller; gently entertaining her toddler while she scrambles to pay at the checkout; watching a friend’s child for ten minutes so she can breathe, shower, or cry if she needs to. Motherhood has stripped away my assumptions and softened my spirit. It humbled me and continues to. I was wrong about so many things, and that realization gave birth to a new kind of empathy — one that I now carry with me every day. If there’s any “club” I’ve joined, it’s not the one I expected. It’s the mom club — a wide, powerful network of women who know how to carry each other, who understand the unspoken struggles, and who offer grace freely, because they’ve needed it themselves.
To the moms currently in the thick of it, you’re not invisible, you’re doing an incredible job – the most important job at that. To the moms to be, motherhood is not something to dread. It is the most beautiful yet messy experience you can imagine. And to those who have not experienced motherhood, be kind. Be patient. Be helpful. You never know what someone is going through. And the smallest assistance can make someone’s entire day. Motherhood didn’t just change me; it opened my eyes to the quiet, powerful force of women all around us — the ones who love us, care for us, and guide us, even on the days when it costs them everything to keep showing up.
Happy Mother’s Day.
