Motherhood Will Crack You Open

 🤱Motherhood Will Crack You Open 🥥

Happy belated Mother’s Day to my beautiful mamas.  

And an extra squeeze to the moms who spent the day crying in the bathroom, doom-scrolling in bed, feeling completely unsupported, grieving silently, or wondering why everyone else seems to be handling motherhood better than they are.  

Spoiler alert: they’re probably not.  

Motherhood is wild.  

Not the curated Instagram version with matching pajamas and smiling children holding homemade pancakes. I mean the real version. The version where you haven’t peed alone in years, your nervous system is fried, and someone is always touching you, needing you, calling for you, or emotionally unraveling within a 3-foot radius.  

Motherhood doesn’t just change you—it exposes you.  

It drags your wounds, your triggers, your coping mechanisms, your control issues, your exhaustion, and your unmet needs directly into the light like, “Hey, babe… we should probably deal with this.”  

Some days we heal.  

Some days, we dissociate and eat snacks in the pantry, hiding from our children.  

Growth is not linear.  

And listen… this life can swallow women whole if they aren’t careful.  

Not because we don’t love our kids, but because somewhere along the way we were taught that being a “good mother” meant abandoning ourselves completely.  

Absolutely not.  

Take the nap.  

Ask for help.  

Say no without writing a 5-page apology tour afterward.  

Buy the coffee.  

Go to therapy.  

Breathe!!

Set boundaries even if it disappoints people.  

Stop treating your needs like they are optional side quests.  

Because your children are watching.  

They are learning how to love themselves by watching how you love yourself. They are learning burnout, boundaries, nervous system regulation, self-worth, and resilience from you in real time.  

And yes… despite all the chaos and identity crises and absolute feral exhaustion… motherhood is also sacred. It is hilarious and tender and soul-expanding. We get the honor of loving these tiny humans through all their versions of themselves while trying to survive our own.  

Motherhood is brutal.  

Motherhood is beautiful.  

Sometimes within the same five-minute span.  

Both can be true.

😮‍💨A Breath for the Overwhelmed Mama😌

Before you jump back into the chaos, take one moment for yourself.  

Unclench your jaw. Drop your shoulders. 

Let your nervous system know it’s safe to soften for a second.  

🌬️ Inhale slowly through your nose for a count of 4  

✨ Hold gently for 2  

🌙 Exhale slowly through your mouth for 8  

Again.  

Breathe in calm.  

Hold compassion.  

Exhale the pressure to hold it all together perfectly.  

Repeat 4–5 times anytime the world feels too loud, too heavy, or too much.  

You deserve to breathe too.

 

The Myth of Balance

(Spoiler: It’s Not Real, and That’s Okay)

I used to think balance was the goal. You know—the sacred state where all the plates spin gracefully, the lunches are prepped, the kids are regulated, and the laundry is folded before it starts growing new species.

Yeah… no.😒

If you’re a caregiver, a parent of kids with disabilities, or just a human being living in this wild world, you already know: balance is a myth. A Pinterest-worthy illusion sold by people who probably have assistants, a nanny, and a live-in therapist.

The rest of us? We’re juggling. And most days, we’re dropping at least one ball—sometimes two—and praying it’s not the expensive one.

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The Lie of the Perfect Scale

The problem with “balance” is that it makes us feel like we’re supposed to give every area of our life equal attention. But when you’re navigating medical appointments, therapy schedules, school meetings, and the unpredictable moods of small humans (and let’s be honest, sometimes big ones too), there’s no such thing as equal anything.

Some days, all my energy goes to getting everyone dressed and out the door without tears. (Theirs or mine.) Other days, I crush it—meals prepped, emails answered, everyone alive and relatively clean. But most of the time? I’m somewhere in between, doing my best with whatever gas is left in the tank.

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What if “Balance” Wasn’t the Goal?

What if instead of chasing balance, we chased presence?

Because balance says, “Do more, hold everything perfectly.”
Presence says, “Do what matters most right now, and let the rest go.”

Balance demands perfection.
Presence invites grace.

And honestly, grace feels a whole lot more sustainable.

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A Little Breathwork for the Unbalanced Among Us

When life feels like it’s spinning too fast (and it will), try this:

🌬️ Inhale through your nose for a count of 4.
🌬️ Exhale slowly through your mouth for a count of 8.
Repeat at least 5 times.

This slows your nervous system, grounds your thoughts, and creates just enough space between “I can’t do this” and “Okay… maybe I can.”

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Here’s the truth: balance is overrated. We don’t need a perfect scale—we need soft landings, small wins, and deep breaths.

So if your version of balance today is hiding in the bathroom with coffee, skipping the laundry, or letting your kid wear mismatched socks—congratulations. You’re doing great.

Breathe in grace.
Breathe out guilt.
That’s the kind of balance that matters.

 

Perspective: The Art of Flipping People Off (But Nicely)

Does anybody else hate it when people hit you with:

“Oh, you’re amazing. I could never do what you do.”

Or my personal favorite:

“There’s a special place in heaven for you.”

Cool. Thanks. Glad to know heaven’s got a VIP lounge with my name on it while I’m over here drowning in doctor appointments, insurance calls, and mood swings (some mine, some not).

Here’s the thing — those comments used to make me want to scream. Because let’s be honest, most of the time they sound like code for “Glad it’s you and not me.”

But perspective? Oh, perspective is my new favorite swear word.

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Perspective, Baby

Here’s what I’ve learned: I did step up. I am doing this. And yeah, some days I do it with mascara running down my face and hair that hasn’t been washed in four days, but I’m still out here crushing it.

Perspective is magic because it takes that “I’m so tired I could cry” moment and flips it into “Damn, look at me go.” It’s like mental jiu-jitsu — using the weight of the situation to flip yourself into pride instead of rage.

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From “Why Me?” to “Watch Me”

When someone says, “I don’t know how you do it,” instead of growling like a cornered raccoon, try this: smile, nod, and think, You’re right — you couldn’t do it. But I can. And I am.

Because you are doing it. You’re juggling all the meds, the therapy sessions, the meltdowns, the bills, the emotional rollercoasters — and somehow still managing to feed yourself (most days).

Perspective lets you stop seeing your life as a cosmic punishment and start seeing it as your hero origin story.

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Practice Makes Badass

Look, this isn’t some Pinterest quote about “good vibes only.” This is real life. And if you’ve been practicing doom-and-gloom thinking for years, flipping your perspective will feel like trying to deadlift a bus at first.

But little by little, you get stronger. You stop screaming into pillows as often. You start laughing more. You start catching yourself mid-rage and going, Actually… I am kind of killing this.

So next time someone says, “Wow, I could never do what you do,” smile and say, “Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m the one doing it — because I’m a badass.”

Then go back to rocking your chaos like the queen you are.

Back to School: All the Extra on Top of the Extra

 The Target aisles are exploding with crayons, cartoon backpacks, and enough glue sticks to hold the moon in orbit. Social media is full of “first day of school” outfit ideas. Pinterest keeps trying to convince me I should be making bento-box lunches shaped like woodland creatures.

And I just smile and nod… because I know better.

Yes, school season is here. And while most parents are thinking about lunches, early alarms, and wrangling their kids back into some sort of routine, those of us parenting kids with extra needs are gearing up for… well… all the extra on top of the extra.

We’re not just buying pencils. We’re stocking sensory tools, backup clothes, adaptive equipment, and enough snacks to keep the peace. We’re not just meeting the teacher. We’re briefing an entire team about medical histories, behavioral triggers, sensory preferences, and safety plans. And let’s not even whisper about the endurance test known as the IEP/504 meeting.

These things aren’t optional. They’re survival. But they take an extra toll on us—mentally, physically, and emotionally. It’s a load most people don’t see… and honestly, some days it feels heavier than the backpacks we send to school.

So, as the school year kicks off, here are three ways to protect your sanity and help prevent caregiver burnout:

1. Give yourself permission to drop the ball (on purpose).

Not every lunch has to be organic, color-coordinated, or cut into fun shapes. Not every email has to be answered within an hour. Decide what truly matters, and let the rest slide without guilt.

2. Make an “About Me” Binder for your kid’s teacher.

This is self-care disguised as preparation. Grab a small 3-ring binder and fill it with:

• Page 1: A short bio, favorite things, and hobbies
• Page 2: Triggers and tricks that help your child succeed
• Page 3: Emergency numbers, medications, and safety plans
  Tuck in favorite stickers, coloring pages, or reward charts. This gives the teacher a head start, saves you from repeating the same info 47 times, and sets your child up for success right from the start.

3. Bookend your day with your moments.

Even five minutes before the chaos starts and five minutes before you collapse—make it yours. Sip coffee in silence, stretch, stare at the clouds, scroll TikTok guilt-free. It’s amazing what a small ritual can do for your nervous system.

And Don’t Forget to Breathe

When it all starts to feel like too much, pause. Plant your feet on the floor, soften your shoulders, and try this simple reset:

• Inhale through your nose for a count of 4
• Exhale slowly through your mouth for a count of 8
• Repeat for at least 5 rounds

This little practice can calm your body, quiet your mind, and remind you that you’ve got this—even on the mornings when you’re running late and someone spills yogurt in the car.

Back-to-school will always be a little wild. But with a little planning, a lot of grace, and a breath or two just for you, we can get through it without completely losing ourselves in the process.

Here’s to a school year full of progress, patience, and the occasional nap.

Chaos, Courage, and a Missing Tooth

Life Lately: Chaos, Courage, and a Missing Tooth

Whew—what a whirlwind the last few weeks have been! School’s out for summer, I underwent major back surgery, and Lulu lost her very first tooth. Buckle up, because it’s been a wild ride!

Thankfully, my incredible mother-in-law swooped in like a domestic superhero. She stayed with us for three weeks and kept the whole operation running while I was basically out of commission. We're talking laundry, cooking, cleaning, and getting all the kids out the door for summer school—which, by the way, starts at 7 a.m. (Bless her heart.💖)

Now, about that tooth. Lucy was casually watching TV while the rest of us were scrambling around the kitchen getting dinner together. She strolled in, chatting away about her wiggly tooth, and when Dad took a peek—sure enough, it was hanging on for dear life. One quick tug and pop!—out it came. She barely blinked. The Tooth Fairy left her a whopping $3, and she was over the moon.

As for me, after years of putting it off, I finally tackled my back issues. Turns out, correcting the scoliosis I had surgery for 37 years ago required a full-on orthopedic showdown. The surgeons removed my old rod, re-fused my spine, added new hardware, fused three more levels, and even bolted things down into my hips. Ten hours on the table. Recovery has been no joke—but I’m already healing faster than expected, which has surprised even my doctor. (Cue cautious optimism.)

And then there’s my husband—the real MVP. He’s been my rock through all of this, helping me with everything while also working extra shifts to cover for a coworker… who also had back surgery. He comes home completely wiped, but still plays with the kids, does the meds-baths-bedtime routine solo, and somehow keeps showing up with love and patience. The man deserves a medal. Or at least a paid vacation and a week of naps.

This summer has been a lot. We're tired—bone-deep, soul-weary tired—and the kids are just about ready to dive back into the comfort of school routines. That structure, that predictability… it’s where they feel safe. Honestly, we all do.

We’ve been so lucky to have extra help lately—our oldest daughter came home this week to pitch in with the kids and tackle the daily chaos. But now, as we prepare to go it alone again, I’ll admit... it’s daunting.

I'm still on strict recovery restrictions—no bending, twisting, reaching, or driving for at least four more weeks. And while I don’t exactly know how we’re going to juggle it all without someone else in the house, I do know this: we’ll figure it out. Somehow, some way, we always do.

Because that’s who we are. We persevere. We adapt. We stumble, but we keep moving forward. One day, one deep breath at a time.

Memorial Day Fiasco

Happy Memorial Day!

Saturday, we loaded up the side-by-side and made our way to the beach with friends. But not before the two-hour pre-departure circus of gathering alllll the essentials, dressing multiple humans, locating rogue boots, and finally—finally—getting everyone into the vehicle.

First stop: the market for a quick prescription pickup. Forty-five minutes later (so much for quick), we were off to get gas for the rides. Cue the bathroom chorus. Everyone suddenly had to pee, so we all paraded into the gas station. Naturally, we couldn’t leave without a meltdown or a mountain of snacks. Once more, we loaded up and hit the road.

When we got to the beach, four of us crammed into a three-seater like a pack of marshmallows, bouncing our way down the shoreline to meet our friends. It was high tide, so we had to climb over some serious rock monsters to get there.

We found our crew riding four-wheelers—and that’s when Tait lost it. He realized he had to ride a four-wheeler too, and let’s just say...he wasn't going to give in. After much negotiation and a little vehicular Tetris, we figured out a riding situation that worked. At least the weather was gorgeous, so that was something.

We rode as far as we could go, then stopped to rest and stretch. Sounds idyllic, right?

Yeah, no.

Tait was absolutely wired—like, 6-Red-Bulls-in-wired. He couldn’t leave the vehicles alone. Cory and I tried every trick in the parenting book: sand play, rock climbing, joining the other kids… nope. He was locked in and wouldn’t budge.

Meanwhile, Lucy was in peak whine mode. She followed me everywhere, crying and fussing. We’ve been working hard on helping her use words or signs, and she just got a talker (iPad) like Tait’s, but of course—we didn’t bring it. I tried to ease her into playing with the other kids, but every attempt ended in tears. Eventually, I sat on the ground with her in my lap and sang to her for a full hour. Then, without warning, she jumped up, yanked her pants down, and took a giant poop right there on the beach. In front of everyone.

After that? Totally fine. Because of course.

By now, we had spent about three hours trying to get the kids to relax and enjoy the ocean breeze, the sun, the view—any of it. And just as they finally started to settle, it was time to pack up.

I managed to snap one breathtaking photo before we squished back into the side-by-side and rode to town, our souls slightly frayed and our stomachs empty. We found a pizza place (because that’s all Tait eats), and hallelujah, it had indoor seating. I could see the exhaustion written all over Cory’s face across the table. Still, we rallied and made one last stop at the tide pools.

Miraculously, that part of the day? Pure magic. The kids finally leaned into the nature thing. Tait only tried to bolt down the beach twice (life with an eloper), and Lucy laughed and played in the water with the other kids like nothing ever happened.

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The moral of the story?

Life in our world runs on its own timeline—no matter how much I try to manage, schedule, or force it into order. We show up late, we forget stuff, we rarely sit still on a gorgeous beach, and bedtime takes two hours on a good night.

But this is the life we’ve been given. And honestly? It’s messy, it’s loud, it’s exhausting—but it’s ours.

As a recovering Type A personality, letting go of control is still a work in progress. If it weren’t for my mini breathwork breaks, I’d probably lose my mind 300 times a day. (Okay, maybe 297.) I still lose my cool. It’s not easy. But somewhere in the chaos, there are beautiful moments—unexpected, unfiltered, and completely worth it. And I’m learning to be more grateful for every single one.