The Kind of Mother I Needed

I’ve been a mom for over 12 years now.

Twelve years of early mornings, sticky floors, hockey bags, sleepless nights, noise, laughter, worry, chaos, pride, guilt, love and moments so overwhelming they feel like they might split your heart open.

And somehow… I still feel emotional saying the words:

I’m a mom.

Because motherhood didn’t arrive in my life the way I thought it would.

When Motherhood Didn’t Feel Magical

When Jayden was born in 2014, I remember thinking:

Okay… now what?

And I hated myself for that thought.

Because so many women talked about motherhood like it was this instant magical transformation. Like the moment your baby is born, suddenly life feels complete and every maternal instinct kicks in perfectly.

Meanwhile, I was exhausted, overwhelmed and secretly wondering why I didn’t feel that way.

I loved him fiercely.

But I also felt lost.

And honestly?

It made me feel broken.

Like there was something wrong with me because motherhood didn’t arrive wrapped in peace and certainty.

But Over Time… Motherhood Grew Me

As Jayden got older, I became more confident.

I learned how to survive the exhaustion.I learned how to function while having absolutely no fucking clue what I was doing half the time.

But even back then, I knew one thing for certain:

I wanted to be there.

For every milestone.Every tiny moment.Every heartbreak.Every celebration.

I wanted my boys to know without question that I was their safe place.

Not perfect.Not polished.

Safe.

Then Came The Miscarriages

What people don’t talk enough about is how deeply confusing it is to hold gratitude and grief in the same body at the same time.

I already had this beautiful little boy I loved more than life itself…

…while simultaneously mourning babies I would never get to meet.

For three years, we tried to get pregnant with Kieran.

Three years of hoping.Three years of loss.Three years of wondering if our family would ever feel complete.

And when we finally got pregnant with him, around the same time we moved to Napanee in 2017, something in me began to heal.

Not instantly.

Not magically.

But slowly.

Becoming a Mom Also Reopened My Grief About Losing Mine

From what I hear, my mom was extraordinary.

My siblings talk about her like she was sunlight in human form.

Warm.

Loving.

Safe.

The kind of woman people naturally gathered around.

They speak about her with this softness and admiration that almost hurts to listen to sometimes because I want those memories too.

But I don’t really have them.

Most of my memories of my mom are attached to cancer.

Hospitals.

Fear.

Confusion.

Watching adults whisper.

Not understanding why we had to leave our farm and move to the city.

Not understanding why my mom was slowly dying in our living room.

I was too young to fully grasp what was happening, but old enough to feel the heaviness of it. And while there were people over the years who tried to fill that void for me, nobody can replace your mom. Nobody can recreate the safety of being deeply mothered by the person who brought you into this world.

Sometimes I Think About Her As A Mother Now

Sometimes I think about how hard it must have been for her.

Knowing she wouldn’t get to see who I became.Knowing she wouldn’t get to watch my life unfold.Knowing she wouldn’t meet my children.

As a mother now myself, I genuinely cannot imagine that kind of heartbreak.

And maybe that’s part of why I became so intentional about healing.

I Realized My Boys Would Inherit What I Didn’t Heal

After learning about generational trauma, I had to face some painful truths about myself.

My yelling.

My overwhelm.

My emotional explosions.

The anger and shame I had carried my whole life that was never actually mine to begin with.

I realized that if I didn’t heal it, my boys would inherit it.

And that realization lit a fire under me unlike anything else ever had.

So I got to work.

Not because I wanted to become a perfect mother.

But because I wanted the cycle to stop with me.

I Wanted My Boys To Feel Safe

Safe to be themselves.

Safe to make mistakes.

Safe to cry.

Safe to talk.

Safe to fail without feeling worthless.

I wanted them to know love without fear attached to it.

And now here I am.

A mom to an 8-year-old and a 12-year-old who genuinely love me.

Kids who think I’m strong and funny and kind of a badass.

And for the first time in my life, I can say this with my whole chest:

I know I’m a good mom.

Not because I never screw up.

Not because I always stay patient.

Not because I have all the answers.

But because I chose awareness.

I chose healing.

I chose accountability.

I chose to become the kind of mother I desperately needed when I was little.

This Mother’s Day

This Mother’s Day, I’m sitting here typing while Kieran and his best friend laugh downstairs after a sleepover.

Soon I’ll go pick up Jayden from his sleepover so we can spend the day at the arena for a lacrosse doubleheader.

And somewhere in between the noise and hockey bags and sports schedules and coffee cups and exhaustion…

…is this overwhelming feeling of gratitude.

Because I have a husband who loves and appreciates me.

I have two healthy boys.

I have a home filled with laughter.

I have a life my mother never got the chance to have with me.

And honestly?

It kind of feels like I won the fucking lottery.

And Before I End This…

Happy Mother’s Day to all the women out there.

Not just the ones raising children.

But the women who mother this world in a million invisible ways every single day.

The women who nurture.

The women who hold space.

The women who protect.

The women who guide.

The women who comfort.

The women who carry others through impossible seasons.

The women healing themselves so the people around them can feel safer.

That is mothering too.

And this world desperately needs more of it.

So today, I hope every woman who gives pieces of herself to make life softer, warmer and safer for others remembers this:

Your love matters.

Your presence matters.

And the way you care for this world matters more than you probably realize.

Happy Mother’s Day. ❤️