A letter to mothers

Dear mothers,

This letter is coming to you from a fellow mother.

Not as a midwife.
Not as an expert.
Not as someone who has it figured out. I am far from it.

I am a mother to a nearly twelve-year-old, and I feel I am very much still in it. Imperfect. Flawed. Carrying guilt more days than I would like to admit. Trying to do my best, and often wondering if my best will ever be enough.

There is a kind of work in motherhood that no one can really prepare you for. It does not come with milestones or praise. It happens quietly, constantly, mostly inside our minds.

It is the remembering.
The anticipating.
Tracking the needs of everyone before they are spoken, often putting their needs above your own.
The mental juggling of schedules, emotions, logistics, and tiny details that somehow all feel urgent.

We can say, out loud and to each other, that the load of motherhood is too heavy for one person to carry. Many of us agree on that. And yet, when it comes time to actually delegate, to let go, or to loosen our grip, we struggle. We carry it anyway. We convince ourselves that the load is easier if we just manage it ourselves. That this weight is simply part of the role.

We were made strong. "You can do this, Mama!"
Honestly, I cannot hear that phrase anymore without a major eye roll. Because yeah, I know I CAN do it, but doing it all just really sucks.

Here is my experience of motherhood, summarized. There are seasons when I feel like I am drowning. I feel like I am in one right now. Mothers before me would say, kindly, “It gets better,” their eyes full of sympathy.

And maybe it did. But that phrase never helped me in the moment, when every day felt impossible, when the plates kept spinning, when stopping felt like everything might fall apart.

I look back now and realize how much of the newborn stage I missed. Not because I did not love it, but because I was trying so hard to keep everything else running. I was present, but distracted. Loving, but stretched thin.

Always doing.
Always thinking.
Always managing.

And with each new stage of my children’s lives, I still find myself looking back and missing the one before it.

I am twelve years in, and there are days I wish I could clone myself.
Days I wish there were more than twenty-four hours.
Days I wish I only needed an hour of sleep, especially now that I am a midwife.

None of this is because I feel entitled to more, but because I so often feel like I am never enough.

What no one explained to me was how much motherhood would invade my brain. How every decision, big and small, would carry weight. How I would hold guilt for micro decisions no one else even noticed. How exhausting it would be to constantly assess, choose, adjust, and reassess again.

Motherhood rewires your brain. Science tells us this. And in my experience, it is true. But I did not realize how deeply. How permanent it would feel. How difficult it would be to ever truly turn it off.

So much of motherhood is emotional regulation. Being 'the calm'. Being the steady presence. Holding space so everyone else can unravel safely. Even on “easy” days, that work takes energy. Even when nothing goes wrong, it still costs something. It takes from me.

This is not a complaint or a sob story.
It is a naming.

Naming work that is unseen does not make you ungrateful. It gives that work dignity. It reminds you that feeling tired does not mean you are failing. It means you are carrying something real. It may not apply to every family, but in many households, the mother bears the primary weight of parenthood. That work deserves to be named, acknowledged, and appreciated.

And here is the part I want to end with, gently and honestly, without pretending this recognition is easy.

There is beauty here, too. There is growth you do not notice until one day you do. Some moments soften you, stretch you, surprise you. I can honestly say I am a more thoughtful, grounded, and Godly woman than I was before becoming a mother.

As impossible as some days feel, they are all phases. This one will pass. And then you will find yourself standing in another, wondering how you got there so quickly.

So if today feels heavy, slow down if you can. If it feels overwhelming, know that it will not always feel this way. And if you are in a season you wish away, try, when you are able, to notice one small thing worth holding onto.

You do not have to love every moment to love your children well.
You do not have to carry everything alone to be a good mother.

And you are doing far more than most people ever see.

With so much validation and love,
Carley

P.S. Much of this letter was drafted using excerpts from my journals over the last decade. If you feel like you do not have time to journal, I gently encourage you to reconsider. Writing grounded me during some of the hardest seasons of motherhood, and it helps quiet my guilt now. When I reread entries from particularly difficult times, I am reminded that joy existed even then. It helps me move forward into whatever phase comes next.