with my children.
And “always” is such a strong word, so perhaps what I really mean is that I miss them more than they know and probably more than I tell them. There is a part of me that will always want more time with them, more ordinary days, more little conversations, more of the moments that seem insignificant until you realize how quickly they become memories. I think motherhood has taught me that time is both incredibly slow and incredibly fast. You can spend an entire day waiting for something, and then suddenly you realize how much of their childhood has already passed through your hands.
For a long time, I think I tried to prove my love through experiences. Taking them shopping, making everything fun, trying to make every outing memorable, almost feeling like I had to constantly entertain them or earn my place as the “cool mom.” But I don’t really care about that anymore. I think there is something much deeper than being the mom who makes everything exciting. I want to be the mom who feels safe. The mom whose presence means something even when nothing particularly exciting is happening. The mom who doesn’t need to perform motherhood for anyone else. I don’t need every memory to be extravagant. Sometimes the quiet memories are the ones that stay.
Parenting is such a strange mirror because children don’t only listen to what you say. They watch what you repeat. They notice your patterns, your priorities, your reactions, the things that make you anxious, the things that bring you peace. They absorb little pieces of you without ever asking permission. In some ways, they become tiny reflections of the atmosphere you create around them. That makes me think differently about the kind of life I’m building. Lifestyle, health, hobbies, priorities, boundaries, stability, peace… all of those things become part of what they see. And I’m far from perfect, but I take pride in the fact that I spend so much time thinking about what they need from me.
Maybe that’s why I care so much about becoming more grounded. Because I’m not just doing it for myself. I’m becoming someone I would have needed when I was younger. Someone who understands that love doesn’t always have to be loud. Someone who knows that children don’t need a perfect mother; they need a real one who keeps trying, keeps learning, keeps showing up, and keeps creating a sense of safety around them. I can love them deeply without turning every moment into a performance. I can miss them without losing myself. I can have my own life and still have an enormous place in theirs.
And maybe that’s the part of motherhood I’m beginning to understand now: I don’t have to be everything. I just have to be myself, intentionally. The version of me that is healing, learning, growing, protecting her peace, and still making room for joy. If my children see that, perhaps they will understand something far more valuable than how to be the “cool mom.” They’ll see what it looks like to keep becoming.
