I Fucking Love Being A Mom

I fucking love being a mom. I say it all the time. I say it in the middle of the chaos. In the loud, sticky, why-is-there-yogurt-on-the-ceiling moments. In the car when everyone is talking at once and I can feel my brain short circuiting. In the 5:30pm hour when I haven’t sat down all day and someone is crying because their banana broke in half. In the glimmer moments, the ones where we’re at the park and the sun is setting and the light catches in the trees in just the right way, as I look at my children running around shrieking in delight. I fucking love being a mom. More intensely than I ever thought I could love anything, ever. If you scroll the internet for five seconds, it feels like the dominant narrative is that motherhood is something to survive. That we’re all secretly miserable. That we love our kids but don’t like them. That we’re counting down the minutes until bedtime, pouring a glass of wine just to cope, fantasizing about being anywhere else. And listen. I get that too. I’ve had those moments. We all have. But that’s not the full story. Not even close. The truth is that I am obsessed with my kids. Like, in a way that rewired my entire brain. The way they laugh. The way they say something completely unhinged and brilliant in the same sentence. The way they run into my arms like I’m their whole world. I would choose this life again. A thousand times, a million times. I already grieve that these moments are fleeting, the ones that are already gone, wanting to bottle them up and hold them so fiercely that they never stop. And also… there are days that knock the wind out of me. Days where I feel overstimulated to my core. Where the noise feels physically painful. Where I’m touched out, needed out, talked out. Where I’m trying so hard to stay calm and present and then I hear my own voice come out sharper than I meant it to (fucking hate those days). But it’s not just me having those days. And it’s not just you. Right now, about 1 in 3 parents report feeling completely burned out. This isn’t just a “I’m kind of tired” or “I need a break.” Burned out. Emotionally depleted. Running on empty. Mothers, specifically, whether they work out of the home or in the home, are carrying an invisible load that never lets up. The planning, the anticipating, the remembering, the being “on” all the time. Studies show moms still carry the majority of the mental load at home, even in relationships that feel equal on paper. And then zoom out even further. In the U.S., we have no federally mandated paid parental leave. Childcare costs are through the roof. Many families are raising kids far away from extended family. There’s no built-in village. No automatic backup. No extra set of hands coming in at the end of a long day. Compare that to other parts of the world, where it’s normal to have months or even a year of paid leave, where childcare is subsidized, where extended family or community support is woven into daily life. We’re doing something that was never meant to be done alone. So of course it feels overwhelming sometimes. Of course there are moments where you feel like you’re drowning while also making snacks. Of course there are days where you don’t recognize yourself. That doesn’t mean you don’t love your kids, it doesn’t mean you hate motherhood. That’s the part I think we’re missing in the conversations on social media. Somehow, it’s turned into this either-or. Either you love motherhood and everything about it, or you’re honest and admit sometimes it’s hard. But both are true. I can be completely obsessed with my kids and still feel stretched to my limit. I can love this life and still need more support. I can look at them and feel this overwhelming, almost painful kind of love… and also count down the minutes until bedtime on certain days. When mothers get the support they need, then I think we can bring in a conversation about “how dare you complain.” Sure. But until then, while we’re all raw dogging this thing alone, no village, no familial support, no government support - well, I think it’s not only okay, but also important that moms be able to say that this is hard. And find solidarity, community, uplifting in those hard seasons, not judgement. I fucking love being a mom. And I don’t think the best things in life come easily. I think the best things in life are challenging. I wouldn’t have become this better version of myself any other way. The version that pauses instead of reacts. The version that sees my kids more clearly. The version that sees myself more clearly. The version that’s learning, slowly, how to hold big feelings without running from them. The version that is finally receiving, and giving true, unconditional love. That version of me didn’t come from ease. It came from being stretched. From being undone. From being cracked open in ways that didn’t feel beautiful at the time. But that’s the thing about being cracked open. It creates space. And in that space, somehow, there is more love. Deeper love. Stronger love. The kind of love that changes you. Because that’s what motherhood has done to me. It’s made my world bigger. It’s made me bigger. And I fucking love it.