Tag: motherhood

Mother-Sense: The Legacy We Carry, The Wisdom We Give

by Mothersense, posted in Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation


As we approach Mother’s Day, my house feels a little fuller, the air a little thicker with memory, and my “Mother-Sense” is on high alert.


In the songwriting world, we talk about a “bridge”—that part of a song that connects where you’ve been to where you’re going. To me, that is exactly what motherhood is. It’s the bridge between the generations. It’s the radical hospitality of opening your heart to biological, bonus, and chosen children and saying, “There is a place for you here.”


More Than an Inheritance


I’ve been thinking a lot about legacy lately. In my “second half” of life, I’ve realized that the most valuable thing I can give my seven children and my three grandbabies isn’t something that can be kept in a bank or a box.


It’s Mother-Sense.


It’s that internal compass—the resilience to stand back up when life knocks your fence down, the intuition to know when a friend needs a quiet cup of coffee, and the bone-deep knowledge that they are loved, exactly as they are. It’s a functional, living tool kit for life.


The Reciprocal Song


People often say that mothers are the teachers, but if I’m honest, the song goes both ways.


My children have taught me more about courage than any lyric I’ve ever written.


They’ve shown me how to see the world through fresh eyes when mine were tired.


They’ve been the “steady anchors” in my own stormy seasons, reminding me that even when the melody changes, the foundation holds.


An Invitation to the Table


Whether you are a mother by birth, by marriage, or by choice, your “sense” is a superpower. It’s the wisdom that tells you when to hold on tight and when to let go so they can find their own rhythm. It’s the quiet strength that keeps the home fires burning, even when you’re busy building your own dreams and writing your own “second half.”


This Sunday, I won’t just be celebrating the title of “Mother.” I’ll be celebrating the resilience of every woman who has ever stepped into the gap, offered a hand, and shared her wisdom to light someone else’s path.


To my fellow mothers: What is one piece of ‘Mother-Sense’—that bit of hard-won wisdom—that you hope stays with your children forever? Let’s fill the comments with our collective legacy today

I’m Not the Mom I Thought I’d Be — And That’s Okay

by Mothersense, posted in Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation, This Life



When I first became a mom, I had ideas.

Not just little ones, but full pictures in my head of how life would look.

What kind of mom I would be.
What kind of home I would create.
Who my kids would grow up to become.

I did not think of it as expectations at the time.
It felt more like hope.

I wanted a doctor.
Two nurses.
A veterinarian.

I wanted stability for them.
Security.
A life that felt a little more certain than the one I had known.

And I worked hard toward that in my own way.
Raising them.
Showing up.
Trying to guide them toward what I thought would give them the best future.

But life does not follow the plans we make in our heads.

And kids are not meant to become our plans.

They are meant to become themselves.

Somewhere along the way, I had to face a quiet truth.

My kids are not who I once imagined they would be.

They are not following the paths I pictured.
They are not fitting into the neat little futures I had hoped for.

And for a moment, that felt like loss.

Not because there is anything wrong with them.
But because I had to let go of the version of their lives that existed in my mind.

That is a hard thing to admit.

As parents, we do not like to say that part out loud.

But here is what I know now.

My kids are good people.

They are strong in ways that do not show up on paper.
They are learning, growing, struggling, and figuring life out in real time.

And they still call me.

When things get hard.
When they need advice.
When they just need someone to listen.

That means something.

Maybe everything.

Because at the end of the day, that was always the goal, even if I did not realize it at the time.

Not perfection.
Not a specific career path.
Not a life that looks impressive from the outside.

But connection.

Trust.

A relationship that lasts beyond childhood.

I am not the mom I thought I would be either.

I have changed.
Life has changed me.

There are things I would do differently if I could go back.
There are things I have had to learn the hard way.

And there are moments where I have questioned myself more than I ever expected to.

But I am still here.

Still showing up.
Still loving them the best way I know how.
Still learning alongside them instead of trying to control the outcome.

And maybe that is what motherhood really is.

Not raising perfect kids.
Not following a perfect plan.

But walking beside imperfect humans as they figure out who they are.

And learning to let them.

So no, my life does not look like I thought it would.

My kids are not who I once imagined.

And I am not the mom I expected to be.

But we are real.

We are connected.

We are still choosing each other, over and over again.

And that is more than enough.

The Becoming : Pride in the midst of chaos

by Mothersense, posted in This Life

Both Things Can Be True

This past week felt like a culmination of so many moments for my niece.

She is my older sister’s only child, and she is truly a gem of a human—kind, smart, hardworking, and quick with a perfectly timed sassy comeback when the moment calls for it. It’s her senior year, and with that comes all the lasts of high school, not just for her, but for her mom too. Anyone who has parented a senior knows those endings hit in unexpected ways.

My niece is a 4-H and FFA gal, a band kid, and a Girl Scout. Through these programs she has learned responsibility, leadership, grit, creativity, and how to show up even when things are hard. I am so incredibly proud of her accomplishments. At her last county show, she earned Reserve Champion with pickled beets (yes—pickled beets!), and her market broilers made the sale. Those are not small wins. They are the result of years of early mornings, late nights, dirty boots, careful planning, and persistence.

Another “last” arrived quietly when I had the chance to talk with my sister about what comes next for her baby—her everything. And make no mistake, this kid has options. Several schools have already accepted her, and some came with scholarship packages. That is huge. That is exciting. That is the payoff for all those years of busyness and commitment.

It sent me straight back in time to my own years as a mom with kids who showed. The careful choosing of recipes. The guarding of certain ones like state secrets (banana butter, I’m looking at you). The pride of watching your kids take ownership of their work. Even my two older daughters—without any guidance from me—entered items and won prizes. There is something deeply satisfying about watching your children surprise you with who they are becoming.

All of that nostalgia, love, and pride has been swirling around me this week… while my own life looks a bit like a shit show.

Our water heater quit and is limping along on a temporary fix after days without hot water. I’m dealing with a kidney infection and a pharmacy run that couldn’t come soon enough. Our car is broken down and has a flat tire. My husband had a job lined up, attended orientation, only to be told days later that the position had already been filled. And just to round things out, I sliced my fingers open trying to pry a tin can (yes, I absolutely should know better), which earned me an ER visit, a tetanus shot, glued fingers, a wrapped thumb, and the loss of a good portion of my thumb pad. Goodbye thumbprint.

And yet—both things can be true.

I can feel immense love and pride for my niece and her accomplishments while my own world feels messy, loud, painful, and frustrating. I won’t fall into woe is me. This is my life. It is complicated and exhausting and sometimes downright ridiculous. There are days I want to strangle someone (figuratively… mostly). But then there are days when I glance in the rearview mirror and realize how far I’ve come.

I’ve survived every single thing I thought would break me.
That survival rate? 100%.

Am I the same person I once was? Absolutely not. But isn’t that the point? Life is about the becoming. About collecting skills, wisdom, scars, and stories. About learning how to stand back up. About making the world a little better where we can—just like my lovely niece is already doing.

And yes, you’d better believe I can still recite the 4-H pledge, parts of the FFA Creed, and the Girl Scout Promise.

Here’s to the becoming in 2026.
Love and light, y’all 🕯️

Christmas Togetherness: Embracing Love and Laughter

by Mothersense, posted in This Life

Christmas This Year

This Christmas season started off a bit heavy for me. I’ll be honest — I was sad for quite a bit, pretty much right up until our family’s Christmas Eve celebration.

That night, I sat at the end of the kitchen table and turned my head toward the living room as the littles opened their gifts. The sound that filled the house — the giggles, the pure laughter of children — there truly isn’t a better sound in the world. I teared up for a moment because that right there is exactly why I came.

I thought to myself, Mom and Daddy would be proud. They must be smiling down on us, because this—this togetherness, this joy—is all they ever wanted for us: to be together, to be present in each other’s lives, and to genuinely enjoy it.

Once the kids finished opening their gifts, it was the adults’ turn to shine as we mingled and prepared for our “Chinese Christmas” gift exchange. It was a blast — there were surprises, steals, laughter, and that wonderful mix of chaos and cheer that only family can create.

Then my sisters introduced a new game — one where you pass a gift left or right as a silly story is told, customized with everyone’s names. Each player put in a dollar, and a “Golden Ticket” prize would go to the winner, collecting the cash from everyone’s entry. It was silly and fun and full of laughter, just the way it should be.

My youngest got a few really thoughtful gifts this year, and at one point, he realized he only has two more years left of being “one of the kids.” That hit me — it made me pause and reflect. I have seven kids I call my own: five I gave birth to and two girls I’ve loved like my own for years. Four of them now have incredible partners — kind, caring, compassionate individuals who truly see who my children are and love them, flaws and all.

Even with a few behind-the-scenes hiccups (let’s just say there was a grocery order debacle, a brief moment of running out of gas, and yes, my husband losing his job), it was still a blessed Christmas.

Because at the end of the day, being surrounded by love, laughter, and the people who matter most — that’s what Christmas is all about.

Why Emotional Labor Deserves Recognition

by Mothersense, posted in This Life

The Cost of Being Unpaid

I often feel invisible. Not unseen in a dramatic way—but quietly, persistently taken for granted.

My empathy, my sympathy, my knowledge, and the countless things I offer other human beings move through the world without acknowledgment. I do not get paid to cook nourishing meals. I do not earn a wage for listening while someone vents, or for offering advice, or for helping untangle problems that aren’t mine. There is no paycheck for being available, for showing up emotionally, for holding space.

And yet, these things take time. They take energy. They take experience.

I have knowledge. I have lived enough life to understand nuance, to adapt, to learn quickly, to respond with compassion and clarity. I share all of it freely—especially with family. I give because I care, because connection matters to me, because helping feels natural. But because there is no monetary value attached to my time, no salary or hourly rate, it often feels as though my worth is somehow less.

Less than my sisters.
Less than anyone who earns money doing things.

I know—logically—that my skills have value. I know that emotional intelligence, adaptability, and lived experience are not insignificant. But where do they fit on a wage scale? What number do you assign to being the person others rely on? Why does value seem to exist only when it can be measured in dollars?

If I stopped doing all the things I normally do—if I were no longer available, no longer the listener, the helper, the cook, the steady presence—what then? Would the absence finally make the value visible? Or would it simply be filled by someone else, still unpaid, still unacknowledged?

Americans are relentlessly committed to monetizing every moment. A hobby can’t just be enjoyable—it has to become a side hustle. Creativity must be productive. Passion must be profitable. But a hobby stops being fun the moment it becomes a have to instead of a want to. When joy is turned into obligation, something essential is lost.

So I keep circling back to the same painful question:
If I am not valuable because I do not earn money… then what does that say about all the work that keeps people going but never appears on a balance sheet?

Maybe the problem isn’t my worth.
Maybe the problem is a system that only recognizes value when it can be billed, sold, or taxed.

And maybe being unpaid does not mean being unworthy—no matter how often the world makes it feel that way.