Tag: writing

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.

Embracing Life’s Little Moments Amidst Grief

by Mothersense, posted in This Life

December Weight

December can feel heavy for so many people. The shorter days, the longer nights, and the reminders of the year coming to a close — it all seems to make every emotion sit a little closer to the surface. This week, that heaviness settled on me in a way I didn’t expect.

It started with a phone call from my sister. Her elderly neighbor had passed away on October 27th, and only this week did his son let her know. The news was sad, but what came next hit even harder.

On Wednesday, my brother called. His voice had that tone — the one that makes your stomach drop before you even hear the words. “Are you sitting down?” he asked. Then he said it: Carla passed away Sunday night in her sleep.

Carla. Thirty-one years old. The same Carla who, less than a year ago, stepped up to raise her older sister Leticia’s two young girls after Leticia died unexpectedly. And now, only eleven and a half months later, my cousin Patricia has lost two children. And before that… she had already lost a son to SIDS. A husband in an accident. Her dad. Her mom. Her stepdad.

My God. My heart aches at the thought of losing even one child — the idea of losing three is unimaginable.

In that heaviness, as I thought about the weight my cousin carries, my own memories surfaced too: the house fire in 2006, losing my brother-in-law in 2013 at age 37, the losses and upheavals that shaped me. But even as those memories resurfaced, I reminded myself: I survived those things. I came through them — maybe a little ragged, maybe a little stronger, or maybe somehow both.

And in that reflection came the question: How?
How do any of us get through things like this?

The answer is simpler than we expect:
One moment at a time.

That’s it. One breath, one task, one hour, one day at a time. Sometimes numb, sometimes terrified, sometimes held together by routine or prayer or pure grit — but still moving. Patricia is still going to work because she says it’s the only thing that feels normal while the rest of her life feels like a nightmare she can’t wake from. We all cling to something when the world tilts.

With all this swirling in my mind, I found myself returning to gratitude — not in comparison to anyone else’s pain, but in recognition of what is good, what is present, right now. We take so much for granted.

So look around:
Do you have a roof over your head?
Food to eat?
A job?
People who love you?
People you love?

Life isn’t perfect — not for any of us. Social media might make it seem like everyone else is living some shiny, effortless highlight reel, but real life is made of the moments that don’t make the cut.

So be grateful. Be gentle with yourself. Don’t overlook the small things that are actually the big things. And try not to let worry steal the few moments of peace you can claim.

Put your phone down a little more this season. Get some real face-to-face time. Call that old friend. Send a message to someone you’ve been thinking about. You never know — it might be exactly the medicine you need.

Low Flame, Big Impact: The Strength of Being Present

by Mothersense, posted in This Life

Blog Post: A Low Flame Still Lights the Dark

I haven’t wanted to do much of anything this week. Oh, I’ve done the bare minimum the best I can. I have pain. I have grief. I have things that need doing, and absolutely no motivation to do them. Showering, cooking, cleaning—those things get done, though some days I have to talk myself into each one.

I check in on my kids. It probably annoys them sometimes; I ask the same questions and get mostly the same answers. But I hope they know I’m here. I’m listening. I cheer for them silently, and I cover them in prayer every. single. day.

Right now, I’m in my mostly silent era. I’m being still, being quiet, trying to heal the parts of myself I don’t share with the world. I’m taking a beat to remember who I am, what I stand for, and how to stay present. Even if “present” looks like me half-asleep on the couch, waiting to welcome my daughter home after her trip to say goodbye to a friend who could no longer bear the weight of his pain.

I keep reminding myself that I am not expected to have all the answers. That others need grace and mercy. That the time and space I occupy matter—and simply being present matters.

Readers, when you come across this, and as you move through your day and all the days to come, please remember to be kind. You never know what battle someone else is carrying. I’ve studied world religions and belief systems, and one major tenet shows up in every single one: don’t be a jerk. Do good where you can. Help those who struggle. We have to be the light, even if sometimes we’re only a low flame.

Always,
Julie 🙂

Embracing Consistency Amid Life’s Challenges

by Mothersense, posted in This Life

I Didn’t Feel Like Writing This Week

I’ll be honest—this week, I didn’t feel like writing at all. It’s been a doozy. More changes. More upheaval. Another loss I can’t publicly speak about yet. Just layers of raw, real emotions, stacked on top of each other like I’m supposed to carry them with grace when half the time I feel like I’m barely treading water.

But I reminded myself of something important: consistency matters. Even when the steps feel small. Even when it feels like I have nothing profound or polished to offer. Writing about my struggles, or my adventures in the kitchen, or the little victories—those things ground me. And maybe they remind someone else to keep going, too.

Inside my own mind, I’ve been giving myself constant pep talks:
Breathe. Slow down. Do better. Be the example.
And Lord knows I don’t always succeed. I miss things. I stumble. I screw up. But I am trying. I am healing, grieving, learning, and growing. And honestly? I’m proud of me.

I keep reminding myself to meditate, to be still, to move my body, to eat what nourishes me, to stretch, to breathe deeply, to stay present. Some days it feels like sooooo much. And this week especially, my mind was rebelling. I didn’t want to write my blog. I didn’t want to get a colonoscopy. I didn’t want to watch my kid leave to go help a grieving family. But I did all of it—and more.

I’m still figuring out what works for me as I get older, as life shifts under my feet, as new seasons roll in whether I ask for them or not. I hope my kids see that I’m trying to be better, to stay healthy, to keep growing. I still have some habits to break, but I’m getting there.

Halloween came and went, and I missed my mom with an ache I couldn’t shake. I want to ask her how she carried the heavy load all those years. She made it look effortless. And she was beautiful while she did it. I miss her smile and that little cackle she had. I can almost hear her telling me she left her burdens in God’s hands—that her faith, tested and steady, is what kept her standing.

She’d tell me I’m smart. That I’ll figure things out. That my instincts are good, and I should trust them. And I do still hear her voice sometimes, softer now, but still clear. I’m grateful for that. Grateful for her.

So here’s my reminder to you—and to myself:
Do your best out there.
Be yourself.
Trust your instincts.
Keep moving.

Love and Light, y’all.

Embracing Imperfection: Finding Grace in Struggle

by Mothersense, posted in This Life

I’m Letting You in on a Little Secret…

I’m going to let you guys in on a little secret: I do not have all of my ducks in a row!

Shocking, right? I know a little bit (or maybe a whole lot) about a great deal of things — cooking, baking, sautéing, homemaking, making money stretch — you name it. I’ve built real skills over the years, and I take pride in them. But even with all that knowledge, I still have those days. The ones that make me want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head. The days that drag on so long and hard that I catch myself wishing the time away.

Yes, I know how to make money work for me, but I’ll be honest — once the needs are covered, I still struggle. Do I treat myself to something nice? Save it for later? Spend it on my kids? The internal debate is real.

I live with PTSD and anxiety. I get “blue” days — not what I’d call depression, but heavy enough that I feel it in my bones. I’ve seen true depression up close — in my children, in my ex-husband, in others I love — and it has taught me a lot about compassion, patience, and grace.

Some days, I’m full of energy and optimism, ready to take on the world. And other days… I’m lucky if I can get supper cooked. And that’s okay. I’ve learned that even with all my knowledge — about money, about mental health, about coping — some days just aren’t it.

On those days, I have to remind myself: give yourself grace. Say, “Enough. Be still. Rest.” You don’t have to do it all — especially today.

But here’s the tricky part: rest can easily turn into avoidance if we’re not careful. It’s important to recognize what’s going on and act accordingly. Listen to your instincts. Listen to your body. Rest when you need to — but also, when it’s time, get up and move.

Take the shower. Bake the bread. Step outside and touch grass.

We’re all learning in this life — every second, every day. We just have to keep showing up.

And if you ever feel like you fell short or owe someone an apology — do it, mean it, and move on. Know better, do better. Every. Single. Day.

Love and light,
💛 Julie