Today, I realized how different parts of ourselves show up in different seasons of life. Sometimes busyness creates a longing for simplicity.

I just finished earning my degree after seven years. It was a great experience and one I am proud of, but it also left me feeling burned out. That experience has changed my perspective in ways I did not expect.

Where I once liked staying busy and taking my kids from one activity to another, now I long for slow days at home. I used to avoid being outside whenever possible, and now I love lying in the hammock listening to nature, hearing my children play, and feeling the breeze move through the trees.

I want a simple house that does not require all of my time and energy to maintain. I want to bake bread and cookies. I do not want every hour of my day planned out.

I used to enjoy wandering through stores looking for deals, and sometimes I still do. But I have also learned to listen to my body. I can recognize when I have reached my limit, when I am overwhelmed by decisions, prices, crowds, and endless choices. On those days, grocery pickup is not laziness. It is giving myself permission to simplify.

I used to run from bugs, wasps, and spiders. While I am certainly not inviting them into my house, I have learned to coexist with them and enjoy being outside despite them.

This feels like a new season of life. One where I cherish slow mornings, unhurried afternoons, and days without endless schedules or overflowing to-do lists. I find myself desiring simplicity because I think it is a path to peace.

I think about how little time I actually spent with my children when they were in school and we were constantly running from one activity to the next. I heard about their days, but I was not always a part of them.

Now I get to garden with my children. I get to watch them play with bubbles at the water table, ride their bikes, and rollerblade outside. I get to read books on the couch, play card games around the table, and be present for the ordinary moments that so often become the memories we treasure most.

This is not where I expected to be with children who are almost twelve, almost ten, and almost four years old. But it is where I want to be.

I want peace in my soul and peace in the way I live.

I do not want to go, go, go or spend all my time away from home. I want to create a home that feels like a sanctuary, a place I genuinely enjoy being. I want to bring home the feeling we spend so much money chasing on vacation.

Lately, I have been enjoying simple home projects, painting a room, tending the garden, and slowly making our home into a place that feels peaceful and welcoming.

Sometimes I wonder if this is a return to my childhood.

I was homeschooled, and our days felt slower. We baked bread from scratch. We made meals together. We learned together. Life was not controlled by rigid schedules that could never be changed.

Maybe part of me is returning to those roots.

Somewhere along the way, I started believing that a full calendar was what responsible adults were supposed to have. That being productive, busy, and constantly working toward the next goal was simply what you did. I have always been someone who follows the rules. I do what I am supposed to do, even when it is difficult and sometimes even when it is not what I truly want. But this season has challenged some of those assumptions.

I am learning that more is not always better. Sometimes a meaningful life is built in the quiet moments. It is found in conversations around the kitchen table, afternoons in the garden, books read on the couch, card games played together, and the simple gift of being present with the people you love.

Earning my degree was an accomplishment I am incredibly proud of, and I would do it again. But it also taught me something unexpected. It taught me that success is not only found in achievements. Sometimes success looks like creating a life that feels peaceful, meaningful, and aligned with who you are becoming.

Now that I have graduated, I get to use those skills in a different way. For years, my writing was shaped by assignments, rubrics, and expectations. I wrote what was required. Now I get to write about the things I genuinely care about. I can use the communication and writing skills I spent years developing to reflect on motherhood, family, growth, and the life I am intentionally creating. There is something freeing about writing because I want to, not because I have to.

This new season feels authentically me, and maybe the version of myself I was meant to discover at this stage of life. Not because I have arrived or figured everything out, but because I am learning to listen more closely to what brings peace, joy, and purpose to my days.

Maybe that is what I am really searching for in this season. Not a bigger life, but a deeper one. Not more places to go, but more reasons to stay. A home that feels like a sanctuary and a life that no longer needs a vacation to feel peaceful.

From the minute I found out I was pregnant with you, my whole world shifted. My hand continually rested on my belly and I knew I was carrying something precious that would change my life forever. I did all I could to prepare for you while I was pregnant. I made my first baby quilt and carefully chose each piece of fabric because I wanted to protect your soft baby skin. I picked out only the softest towels and baby blankets for you. I bought cloth diapers and cloth wipes because I wanted to keep your world as natural as possible.

I chose not to find out your gender because I wanted to experience the excitement of the mystery. There was something so special about waiting to meet you fully for the very first time on the day you were born.

I was determined to have a home birth with you. I prepared all the supplies for your birth and researched everything I could. I took childbirth classes, read books, and tried to prepare myself mentally and physically for bringing you into the world.

I had prodromal labor from 36 weeks pregnant until you were born. I remember bouncing on my birth ball for hours to the song “Down” by Jay Sean, singing the lyrics I fully meant:

“So baby, don’t worry, you are my only
You won’t be lonely even if the sky is fallin’ down
You’ll be my only, no need to worry. Baby, are you down, down, down, down, down?”

It became our song, and I tried to enjoy every moment I felt you moving inside me.

At 40 weeks and 4 days, I woke up feeling different. I ate a big bowl of peanut butter cereal with chocolate milk that had extra protein, but my back was aching and something in me knew labor was beginning. Eventually,, I called my mom and your daddy. I took a shower to lessen the pain, but the contractions continued.

Soon, I was surrounded by the support of my parents, my sister, and your daddy. We even walked to a local ice cream shop for a shake, pausing during the walk whenever contractions became too intense. Back at the house, I settled onto my birth ball and kept rocking my hips through wave after wave of contractions. Hours passed as labor steadily intensified.

Around midnight, I woke up to use the bathroom and then laid back down. Everyone around me was resting and I started to doze when suddenly I felt liquid rush out of me. At first, I wondered if I had peed myself, but then I realized my water had broken. I told my sister and soon everyone was awake again. Having your water break is such a strange feeling. I remember shaking uncontrollably, feeling cold, my teeth chattering while we waited through even more contractions.

By 4 a.m. I got into the birth pool, hoping I would soon be meeting you. I did not realize how much longer the journey would still be. Eventually, labor shifted hard on my back. The pain and pressure became overwhelming. Your daddy and Grandma pressed against my back, constantly trying to ease the pain. My experienced midwife, my mom, my sister, my aunt, and your daddy were all there supporting me through every moment of labor.

Hours passed, and the intense back labor continued. My water had broken at midnight, and now it was the evening of the next day. I was now 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant. The pain felt endless.

At times, I would drift asleep in the warm birth pool between contractions, only to wake back up to another wave of pain. I tried to breathe through it and let my body embrace it, but the back labor was so intense. Eventually, I started saying, “I can’t do it. I can’t do it,” which everyone knew really meant you were almost here.

I climbed into Grandma’s bed because I felt your body moving lower. I expected the urge to push to come and go, but instead it completely took over me. The urge was so powerful it blocked everything else out. I could not have stopped it even if I wanted to.

Then I pushed you out in one strong and intense push.

After 18 hours of back labor and 33 hours of labor altogether, I was finally holding you in my arms.

I still remember the unbelievable feeling of your body suddenly slipping free. Daddy caught you and cut the umbilical cord before they handed you to me. And once again, my whole world shifted.

But this time, I was meeting someone I already knew.

I already knew you from feeling you grow inside me. It felt like finally meeting someone I was always meant to know. Someone who was always meant to be part of my life forever.

I remember saying, “You’re so beautiful,” and then they told me I had a son. I was so excited to have my baby boy. You weighed 9 pounds 1 ounce, and I remember being amazed that I had brought such a big baby into the world. Your skin was impossibly soft. I truly thought you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my whole life.

Those first days recovering with you were some of the sweetest moments of my life. I could spend hours just looking at you. Hours nursing you, kissing you, watching your tiny movements. Your little smiles, yawns, and hiccups were the most adorable things I had ever seen.

I remember how you started grabbing my hair while you nursed, running your fingers through it. I remember how you could be upset one second but calm completely the moment I held you close.

You made me a mommy.

You changed me forever. My entire world depended on you being part of it.

It is hard not to look in the mirror and think or say something negative like, “I’m too fat,” “I need to go on a diet,” or “I hate being so short.”

It’s hard not to pick apart the things that make me different from the norm.

However, I never want her to think or say those same negative things about herself.

I remember hearing my mom make comments about her own body, and it was hard not to notice the similarities between us.

I don’t want her to think her worth depends on looks. I want her to be confident and see her own unique beauty.

But I am realizing that if I want her to be confident in a body type similar to mine, then I need to show her a confident mother. One who is not defined by physical appearance alone.

I want her to know how boring the world would be if everyone looked the same. I want her to know that even if her body is different from what society defines as beautiful, she is gorgeous and stunning in who she is, inside and out.

It is not always easy to be positive when your body looks different. When you are far from what society defines as beauty. When you are just a normal person with normal flaws and differences.

But I have realized how important it is to change what I see, for her.

So she does not carry the same weight from society.

So she can walk with confidence and not dislike herself for things she cannot change.

I don’t want her to hear my negative words when she looks in the mirror.

Other people can be cruel with the words they say about others. But I am her mother, and I want to build her confidence as much as I can so that she can weather the criticism of others. I don’t want her self-esteem to crumble because of unkind words or because someone makes her feel like she is not enough.

Because one day she will stand in front of a mirror and see herself. I hope she sees beauty, strength, and worth long before she notices flaws.

Our vacation was almost two weeks long, and my husband and I decided not to push her. We chose to follow her pace.

On day 11, she finally went into the ocean.

It wasn’t quick. She followed her older brother in. She didn’t go far on her own. She got her feet wet before running back out. But I could tell she wanted to go in because she came running back to me and said, “Mommy, will you hold my hand?”

I said yes.

So we went into the water together. I followed her pace and didn’t rush her. I knew it would be best to let her take the lead. We stood in the same spot for as long as she needed. She laughed at the waves while her brothers encouraged her to go in farther.

She would tell them, “No, I like it here.”

Eventually she said, “Mommy, let’s go in more.”

So we went farther.

Then we stayed in that same spot again for a long time until once again she said, “Mommy, I want to go in more.”

I followed her pace.

Before long, she became so comfortable that while wearing her life jacket, she was riding on the shallow end of a boogie board without fear, completely happy and content, laughing and playing.

I followed her lead. I didn’t push her or rush her.

In life, we often rush our kids as we move from place to place and activity to activity. We say, “Hurry up, let’s go,” because there is not always time to slow down and let them take things at their own pace.

But when something truly scares them and time allows us to slow down, my daughter showed me something today.

She wasn’t incapable. She wasn’t unwilling.

She was simply waiting until she felt safe.

Because I didn’t rush her, she became comfortable in her own time. I believe she became less afraid than she might have been if I had forced her into something she wasn’t ready for.

There used to be the idea that parents should just throw kids into the water and let them learn to swim. My daughter can swim in a pool, but the ocean waves scared her. I cannot help but wonder if forcing children into things before they are ready sometimes creates fear instead of confidence.

My daughter trusted me.

She trusted that I would hold her hand, stay beside her, and not force her into the deep before she was ready.

And because of that, she eventually felt safe and didn’t have to hold my hand through every wave.

This can apply to so many areas of life. And because I am instilling trust that I will hold her hand if and when she needs me, she will eventually have the courage to face life’s challenges without me.

But what if we do not bounce back? What if we never become exactly who we were before?

Motherhood changes us forever. It changes our priorities and our instincts. Maybe we were never meant to return to the person we once were. Maybe we are becoming something new, and maybe that is okay.

We have seen posts telling partners to just be patient because their wife will eventually bounce back and be like she was before. But what if she is never like she was before? Not because something is wrong, but because she has been forever altered by the process of becoming a mother.

If we do not expect our bodies to completely return to exactly the way they were before pregnancy, then maybe we should stop expecting that from ourselves in other ways too. Pregnancy changes us physically in ways that can last forever. During pregnancy, cells from our babies can remain in our bodies for years and sometimes even decades after they are born. We are literally changed by carrying them, just as we are changed by loving and raising them.

Motherhood can also change us in ways we do not always notice. Many mothers become deeply aware of sounds and needs in ways they may never have been before. The cry of a baby in the middle of the night, the sound of little footsteps, a little cough signaling a sickness coming on. That awareness that someone depends on you can become woven into who you are. Parts of us become more watchful, more aware, and more connected.

It does not mean we have to lose ourselves. It does not mean motherhood has to consume every part of who we are. It does not mean we cannot discover new passions, dreams, or versions of ourselves. But maybe it does mean allowing space for change instead of constantly chasing who we used to be.

Instead of expecting mothers to return to who they were before, maybe we should embrace who they are becoming, new and different versions of themselves.

Maybe motherhood was never meant to bring us back to our younger, more inexperienced, and naive selves. Maybe it was meant to introduce us to someone we have never met before, someone we are still becoming.

At one point, about halfway through the massage, she took hot stones and slowly rubbed them across my stomach for several minutes. I have never had a massage therapist touch my stomach before.

I was already relaxed and very aware of her touch. In that quiet, meditative state, I realized something that honestly made me emotional.

I could not remember the last time anyone had touched my stomach gently. Not even myself.

Not to judge it.

Not to shrink it.

Not to suck it in.

Not to critique it in the mirror.

Just touched gently.

I realized I automatically shrink away from anyone touching or looking at my stomach. I have spent years avoiding touch there altogether. I still shrink away from even my husband’s hand resting on my stomach.

When I was younger, I had a complicated relationship with my stomach. Looking back, it really didn’t look bad at all, but it was never flat enough. Never toned enough. There was always this feeling that it needed to be smaller.

Then I became pregnant with my oldest son.

From the moment I found out I was pregnant, my hands were constantly resting on my belly. I rubbed it affectionately without even thinking about it. I remember being fascinated watching my body change. Watching my stomach grow. Even when my belly button popped out, I was excited.

My stomach became something incredible to me because it was creating life. I didn’t mind the stretch marks that were developing. I rubbed lotion on my belly and took pictures each week to show the growth.

But after I had him, something shifted.

Stretch marks remained, dark against loose skin.

A softer stomach that no longer looked the way it once had.

And suddenly, the same stomach I had treated with so much tenderness became something I wanted to hide.

The shame seemed to deepen once the brief window of postpartum grace disappeared.

I stopped wanting it touched.

I covered it up.

I criticized it constantly.

It became something I felt ashamed for anyone to see.

Then I got pregnant with my second son and once again my stomach became worthy of affection. The same thing happened with my daughter.

And after each pregnancy, the cycle repeated itself.

Love during pregnancy.

Discomfort and shame afterward.

After my daughter, my body carried even more evidence of what it had endured. A C-section scar from my stomach literally being cut open to safely bring her into this world.

Lying there during that massage, I realized how disconnected I had become from my own body.

How long had it been since I touched my stomach with gentleness instead of criticism?

How often do mothers look at their stomachs and only see what was lost instead of what was done?

Sometimes it feels like the only solutions society offers women after pregnancy are to hide our stomachs, exercise to extremes, or spend thousands of dollars trying to erase the evidence that we were ever pregnant at all. It can feel like postpartum bodies are only accepted if they appear untouched by motherhood.

But why is a pregnant stomach worthy of awe while a postpartum stomach is treated as something to fix? Why are the marks of motherhood so often viewed as flaws instead of evidence that our bodies stretched, carried, created, and endured?

My stomach carried three babies.

It stretched to make room for life.

It protected my children before I ever got to hold them.

It survived pregnancy, birth, healing, and surgery.

That is not weakness.

That is exquisitely strong.

And maybe part of healing is learning that our bodies do not lose their worth once the babies are born.

Maybe they deserve tenderness afterward too.

I nursed my oldest son for two years, even while pregnant with my second. My second son I nursed for two years as well. My daughter nursed for three years and fought weaning the most. Maybe it was harder to get her to stop because I knew it was my last time nursing.

My breasts show signs that I breastfed. What were once perky breasts now sag like deflated balloons. It can be difficult not to feel self-conscious about the way they look now. But then I remember that I fed my babies for seven years. I comforted them, kept them healthy, and gave them nourishment to grow.

The breastfeeding relationship I had with my children was beautiful. At times it was exhausting, but overall I cherish those memories. I cherish the bonding experiences we shared and the comfort it brought both of us. I know that breastfeeding is not the experience every woman has or wants, but I am grateful that it was part of my journey into motherhood.

Breasts were never created simply to be visually pleasing to others. They were created to nourish babies.

Three babies. Seven years. A lifetime of memories.

I was homeschooled from preschool until my high school graduation. But as a mother, I never thought I would homeschool myself.

My mom was an engaged homeschooling mom. She poured her passion for teaching into all of her children. She got excited to teach us science and geography and made learning fun for us. We would eat meals based on the countries we were learning about and go on nature walks to discover plants and bugs we had studied. She also taught us life skills like baking and meal planning.

I always thought she was fantastic, and I did not believe I could do it as well as she had.

I assumed my kids would do better under the instruction of teachers, and I did not believe I had the skills to teach them myself.

However, last year I watched my second grader with inattentive ADHD struggle in school socially and academically. Around the same time, we decided to move to a new house in a new city. I worried about how he would adjust to a new school system, especially since we were moving a few weeks after the new school year had already begun.

We decided I would homeschool temporarily in the fall and potentially enroll the kids in school again after the holidays. But once I began, I slowly started gaining confidence and seeing the benefits of what we were doing.

I learned so much during that time. I learned that I needed to adjust my own expectations and work at the pace of my child instead of constantly trying to get him caught up to where I thought he “should” be. Instead, I let him follow his own pace and learn in his own way.

After the holidays, I created a fun program where we began learning science, English language arts, and social studies through the Harry Potter books. Our weekly spelling words come from the chapters we are reading. We read a chapter a day, and my younger son, now in third grade, and my older son in sixth grade, write reflections based on their individual reading and writing levels.

For science, we started exploring the “magic” behind the spells. We learned about light through Lumos, magnets through Accio, and fire through Incendio. The boys loved connecting science concepts to the books they already enjoyed.

We later moved into Care of Magical Creatures. Since hippogriffs combine horses and eagles, we learned about real horses and birds of prey. After reading about basilisks, we studied snakes. The boys created field guides and drew different animals as we learned about them.

Next, we will move into biology as they help me plant and care for our garden, giving them hands-on experience with nature and growing things themselves.

For social studies, we have been learning about mythology — primarily Greek mythology, but also folklore and legendary creatures from cultures around the world.

I’ve also been able to tailor math to my third grader’s individual needs. We have worked slowly through multiplication and division until he truly understands it, while also reviewing foundational skills like borrowing and subtraction that he struggled to fully grasp in public school.

I’ve also learned that learning does not always have to happen sitting still at a table for hours. One of the benefits of homeschooling has been allowing my kids to take brain breaks throughout the day. Sometimes that means jumping on the trampoline, riding their bikes outside, or simply getting fresh air and movement before returning to their work.

In February, we took a break from the Harry Potter curriculum to create a two-week unit around the Winter Olympics in Italy. It became one of the most exciting parts of our homeschool year.

The boys watched science videos and read about force and motion and how athletes use speed, balance, and physics in their sports. We tied math into the Olympics by working with times, measurements, and scores.

For social studies, we learned about a different country each day during the games. We explored the cultures, foods, geography, and traditions of those countries. We ate foods inspired by the places we were learning about and spent time reading articles and watching videos together.

The boys began recognizing the flags of different countries and cheering for athletes based on the places we had studied. They also wrote age-appropriate reflections about the sports they watched and what interested them most.

As a family, we watched the opening ceremonies together, and the entire experience brought so much excitement and curiosity into our home. It reminded me that learning does not have to feel confined to worksheets or classrooms. Some of the best moments came from simply experiencing things together.

Through all of this, I have gained confidence in myself.

I do not have to homeschool exactly the way my mom did. I still think she did an amazing job, but I am finding my own way and my own path.

Whether our homeschooling journey lasts two years or continues until my children graduate, I honestly do not know yet. But I already find myself excitedly planning for next year. We will move on to The Lord of the Rings and possibly The Hunger Games.

Homeschooling has opened up an entirely new world for me as a mother and teacher. I’ve watched my oldest son expand his knowledge and spend hours exploring STEM projects, 3D design, bugs, reptiles, and all the subjects that genuinely fascinate him after his core work is done.

It has completely changed my perspective. I see myself differently now. I see my abilities differently. And I have watched my children thrive in ways I had not expected.

The experience has strengthened my confidence and made me excited to see what else I can teach them, whether that is for another year or longer.

I also recently graduated from college with a BA in Communication, and now I am stepping into a season where I will no longer be balancing my own coursework alongside homeschooling. I think that will allow me to pour even more of myself into creating a learning environment that is meaningful, enjoyable, and full of curiosity for all of us.