It's a heavy, heavy time. Russia is invading Ukraine. There is an unrelenting assault on trans rights in Texas. We're about to enter year 3 of this pandemic. 

I've been struggling with wanting to do more - more activism, more fundraising, more supporting communities outside of my own. 

I've also been struggling with what to say about it all. The unfairness. The complete heartbreak. The seething anger at those who intentionally bring suffering to others. 

I've gone outside. Played games with my kids. Sat in silence. Called friends. 

I've let the grief take up residence and noticed how the guilt flows in and out like waves. 

And I keep coming back to a lesson I've already learned a thousand times:
​
We are doing incredibly important work. 

In one of our motherhood circles last week we were talking about identity and the conversation shifted toward exploring our expectations of motherhood. These expectations were formed from our childhoods, our evolving ideas of motherhood, cultural norms, and our peers (just to name a few). 

What emerged was this: What we thought motherhood would look like often isn't our reality once we're here. 

And as we're here in the cocoon of early motherhood - the messy, uncomfortable in-between space between our old selves and our new ones - trying to make sense of it all can feel completely overwhelming. 

I keep coming back to this line from "Surface Pressure" from the Encanto soundtrack...

Last week I had a moment. I was sitting on our living room couch and watching my kids race around the house screaming with joy. And this thought just popped into my head: "these are my KIDS! I am a mom! This is my LIFE! How is this possible?!"
​
I immediately thought of the Talking Heads song "Once in a lifetime." Specifically:

I mean, I know how I got here. My kids are 6 and 3.5.  We've spent SO MUCH TIME together. 

And sometimes it still takes my breath away. 
​
A few days later, in our Motherhood Circle for Toddler Moms, similar "Wow, I'm a mom!" stories emerged: