The Sweetest Mother's Day Gift!

I have spent countless hours in therapy redefining myself. Learning I am not a one-dimensional being, I am not defined by my trauma or individual experiences. I play many roles and have had many experiences, and that this collection of roles and experiences is what actually defines me.

I’ve been practicing dialectic thinking: the idea that things are not one way or another, but somewhere in the mass spectrum of gray.

It’s actually quite funny that I have made so many of my life decisions either black or white because I surely don’t see the world in that simple way. In the process, I’ve had to unlearn all the staunch rules I’ve given myself on what being a mother should look like.

And there I go should-ing on myself.

RELATED: Hey Moms, Lose the Weight

I had unknowingly conditioned myself to believe that in order to be a good mother, I couldn’t be anything else.

My focus had to be my children every moment of my very existence. And if they weren’t, then that meant I was a selfish human who didn’t deserve these beautiful, complicated, emotionally exhausting, physically draining, yet awe-inspiring creatures.

Spoiler alert: all of my everything does not have to be centered around my children at all times. My from dawn until dusk does not have to be consumed by my raising little people.

Motherhood is a piece of my purpose and a part of my definition. Albeit a large piece and a huge part. The part that drives all my other parts.

But . . . 

I can be a giving mom and still need to put myself in time out.

I can be a devoted mom and still not want to read a story right now.

I can be a dedicated mom and still devote meaningful time to my marriage.

I can be an adventurous mom but still have hobbies outside of motherhood.

I can be a present mom and still look forward to bedtime and want a minute to catch up on my newsfeeds.

RELATED: Why Tired Moms Stay Up Late

I can practice self-care and still give my all to motherhood.

I can be an emotionally available mom and still have personal aspirations.

I can be a weary mom and as I tell my kids to give me personal bubble space, I still want all my kids under my roof and within arms reach.

RELATED: Every Mom Needs a Place to Hide

I can be a confident mom and still be unsure of myself.

I can be an adoring mom and still be angry and impatient.

I can be a loving mom and still be learning to love myself.

I can be a great mom and . . . still be everything else I am.

Previously published on the author’s blog

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

Sara Springer

Sara Springer has spent the last two decades supervising the chaos she has created. She is a midwest mom of five and Adult Nurse Practitioner who has battled depression and anxiety for the better part of 30 years. She is now a mental health advocate pursuing her writing dreams. She writes about maintaining mental wellness in parenting, marriage, and online spaces. She is co-founder of the mental health focused non-profit Love Will Foundation, a yoga enthusiast, and a staunch practitioner of sarcasm. Her work has been featured on multiple sites including Her View From Home, Scary Mommy, and The Mighty. Her first book, ‘Was I Not Supposed to Say That?’ is now available at online retailers and select stores.

Soon There Will Be No More Breakfasts To Make

In: Grown Children, Motherhood, Teen
Ten boy eating breakfast at kitchen counter

T-minus 44 days until a new beginning- Math has never been my strong suit or my favorite subject, but it will be about 19 years spent rising and trying to shine in our house. Nineteen years of prepping one, two, or all three of our sons to get up and ready for school. Nineteen years of making breakfast. Nineteen years of making lunches. For those of you in the thick of it right now, you know exactly what I mean. I think my husband Steve and I have it down to a science now. If we had to do it...

Keep Reading

I’m Going to Tell You the Things Your Mom Should Have Told You

In: Living, Motherhood
Mother with three grown daughters

During my oldest daughter’s freshman year of college, I started being haunted by a recurring dream of an old-fashioned suitcase—one of those hard-sided ones that’s as big as they come. In the dream, when I open the suitcase, it’s overflowing with clothing, shoes, and all kinds of stuff that belongs to me and each of my three daughters. Everything in the suitcase is all jumbled together. Nobody else in the dream is worried about sorting through everything, but I am totally stressed about it. To top it all off, I have to deal with this suitcase while preparing for a...

Keep Reading

The Half-Dressed Mom and Love in the Details

In: Motherhood
Woman sitting with coffee cup and book on bed

I am a proper mom. Not fancy, not prim—practical. I am dressed for the time of day, always. That is simply who I am. Except for this morning. This morning I was in a towel, bracing the bathroom counter, writhing in pain, and trying not to scream loud enough to disturb the neighbors. I had seen a specialist just the day before. He’d said I needed six weeks to heal before they could do further exploration. What he hadn’t said—what I hadn’t understood—was how much the healing itself would hurt. My 23-year-old daughter, Aislyn, found me like that. Panicked. Half-dressed....

Keep Reading

Mommy, Will You Play With Me?

In: Kids, Motherhood
Boy sitting in middle of toys smiling

With four kids at three different schools, our days are full. Between sports practices, music lessons, clubs, rehearsals, games, meets, and playdates, it feels like we’re constantly heading somewhere. I love that my children are involved in activities, but occasionally, it’s nice to have some downtime. When I get a text or email that a practice has been canceled, it’s usually a huge relief. Last week, after-school sports were cancelled due to heavy rain. When I picked up my youngest son from school, I told him we’d be going straight home for the rest of the afternoon. He looked surprised....

Keep Reading

Could We Take a Page from the ’80s and Stop Overparenting?

In: Kids, Motherhood

I have a confession: Yesterday I let my 11-year-old play with fire. Like literally. We live in the country, there is still wet snow on the ground, and he’s done it with his dad at least 20 times. But yesterday was the fifth consecutive day of no school, and probably the twentieth consecutive day of him asking to have a small fire without dad. Part of me did it out of laziness. Part of me did it out of selfishness. And part of me did it out of nostalgia. Here’s the thing—when I was 11, I was already babysitting (like...

Keep Reading

God Carries Me Through the Deep Waters of Change

In: Faith, Living, Motherhood
Woman at the beach as waves come in

“Ahhh!” My underwater scream garbled in my snorkel tube as the manta ray’s cavernous mouth swept a hand’s distance from my face. My fingers tightened around the surfboard until my knuckles ached. My arms trembled. I jerked my head side to side, searching for my daughters, Mia and Megan. Recent college graduates, they had joined me on one last mother-daughter vacation before launching their adult lives. They floated easily on the vibrant Hawaiian water, relaxed, trusting. I wanted to borrow their calm. Earlier, our guide had explained that the LED lights built into the surfboard attracted plankton the way college...

Keep Reading

Faith After a Rare Disease Diagnosis

In: Faith, Motherhood
Family smiling in posed photo

My pastor frequently speaks of “kid pain” and acknowledges there’s nothing like it. I can testify to that. After nine months of uncertainty and unexplained issues following the birth of our now 4-year-old daughter, Harlow, we finally received her diagnosis of Pyruvate Dehydrogenase Complex Deficiency (PDCD), a life-limiting mitochondrial disease with no cure and no FDA-approved treatments. It was heartbreaking. In moments like these, a parent can fall into complete desperation. You go through a range of emotions almost too fast to name: fear for your child’s life; anxiousness about how much time you’ll get with them; overwhelming grief. And...

Keep Reading

Good Mothers Bake from Scratch, and Other Lies I’ve Believed

In: Motherhood
Smiling women in selfie outside

I am standing at the kitchen counter, spooning banana mix into a muffin tin, when my daughter makes a proposal. “How about dis . . . ?” Presley begins, pausing for dramatic effect. “How about I put four chocolate chips on each muffin because dat’s how old I am?” I smile at her logic. Once every pink polka-dotted liner is filled with batter and topped with exactly four chocolate chips, I place both tins on the middle rack and set a timer. Presley runs out of the room and returns with her plastic step stool, placing it directly in front...

Keep Reading

My ‘Dusty Son’ is 5

In: Living, Motherhood
Little boy holding out dandelion bouquet

As moms, we categorize everything. Girl mom. Boy mom. Wine mom. Outdoor mom. Farm mom. City mom. Now there’s been an uptick in social media trends about exposing our girls to worldly and fancy experiences so someday they’re “not impressed by your dusty son.” I won the parenting jackpot (in my humble opinion) and have an older daughter and a younger son. He’s five. Not a grown man making real-world decisions. Not a college kid learning how to adult. He’s five. He loves dinosaurs and Mario. His big sissy and his Great Dane. He is incapable of cruelty and is...

Keep Reading

These Little Moments Are Everything

In: Motherhood
Mother embracing young child who is kissing her cheek

I almost missed it, my little one. How your eyebrows lift in quiet concentration as you carefully place each block, adding a new wall to your tiger castle. The way you say “scoop over, mom” and shuffle closer to me until our legs touch. “Just one second, bud.” The mantra of all busy moms. I almost missed your blonde hair flying wild as you bounce on the trampoline, that belly laugh that makes the whole world feel soft. I almost missed it. How you close your eyes as you crack the biggest, cheekiest smile when I tickle your belly, giggling...

Keep Reading