A Gift for Mom! 🤍

I recently read something that resonated with my soul. It said, in part, that a part of being an adult is learning to be OK with the decisions you’ve made and owning those decisions whether the outcome was good or bad.

One of the biggest struggles for adults, as I’m sure many other young adults face this same obstacle, is learning to be OK with the decisions we make and accepting who we are as individuals.

RELATED: Hey You, With the Doubts and Fears and Failures: You’re Worth It

I second guess everything I do, everything I say, every action I take. Because I have made choices that have not always turned out the way I envisioned.

I know, all too well, what disappointment feels like. What guilt and shame and despair feel like.

The crushing weight you feel when all your preconceived notions and dreams don’t go as planned.

So, I scare myself into thinking it won’t turn out well anyway and start relying very heavily on other people to make the decision for me—for other people to choose my happiness. Then it won’t be my fault if it all goes to heck. I will have someone else to blame.

As much as I fancy myself a dreamer, over the years, I have become more of a realist, some might even say pessimist. I no longer eagerly anticipate my future with wide eyes and wagging puppy dog tail. I can’t always see the good in the decisions I make. Because I know. I know that on the other side, the grass is not always greener.

You see, I have insecurities and doubts and fears. Which lead me to this morphed thinking that I’m not good enough. I’m not smart enough. I’m not pretty enough. I’m not brave enough. I am not enough.

RELATED: You Say I’m Enough—But What if I’m Not?

I try, very hard in fact, to be better. To do better. To improve my thinking and evolve as a person.

But it is a very thin line between wanting to improve ourselves for the better and obsessing over who we are NOT.

I’ve never been a good speaker. I am not very witty, and I tell corny jokes (although I find myself hysterical). I am too demanding at times and emotional and I struggle with being “too nice” or ” a church mouse” as I’ve been told. I don’t want the world to walk all over me so I try to be assertive without being aggressive. I try to be whimsical without being too ditzy. I try to talk in a way that my words match my emotions but end up falling short. And it all just feels like . . . too much.

It’s too much to try to be human. To not be afraid of failure. Not be afraid of what others think of you. To not be afraid of what you think of yourself.

I’m not going to lie, it is not easy for me to look in the mirror and like what I see. To always like the person I’ve become. And it is too easy for me to start reverting back to the negative narrative I placed on myself.

It has taken me a long time to get to the acceptance part of my story.

That is where I am right now, or at the very least fighting to remain in that state of mind. Accepting who I am and LIVING in me. Being OK with me. Loving me.

RELATED: I Live Loud and Love Big—And I’m Not Sorry

Of course, I’m going to continue to grow and learn and explore, and as I get older, my experiences will make me a stronger, wiser person. But I no longer want to revel in the I’m not the category. I want to thrive in the I am.

I am strong. I am a good mom. I am a good friend. I am a hard worker. I am industrious. I am me. And I am OK with who I am.

And I will accept every decision I have made or will ever make. I will accept who I am and not let anyone, including myself, belittle the person who made me, me.

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!

Tia Norris

My Name is Tia Norris. I'm a south Alabama native living with my husband and 1-year-old son. I work full time from home. When I not working or chasing my wild child around, I enjoy freelance writing and working on my blog. You can find me on Instagram @thenorristribe or my blog https://thenorristribe.com/.

My Mom Was Just 13 When I Was Born. Now That I’m a Mother, I See Her Differently.

In: Living
Young girl and teenage mother

There are only 13 years and 11 months between us. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been—how lonely it must have felt at times. A childhood cut short, replaced with responsibilities that were night and day. Confusion and love, all wrapped into one. Growing up, it felt like I had a big sister beside me. A friend I loved with everything in me. But she wasn’t just a friend. She was my mother. I relied on her for guidance, for reassurance, for someone to look up to. And now I find myself wondering, how could she give me...

Keep Reading

Why Don’t We Talk About Jonah’s Mother?

In: Faith, Living, Motherhood
Woman standing over water

Praying for My Son Send a storm to stop him; Let his friends throw him out. May he drop to the deeps, But gently, please, Stubborn though he may be. If it could only take three days, How my mother’s heart would Rejoice in praise.  From the hell you allow him, Let him cry to you. Is not Nineveh and mercy Exactly what he knows He needs— A mercy on enemies He fears You will concede? Please let all the shade wither If his is an angry soul; Humble him and help him follow Where you would have his purpose...

Keep Reading

I Never Got to Meet My Grandmother on This Side of Heaven

In: Living
Old black and white family photo

Grandmother, I never met you this side of Heaven, but I feel as though I have. Your pictures, scattered throughout my mother’s home, tell your story. Born to a woman who came to this country alone when she was just 16, you would be the youngest of four, with two sisters and a brother. Your short, dark, straight hair clings to your little face, a line of bangs neatly combed high on your forehead. You couldn’t be more than three years old as you sit on a stool at your sister’s First Holy Communion. The black and white photo makes...

Keep Reading

The Hardest Part of Divorce Is Being Away from My Kids

In: Living, Marriage, Motherhood
Woman in driver's seat

I’ve written several times about how divorce has allowed me to find myself again, and how that version is even better than the one I was before I was married. All of that is still true. I am happier than I’ve ever been. More confident and sure of myself. I understand my emotions and how to handle myself when things get tough or scary. I am more grounded and calm than I’ve ever been. Truly, I have come out on top. I’ve received comments about how happy I look, how I’m “living my best life with kids only half the...

Keep Reading

My Dad Gave Us Something Money Never Could

In: Living
Family smiling in posed photo

I was talking with my dad the other day about an upcoming Disney trip with our kids. I told him all we planned to do while we were there and how excited the kids were. He sat and listened, taking it all in. And then he said something that put a lump in my throat. “I’m so glad you’re able to give your kids the life that I couldn’t.” He went on to say he still carries some guilt–that he wishes he could have done more, taken us on trips, given us experiences he couldn’t. Hearing that broke my heart....

Keep Reading

Dear Daddy, I Wish You Could See Yourself As We Do

In: Living, Marriage
father with two young children

The side of my husband who is hardest on himself usually shows up late at night. The house is quiet, the kids are finally asleep, and the day has done what it always does—taken everything it could from both of us. That’s usually when it comes out. The voice in his head that tells him he’s not doing enough as a father. Not present enough. Not patient enough. Not good enough. He doesn’t say it lightly. He says it like someone confessing a truth he wishes wasn’t true. Like he’s already measured himself against some invisible standard of fatherhood and...

Keep Reading

Mothers and Stepmothers: Who’s on First?

In: Living
Little girl looking through fingers

The roles. The expectations. The unspoken, undefined rules. The hurt feelings no one wants to talk about. It could be a scene from an old Abbott and Costello routine: “Who’s on first?” Motherhood is rarely clear-cut. And if you’ve ever tried to navigate life alongside a stepmother—or as one—you know how quickly things can become complicated. Add a stepmother to the mix, and suddenly it’s a relay race where no one’s quite sure who’s holding the baton, or if anyone wants it. This isn’t a story about winners and losers or choosing sides. It isn’t about who is right or...

Keep Reading

Do We Really Want a ’90s Summer?

In: Living
Girl holding popsicle

The year is 2026: we’re inviting thousands of strangers to get ready with us, threatening our own deaths on a lot of different hills and, if you’re a millennial mom, determined to have a ’90s summer. Some top to-dos on the ’90s mom summer checklist? Lots of outside play, limited screens, less hustle, more simplicity. Overall, evoking the “carefree” summers of the 1990s. But did anyone ever ask the real ‘90s moms if summers back then were all we’re cracking them up to be? If my own memory serves me right, my parents talked a whole lot about summers in...

Keep Reading

To the Woman Who Was Betrayed

In: Living, Marriage
Woman looking off to the fog

He promised you a lifetime, a family, safety, and security. You carried life and brought it into this world for him. Even still, in the trenches of postpartum, he betrayed you. It was never your fault. This is something I’ve fought to tell myself every single day since the day I discovered my marriage was never meant to last. Because the truth is, betrayal is never about you; it’s about them, and the character flaws deep within they’d rather bury than face. He watched as you fought for your life after delivery while your tiny, premature newborn spent the first...

Keep Reading

5 Things I’m Learning about 50

In: Living
birthday balloons

When my dad turned 80, he—and we, by default—celebrated all year. My sister made a fantastic, larger-than-life sign of him posing in front of his friend’s antique car, with beautiful calligraphy that trumpeted, “Cheers to you, celebrating 80 years of life!” The sign welcomed his closest friends and family into a private room at a steakhouse, where we toasted his 80 years—and the grandkids toasted his steady presence in their lives. The sign moved from the swanky steakhouse to the second-floor banister in my parents’ house. When you walked in, it greeted you—a feel-good conversation starter and a reminder to...

Keep Reading