A Gift for Mom! 🤍

What is the false narrative you’ve accepted about yourself? What is the messaging you’ve allowed to take space throughout your body, your mind, your heart . . . your soul? Friend, I want you to stop a moment and really reflect on the lies you’ve been told so long that you are now the narrator. 

Mine is that I am too sensitive. I don’t think I’ve ever heard the description of sensitive unless it was precursed with the too adverb. As in, too much work. Over the top. Dramatic. Thin-skinned. In my life, sensitivity has certainly never been associated as a compliment. 

Funny, I’m often told I’m too sensitive by the people hurting me. 

The person who accuses me of being anorexic. 

The bully who leaves bruises on my shins under the desk when I threaten to tell the teacher about his constant demeaning and invasion. 

RELATED: Life is Too Short for Fake Cheese and Fake Friends

The boyfriend calling me stupid, but he “meant it as a tease.”

The relative who constantly criticizes. 

“God, you’re so sensitive!” 

My sensitivity isn’t only a response to hurtful words. It’s overwhelming when I watch the news. It’s being around certain people and feeling their negative vibes so strongly I am left physically drained. It’s needing time to recharge. It’s taking on the emotional pain of others, carrying it with me like a weighted vest for several days. 

I cannot believe it’s taken being in my 30s to hear of sensitivity as a good thing.

For so long I’ve compartmentalized it in my shame column, joining the list of things that are wrong with me. 

RELATED: I No Longer Sit At Tables Where I Might Be The Topic When I Get Up

When I heard Glennon Doyle talk about sensitivity on her episode of Brene Brown’s podcast, time stopped. I frantically pressed the rewind arrows on my phone to hear it again. Sensitivity is a good thing? It wasn’t more than a week later I came across this quote from Glennon, in regards to her daughter: 

“Tish is sensitive, and that is her superpower. The opposite of sensitive is not brave. It’s not brave to refuse to pay attention, to refuse to notice, to refuse to feel and know and imagine. The opposite of sensitive is insensitive, and that’s no badge of honor.”

Mic drop. At the risk of being overdramatic, that quote left me feeling revolutionized. I am sensitive, and that can be my superpower? What does that even look like? 

It’s catching a sunrise at the perfect moment and being brought to my knees. 

It’s being incredibly attuned to my sons and their emotional needs while they’re too young to express them. 

It’s feeling my husband’s thoughts before hearing them. 

It’s being there for a friend in her pain because now the pain is also mine. 

RELATED: An Open Letter to the Girl Who Feels Everything

So again I ask you, what is the false narrative you’ve accepted about your life? Have you been told all your life you’re too much? 

Too bossy? 

Too independent? 

Too regimented? 

Too talkative? 

Too emotional?

Is it possible you can wear that accusation like a badge of honor? Better yet, like a cape? 

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!

Brianna Baranowski

Brianna Baranowski is a California girl loving the Iowa way of life! She is a boy mom who thrives on authentic and honest connection. Brianna is a writer, naturalist, and former teacher.

Motherhood With an Invisible Illness Feels Like Surviving in Plain Sight

In: Living
Mother holding sleeping child

There’s a kind of exhaustion that’s impossible to translate. Not the “I stayed up too late” tired. Not even the newborn, up-every-two-hours kind of tired. It’s something heavier. The kind that settles deep into your bones and makes even the simplest task feel like you’re pushing against gravity. Living with Sjögren’s syndrome and discoid lupus while raising young kids means carrying a weight no one else can see, and one that’s almost impossible to understand unless you’ve lived it yourself. The closest comparison I’ve ever found is the first trimester of pregnancy. That overwhelming, all-consuming fatigue where your body feels...

Keep Reading

These Simple Summers Will Live In My Heart Forever

In: Living
Kids playing in water in yard

There’s something I love about summers with the kids, more than any other time of the year. It’s not my favorite season, not even close. But I will always look back on the summers spent with our kids as some of the most beautiful, joyful, yet simple memories of our life together. And that’s just it—it’s the simplicity of summer that makes it so magical. It’s the weightlessness of “nowhere to be,” and the way the kids settle into a routine that’s not a routine at all. I love watching them run through the yard, popsicle in hand, red strawberry...

Keep Reading

We’re Trusting God through Unemployment

In: Living
Family posing by wooden wall

The calendar tells me that almost three months ago today, my husband and I resigned from our joint position as house parents in a residential foster care ministry. Three months of no income. Three months of moving to a new state, navigating new doctors, two brand new schools for our daughters, and a smaller living space. Three months of looking at each other and knowing how hard it is to wait for a paycheck. One day, I dared to check the bank account, and my body quivered when I saw the balance. We had savings, but I am pretty sure...

Keep Reading

Some Friendships Are Not Meant To Last Forever

In: Friendship
Landscape photo

I remember hearing as a child that not all friendships last forever. Back then, I didn’t believe it. Not my friendships. We had grown up together—through elementary school, through high school. We were inseparable. Plans were made around each other, and life felt like it would always look that way. But life has a way of changing things. I became a young mom, trying to figure out who I was while also learning how to be everything my children needed. At the same time, I was still holding tightly to the friendships that had been part of my life for...

Keep Reading

My Sister-In-Law Is the Sister I Always Wanted

In: Living
Two women friends smiling

There’s a very specific kind of longing that sometimes comes with growing up without a sister. Yes, I had half-siblings on my dad’s side, but they were older and out there living their adult lives. My brother and I were always very close despite the age difference. He was the cool, funny, rockstar big brother who was (and always will be) a big kid at heart, and I was incredibly grateful for that. But still, there was always this quiet, persistent longing for something else: a sister. Someone who would be mine in that way only sisters understand. You know,...

Keep Reading

The Life I Love Was Built From the Life That Broke Me

In: Living, Marriage
Family of four

In my early- to mid-twenties, everything felt like it was unraveling. I was depressed, uninspired, dealing with health issues I didn’t fully understand, and carrying the weight of past trauma I didn’t yet have the language for. At the same time, I was wading through a dating pool that felt more like I was unintentionally starring in an episode of Punk’d, all while still carrying the scars of a serious relationship that ended in betrayal—cheating that didn’t just break my heart, but shattered my sense of trust in a way I wasn’t prepared for. For a while, I stayed there....

Keep Reading

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