A Gift for Mom! 🤍

Last night’s This Is Us pulled some major heartstrings for moms and dads alike. As a mom, I don’t know a counterpart out there who doesn’t second-guess her mothering abilities and wonder if she is doing enough to nurture and love her kids. When it comes to our failures, whether colossal or minor, many of us lay awake and steep in regret for nights on end.

Mom guilt is palpable, our insecurities are rampant, and our desire to do all the things for our kiddos (at a gold standard no less) is fierce. But pawning for perfection is a futile exercise. Some days we’re just going to blow it. Big time. We’re going to fly off the handle, cave to exhaustion, and/or sink into depression among a cadre of other not so great reactions. If I’ve learned anything over 25 years of parenting, the key to pushing through our disappointments and dismay is to focus on all the things we do right. Mainly, all the love we give.

If we force ourselves to look beyond our worst moments and into the vastness of our mothering in its entirety, we’re bound to find hope in the collective uprush of our affection and adoration despite the downrush of our weaknesses and human faltering. We can count on love because love defies gravity.

Last night, Randall reminded us of the importance of having such a hope-filled mindset. While visiting his childhood home with Kate, they both reminisced about a particular day shared with their dad, Jack, when they were 11 years old. Jack was in emotional turmoil over a fallout with his brother and didn’t have the strength or mental energy to play the father role with Randall and Kate. I can’t count how many times I’ve been in his shoes.

As the day went on with Jack attempting to battle his demons, he eventually caved to his suffering and snapped at Kate for the mess she and Randall made all over the living room floor. After walking away in anger, Jack became unhinged completely and shattered a plate against the kitchen wall. The scene was powerful and lit up a movie reel in my mind that projected similar scenarios I’ve experienced over the years. My heart felt heavy for Jack, and his kids as all three of them stood stunned in the kitchen, their insides full of hurt and confusion.

How often do we find ourselves in these situations as moms? When life becomes too much to process, and the overload takes the legs of self-control right out from under us? As much as we long to be prepared for anything and everything, to have the emotional wherewithal to remain calm and collected, sometimes the agonies, hardships, and frustrations of life unravel the best of us. Being human is complicated regardless of our best intentions.

Jack came back around and apologized to Kate and Randall for yelling and losing his cool. He diffused the heaviness by catching the kids off-guard and starting a sequins fight. He was showing Randall and Kate that his earlier anger wasn’t about them—it was about him. His willingness to create his own mess on the same living room floor affirmed that his love for them far outweighed any disappointment.

As adult Kate and Randall discussed the infamous day further, Kate questioned whether she was misremembering the event. Her memory was of the happiness and joy surrounding the sequins fight, while Randall remembered their dad yelling at Kate and breaking a plate. Randall was quick to point out to Kate the kind of hope that echoes in all our hearts as parents:

“(Our contrasting memories) means Dad did a good job. You remember the good stuff. We’ve all had bad days as parents. I’ve had some doozies. You will, too. All you can do as a parent is try to pack the days with as much good stuff as possible and hope it outweighs the bad. You hope that the good stuff sticks. That’s what Dad did for us.”

Oh, do we ever hope the good stuff sticks. And it will if love paves the way. It’s always been my hope and prayer that all the good I’ve done as a mom seeped into my kids’ veins, even if a few of their arteries were clogged by my failures along the way.

One thing I know for sure is that I did my best, even at my worst. Doing our best means we loved. And if we love, we can’t fail our kids. Love always sticks.

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!

Shelby Spear

A self-described sappy soul whisperer, sarcasm aficionado, and love enthusiast, Shelby is a mom of 3 Millennials writing about motherhood and life from her empty nest. She is the co-author of the book, How Are You Feeling, Momma? (You don't need to say, "I'm fine.") , and you can find her stories in print at Guideposts, around the web at sites like Her View From Home, For Every Mom, Parenting Teens & Tweens and on her blog shelbyspear.com.

I Didn’t Know You Were My Last Baby When I Had You

In: Baby, Motherhood
Mother holding newborn baby, black and white image

I didn’t know at the time that my last baby would be my last. Those late nights with little sleep. The days that felt so long, yet so full all at the same time. The pain that came with trying to breastfeed and wanting so badly for it to work. Learning who was truly there for you in moments that felt lonely. I didn’t know my body would never feel those first flutters again—or experience the emotional joy of meeting your baby face to face after nine months of waiting. I think that’s why I want so badly to experience...

Keep Reading

The Invisible Pain after IVF Stops

In: Motherhood
Woman holding pregnancy test with head in hands

There is nothing “basic” about stopping IVF and returning to the so-called natural route. There is no guidebook for what comes next. The protocols and procedures that once dictated every step suddenly disappear. The appointments, alarms, and instructions are gone—but the emotions and unknowns remain. There is no protocol for going back to the basics. When we decided to stop IVF and try naturally, I wasn’t prepared for how difficult this next part of our journey would be. During IVF, everything had structure. There were calendars to follow, medications to take at exact times, appointments that filled the weeks. There...

Keep Reading

The Final Out

In: Motherhood
Baseball game as seen through the fence behind home plate

Tonight I watched him step up to the plate for the last time. Play-offs. Single elimination. Down by one. Last inning. Two outs. And the batting lineup just happened to fall to him. Nothing prepares you for that. He took a breath. The weight of an entire lifetime spent in red dirt hinging on this moment. He set his face like flint to that pitcher. The ball left the glove, and he swung. Strike one. He stepped away. Reset. Tapped the base. Then set himself once more. He swung, hit a line drive, and sprinted headlong towards the base, setting...

Keep Reading

These Holy Small Things

In: Faith, Motherhood
Children sewing at machine

My 8-year-old-daughter has recently taken up sewing, to my simultaneous delight and chagrin. My delight because I too love sewing; my chagrin because her enthusiasm often outpaces my own abilities, namely, in the undertaking of tedious projects with no pattern. Take, for example, the cloth doll diaper we designed and stitched up together. Granted, the design was fairly basic to draw up and scale. But the minuscule nature of the work, both for my hands and head, was enough to throw me into existential questioning. It was one of those moments when you wonder how the sum of your life...

Keep Reading

The Pressure to Do Everything “Right” Is Crushing Us

In: Motherhood
Tired and stressed mother sits in hallway with toddler across from her, black and white image

I don’t remember when motherhood started to feel like a test I didn’t study for—but somehow, I’m always convinced I’m failing it. It’s in the quiet moments. Standing in the grocery store aisle, overthinking every label—organic, non-GMO, dye-free, free-range, grass-fed—like I’m one bad decision away from ruining their future…while also trying not to take out a second mortgage just to afford my ever-rising grocery bill. Sitting on the couch, wondering if the show they’re watching or game they’re playing is rotting their brain. Lying in bed at night, replaying the way I handled a meltdown, picking apart every word I...

Keep Reading

Letting You Go Is Still So Hard

In: Grown Children, Motherhood
Walkway toward water at sunset

Nothing really prepares you for the day your child leaves the house. Last September, my husband and I moved our 18-year-old son into his dorm room. Right after that, he was swept away into all things orientation, and we began our 1,000-mile journey back home. Leaving this beautiful human I raised and spent all those years with felt foreign. During our final hug goodbye, despite trying to hold in my pain, I broke out in huge, ugly, guttural tears. Our drive home was a long two days. It took every fiber of my being not to turn around. Returning to...

Keep Reading

Behind Every Smiling Graduate Is a Mother Letting Go

In: Grown Children, Motherhood
Mom and grown son smiling

Every year, millions of American families send their children off to their freshman year of college. Their pictures dot our social media feeds. Images of excited students holding collegiate pennants, maybe wearing a hat or holding up their school’s hand sign with beaming smiles. Their parents post excited words about futures and hopes and dreams. One chapter closing. Another opening. A new beginning. So why am I struggling so much? Why does this feel more like a loss than a gain? Why are my tears always on edge, threatening to spill over each time I think about August and what...

Keep Reading

Life Lessons from My Grown Children

In: Faith, Motherhood
Two women's hands on teacups

“Don’t limit a child to your own learning, for he was born in another time.” – Rabindranath Tagore Quietly communing with a loved one in the early morning hours is such an intimate and precious time. Visiting with one’s grown child when all is dark and still is one of life’s purest pleasures. I remember the conversation clearly. My daughter’s husband, small children, and father were all asleep as we whispered and chatted. She and I are both fidgeters by nature, unable to be still for long. This inner restlessness must be remedied, and we are compelled by biology to...

Keep Reading

As a Medical Mom, I Measure Growth Differently

In: Kids, Motherhood
Little girl climbing outside

In most homes, the marks on the wall are a simple celebration of time passing. They are pencil lines that track how many inches a child has gained since their last birthday. But in our home, those marks represent a much deeper, more complex story. When your child lives with multiple hormone deficiencies, growth is never just “natural”—it is a carefully managed medical achievement. However, as any medical mom knows, the story doesn’t end at the top of the head. It begins deep inside, with a tiny gland that isn’t sending the right signals. Having multiple hormone deficiencies is often...

Keep Reading

Hannah Harper Is Every Mom with Babies in Her Arms and a Dream In Her Heart

In: Living, Motherhood
Hannah Harper American Idol winner sings with her young son on her lap

By now, you’ve probably seen the posts flooding your feed: A young mom. Three little boys. A guitar strap embroidered with her children’s drawings. And a crown. When Hannah Harper won American Idol this week, moms everywhere erupted. And honestly? Same. There is something collective about watching a stay-at-home mom win on such a large stage. The celebrations have been pouring in. Moms, we can do it. She didn’t abandon her dreams. She went for it. And all of that is true, and all of that is worth celebrating. But I want to add something to the celebration. Not to...

Keep Reading