You’re Not Failing. You’re a Mom. And It’s Really, Really Hard.

There’s this thing that happens in motherhood that no one warns you about. One day, in the middle of the carpool lane or folding a pile of laundry at 10 PM, you realize you’ve become someone you barely recognize.

You used to be someone with margin. With space to think and dream. Someone who wasn’t constantly doing mental gymnastics to remember the therapy schedule, meal plan, school fundraiser, and which kid just outgrew their shoes again.

And then—bam—you’re a mom. And everything changes.

I’ve been reading Let Them by Mel Robbins lately, and it’s hitting me hard. The idea that we can’t (and shouldn’t) control everything and everyone around us is freeing… and also a little painful. Because as moms, we’re wired to fix, to help, to anticipate. But at some point, we have to let go of the tight grip.

Let them... wear the mismatched socks. Let them... be loud. Let them... forget their homework and learn from it. Let them... figure some things out.

But also—LET YOU!

Let you be tired. Let you not have it all together. Let you feel stretched thin and unsure and overwhelmed. Let you take the space to reconnect with yourself—who you were before the title “Mom” eclipsed everything else.

Because let’s be honest—whether you’re raising babies, teens, or anything in between, the demands don’t stop. The mental load just shifts. Some weeks, it feels like all I do is drop off, pick up, reschedule, prep, pack, manage moods, hold space, and somehow still keep a business running. As a mom who stepped into this role later in life, I naively thought I’d skip the baby chaos and ease into things. But parenting a 10-year-old brought its own kind of intensity—emotional, mental, and spiritual. It still tested my limits. Still made me question my identity. Still made me wonder if I was doing enough… or too much.

And if you're parenting a child with disabilities, there’s another layer—one that’s hard to talk about but needs to be said. It’s the silent ache that comes with missing the things. The birthday parties not attended. The milestones that look different. The questions you wish other parents understood. The fear of being judged, or worse—excluded. The love runs unimaginably deep. The pride you feel in your child’s progress is fierce. But that doesn’t mean the hard disappears. You’re navigating systems, advocating endlessly, managing appointments, adapting constantly—often while grieving quietly for a version of motherhood you thought you’d have. That grief doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you human.

You are not failing because some days you feel sad, or stretched, or just bone tired. You are not failing because the weight feels heavier for you than it seems to for others. You are carrying something that can’t be explained in a sentence, and you are doing it with grace, even on the days when you don’t feel graceful.

And that’s the heart of it, isn’t it? We never quite feel like we’re enough. Even though we’re doing it all. Even though our calendars are full, our hearts are stretched, and our minds are racing—we still wonder if we’re missing something. Failing somehow.

But we’re not. We’re just moms, trying our best in a world that keeps piling more on. And still—we show up. Tired, stretched, imperfect—but here. Present.

Kim and her daughter, Priya

So if no one has said it to you lately: You’re not alone. You’re not behind. You’re not failing.

You’re just in the thick of it. And it’s really, really hard.

And also? You’re doing it beautifully.