08/29/2026
Writing poems now so please enjoy:
Motherhood is 3 a.m. and a fever you can’t break,
it’s the version of yourself you didn’t know you’d forsake,
it’s touched-out and tired and running on fumes,
it’s folding the laundry in the messiest of rooms.
But motherhood is also glitter on the floor in July,
pumpkins on the porch before September says goodbye,
it’s the tree going up whenever your heart says NOW.
joy doesn’t care about the calendar, (somehow).
So decorate. Dance in the kitchen. Light the candle you saved.
Chase the whimsy like it’s sacred because it is and behaves
like medicine, like oxygen, like something they’ll remember:
not the mess, but the mother who found joy in December (in September),
who found joy in July, who found joy on hard days
because what fills YOU up isn’t selfish, it’s the way
your kids learn that joy is allowed. That rest isn’t earned.
That a well-tended heart is a lesson they’ll have learned
just by watching you live it: imperfect, still whole,
still chasing the wonder that makes you feel like *you* again, still you.
‼️Self-care isn’t indulgence, it’s a protective factor for your family. A regulated, resourced parent is one of the greatest gifts you can give your child. If joy feels hard to find right now, you don’t have to find your way back to it alone. Let us help. We got you. Come on in.
