And maybe, just maybe, that’s the better version of me.

Before I had kids, I had this vision of who I would be.
The cool mom.
The one with the stocked pantry. The one who always had snacks and open arms for the neighborhood kids. The one who made the costumes from scratch. The one who was chill and calm and deeply liked by everyone — teachers, other moms, even teenagers.

You know… the ones you see on social media.
Effortlessly put together. Soft smiles. Clean kitchens. Matching pajamas.
Yeah. That’s the mom I thought I’d be.

But that’s not the mom I became.

I became the mom who worked full-time when my older two were little — not because I was chasing a dream, but because I had to. Because life was heavy, and bills didn’t wait for emotional wellness. I became the mom who pinched pennies, who chose which bill could be a little late so there’d be enough gas in the car for the week. The mom who bought clearance bread and made it look like brunch.

I became the mom who wrestled quietly with anxiety and depression — the kind that doesn’t show up in photos, but is always humming underneath. The kind that stems from old trauma you carry in your bones. I mothered through things no one else really knew — not even my first husband, and we were young and in it together. He knew some of it, sure. But not the weight. Not the layers.

And still, I showed up.
Still, I made jokes.
Still, I tried.

Now I’m almost 42.
My boys are 19, 16, and 5½.
And the whiplash is real.

I feel both obsolete and utterly necessary — depending on which child I’m talking to and what time of day it is.
The big ones mostly don’t need me.
Or they don’t think they do — until they run out of gas or want to talk about something huge in the most casual, no-pressure, I-don’t-want-you-to-make-it-weird kind of way.
I know I’m supposed to be steady, invisible, always available but never intrusive.

And then there’s the five-year-old — the tornado with opinions about his toast and no emotional filter.
He still wants me. Desperately.
He’s in the velcro phase. Always attached. Always needing. Always sticky.

He gets what I think is the best version of me — or at least the most healed version.
The mom who’s slower now. Who listens more. Who doesn’t try to perform for the other moms. Who doesn’t collapse if she’s not invited.
Who no longer needs her motherhood to look like something in order for it to mean something.

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t carry some grief about what my older boys had to survive alongside me.
I was still figuring it out.
I was still trying to be liked by everyone.
I was still trying to find my faith again, after it had been twisted and weaponized.
I was still trying to prove I was good enough.
Which meant I wasn’t always fully there — not emotionally, not spiritually. Not the way I wish I could’ve been.

But if there’s anything these years have taught me, it’s that healing comes slow — and still counts.

And that sometimes, being the “cool mom” isn’t about appearances or parties.
It’s about being the one who stays.
The one who tells the truth — even when it’s hard.
The one who gets back up and apologizes when she gets it wrong.
The one who doesn’t flinch when things fall apart.
The one who has learned how to be soft and strong in the same breath.

I still want to be liked. That hasn’t changed.
People pleaser and empath over here, hi.
But now, I’m not willing to become someone else just to keep the peace.

I’ve found peace somewhere else.
Rooted in faith. In presence. In quiet grace.

And while my boys might joke that I’m cringey or “too much,”
they also know I’m their place.
Their backup.
Their soft landing.
Their ride-or-die — even if I forget where I put the keys.

All My Love,

-J.

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P.S.
If you’re not the mom you thought you’d be — if you’re tired, stretched thin, but more yourself than you’ve ever been — I hope you know that matters. You are raising humans while healing. That’s sacred work. Messy, imperfect, holy ground.

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Reflection:
What kind of mom did you think you’d be? What kind of mom are you becoming — and how are you learning to love her, even if she looks nothing like your old plan?