11/09/2025
This weekend wasn't about escaping motherhood, but about remembering I still exist outside of it.
Early motherhood has been both beautiful and heavier than I imagined. I’ve always wanted to be a mom, even as a little girl helping in the church nursery, but no amount of dreaming or professional knowledge could prepare me for how hard it would truly feel.
As someone who’s always been independent and in motion, slowing down has felt foreign and unfamiliar. Life became measured in feeds, naps, and moments of quiet in between. So when the chance came to leave for a weekend trip for a good friend's bachelorette, I felt equal parts eager and uneasy.
The night before I left, I sobbed while nursing with every instinct telling me I shouldn’t go. But my husband reminded me he was ready for this, ready to grow his confidence as her dad. So I trusted him. And I went.
I pumped on mountain overlooks, in the car, in the cabin, and through the quiet hours of the night, learning what it means to hold both parts of myself at once, a mother and a woman. In the quiet hum of my pump and the stillness of the mountains, I found a piece of myself I’d been missing.
Somewhere in the midst of it all, I started to feel a little bit like me again and realized that loving my baby endlessly also means taking the time to love me too.
Little by little, with the fog beginning to lift and the color beginning to return, I'm coming back to me.