Parenting Season

In my last post, I wrote about love—how it unraveled, how it reshaped me, and how in time I began to find my way back to it. I shared a glimpse of what this past year has held for my family: the loss of my children’s father, the grief we’ve all had to learn to carry, and how it’s quietly rewritten the shape of everything.

We were in the middle of a messy divorce when he died. That part of the story is complicated. The aftermath? Brutally simple: I became the one and only. The whole team.

Overnight, the job of “mama” stopped coming with off-hours (did it ever really before? Unclear). No more handoffs. No more switching houses or shared logistics. If something needed doing—physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, whatever—it landed in my lap. Every decision. Every question. Every meltdown, every milestone, every boundary, every Band-Aid, every bedtime. All mine.

And I’ve never been more tired.

But it’s not a tiredness that’s a reaction or response—it feels more like one I’ve earned. The kind that builds when you carry something that matters, day after day, because no one else can.

And I’ve never been more certain that what I’m trying to do matters.

So this Parenting Season (I’m claiming that space between Mother’s & Father’s Day) I’m thinking less about flowers and more about survival. Less about celebration, and more about taking a breath. A moment to reflect on what I’ve carried, what I’ve learned, and the kind of mother I’ve become.

Not because I have it all figured out (I don’t), but because pausing to notice what’s been learned in the hard seasons feels like its own kind of survival.

Not the version I imagined. Not even close.
But one I’ve come to be proud of. Most days anyway. :)

So here are a few noticings from this season – things I wasn’t planning to learn or confront but happened to anyway.

1. You don’t have to do it all to be everything.

There’s an unspoken pressure in single parenting—to overcompensate. To fill both roles, wear all the hats, and hold it all together with a tight smile and a packed lunch...

2. Motherhood is mostly invisible work.

No one claps when you restock the toothpaste. I know, shocking...
They feel it in the rhythm. In the steadiness. In the fact that someone is always, always there.

3. Doing it alone is harder than I imagined—and more intimate than I expected.

There’s a weight to being the only one that’s hard to explain...
A quiet magic that’s only ours.
I think it’s something sacred.

4. You don’t need to perform motherhood to be a good mother.

This year stripped away any illusion that I was supposed to make it all look effortless...
My kids don’t need a mom who performs motherhood like a role.
They just need me—present, flawed, and real.
And I’ve learned that real is always enough.

5. You can’t parent in a vacuum.

I may be the only parent, but I’m not doing this alone. And that has made all the difference...
There’s no honor in doing it all alone. No gold stars for martyrdom. Only burnout.

6. Sometimes the most important thing you can do… is just stay.

Not solve. Not fix. Not say the perfect thing. Just stay.
Stay quiet when emotions bubble up unexpectedly. Stay present when you feel overwhelmed...

So this Parenting Season, I’ve had plenty to sit with. Not just about my kids, but about who I’ve become through all of this.

I’ve learned that strength doesn’t always feel strong.
That love doesn’t always look graceful.
And that showing up – imperfectly, consistently, is its own kind of success.

I’m not doing it all. Not even close.
But I’m here, still trying.

To anyone else in it – especially if you’re doing it alone, or doing it quietly: I see you.
You’re doing more than you think.
Even if no one claps when you replace the toothpaste.
Even if it feels impossibly quiet.

This is the work.
The real, invisible, exhausting, holy kind.
The kind that shows up for bedtime. And Band-Aids. And boundaries.
And it matters.