I used to think being a good mother meant having it all together. Being strong. Having the answers. Making the right decisions. Keeping everything moving even when I was exhausted, hurting, confused, or barely holding myself together. But somewhere along this journey, I realized something: My Kyds don’t need a perfect mother. They need a mother willing to grow. And baby… I have GROWN. Not because I stopped making mistakes, but because I stopped pretending I didn’t make them.

Some things were handed to me that I never asked for. Not money. Not property. Not some beautiful family heirloom. I’m talking about patterns. Ways of communicating. Ways of handling hurt. Silence. Survival mode. Unhealed wounds. Things that became “normal” simply because they had been happening for generations. And as I’ve gotten older, healed, raised my Kyds, and grown closer to God, I’ve had to ask myself a difficult question: Just because it ran in my family… does that me

When healing requires you to stop hiding There comes a point in healing when God starts removing the veil. Not the one covering everybody else. Yours. The veil that helped you survive. The veil of being “the strong one.” The veil of I’m good. The veil of I don’t need anybody. The veil of smiling when you really want to cry. The veil of constantly showing up for everyone while quietly wondering, “Who is showing up for me?” For years, I thought strength meant keeping it togeth

You cannot fix what you continue to fake. For years, I thought healing meant appearing strong. I thought it meant smiling when I wanted to cry, saying “I’m fine” when I was falling apart, and continuing to show up for everyone while quietly abandoning myself. I became so good at surviving that even I could not always tell when I was hurting. But healing does not begin when we learn how to hide the pain better. Healing begins when we finally become honest about it. Honesty sou

Have you ever felt so overwhelmed that you wanted to run away until your legs couldn’t carry you anymore? Not because you don’t love your life. Not because you don’t love your children. Not because you want to give up. You’re simply tired. Tired of being responsible. Tired of making decisions. Tired of carrying everyone’s needs while quietly ignoring your own. Tired of being the person everybody depends on when you’re not even sure what’s holding you together. Sometimes you d

One of the hardest parts of parenting is realizing that some things you simply cannot fix. And whew… that hurts. Because from the moment our children enter our lives, fixing things becomes part of the job. Hungry? We feed them. Hurt? We kiss it. Scared? We hold them. Something goes wrong? Momma figures it out. But then they get older. And suddenly, the things that hurt them can’t always be fixed with a hug, a conversation, a phone call, or Momma stepping in. Sometimes your ch

As parents, we often feel pressure to have all the answers. We want to fix every problem, calm every fear, heal every hurt, and protect our children from every disappointment. We carry the weight of believing that if we just say the right thing or make the right decision, everything will be okay. But I’ve learned something. Sometimes our children don’t need another lecture. They don’t need another solution. They simply need us. They need to know that when life gets heavy, the

What Are Your Triggers? Have you ever found yourself reacting to something small in a really big way? Maybe your child talks back and suddenly you’re overwhelmed with anger. Maybe someone doesn’t answer your text and you immediately feel rejected. Maybe criticism feels like an attack, even when it’s meant to help. Those moments are often more than emotions. They’re triggers. A trigger is an emotional response connected to a past experience, wound, fear, or unresolved pain. It

Imagine being excited about third-grade picture day. The night before, you have your dress laid out and ready to go. The only thing left is getting your hair done. Your mom tells you to grab the hair basket. You sit down, ready to be styled. But you’ve been outside all day playing, running, and having fun. Your hair is tangled, matted, and every pull of the comb feels like a battle. You’re squirming. Moving. Doing everything except sitting still. Then it happens. One hard

Healing is strange because sometimes you think you’ve moved on… until life touches a wound you thought finally closed. Some days I feel strong. Some days I feel exhausted. Some days I feel both at the same time. For a long time, I thought healing meant reaching a destination. I thought one day I would wake up completely whole, completely healed, and completely unaffected by the things I’ve survived. But healing doesn’t work that way. Healing comes in waves. It comes with grow

Sometimes I wonder who I would have been if life let me just be a girl. Not a caretaker. Not the strong one. Not the person everyone depended on. Just soft. Just free. Just young. I learned responsibility before I learned myself. And while I’m proud of the woman and mother I became, there’s still a younger version of me healing from growing up too fast. For as long as I can remember, survival came before softness. I became responsible early. I learned how to take care of peop