Reflection
I used to believe that happiness in motherhood would finally arrive once I had it all together. If I could just rise hours before the kids, have dinner prepped by mid-morning, and float through the day like the graceful mother I’d fashioned in my mind, then I’d finally curate the peace I craved.
Truthfully, those days did happen and they were beautiful—charming, satisfying, full of rhythm and light and laughter.
But what haunted me were the days that didn’t go to plan. The mornings I overslept, the evenings when dinner was still a mystery, the slow unraveling before I ever found my footing. A heavy guilt would settle in, and I’d convince myself the day was already lost. That I was lost. That I couldn’t hold space for fun today—only catching up.
Somewhere along the way, I demanded a different life from myself. I began a slow undoing of an exhausting burden I was determined to lay down, piece by piece. The work felt invisible most days, like watering a seed beneath frozen soil. Yet a sacred stillness took root and eventually I was awake enough to see it.
A Sacred Stillness
It’s the moment when your heart stops racing, your mind stops striving, and your spirit finally exhales.
It’s what fills the space when you no longer feel like you have to prove or perform—when you’re simply being, and that’s enough.
It often arrives unnoticed…
In the gentle smile during story time.
In the warmth of sunlight falling across the kitchen floor.
In the soft voice of your child saying, “Can you play with me?”
In the moment after a prayer, when nothing is resolved, but everything feels held.
I soaked in the view of my home, toys scattered like wildflowers and dishes stacked by my own rebellion the night before, and finally, I didn’t feel defeated. I felt… peace. Not because the house was in order—but because my heart was.
The scene was nothing new, yet everything felt different. The mess didn’t accuse me. It welcomed me. My eyes swept over our little home—the chipped paint, the cozy clutter, the signs of a family deeply living—and a whisper rose in my spirit: “I love that this is mine.”
It still needed cleaning. Maybe a little design help. But it was mine. Even more than that—it was full of life, laughter, and love.
A sacred stillness is God meeting you in the ordinary, and making it holy.
The Heartbeat of My Calling
Motherhood isn’t a performance. It’s a calling—a sacred one. But I had been treating it like a checklist, marking box after box in hopes of finally feeling “enough”. I believed I could only be good at it when I met a worldly definition of excellence. But motherhood was never meant to be measured in vanity metrics. Motherhood is measured in presence, not perfection. In peace, not polish. And while polish can be lovely—it isn’t the purpose.
The most important change I made? I chose a content heart.
I began choosing gratitude over guilt. Joy over judgment. Purposeful progress over performative perfection. That change didn’t just help me “cope”—it transformed the foundation of my heart.
It transformed the way I show up for my life. For my husband. My children. Our home. My family and friends. And for the woman I’m still becoming.
The Quiet Power of Purposeful Work
What finally softened the edges of my days?
I started practicing small, steady shifts in my daily system—not for achievement’s sake, but to be more present, more kind, more honorable to the Lord.
12 steady steps… sacred choices… simple but not easy shifts that brought more joy into our everyday:
- Pause and breathe under pressure, choosing mindfulness over panic.
- Live in the moments I’m in, not just survive it until bedtime.
- Be all there—even in the ordinary, repetitive rhythms of the day.
- Speak gratitude aloud, even if it’s just a soft, “Thank You, Lord, for today.”
- Read together, and let ourselves get lost a little longer in the story.
- Make eye contact when we talk—real, soul-reaching connection.
- Step outside, even if just for ten unhurried minutes of sunshine.
- Make time for myself—for rest, creativity, growth or quiet moments with God.
- Stack simple habits and honor daily rhythms; small, repeatable routines—anchored in purpose (note to self: feeling tired is part of the waking)
- Build a community of support—because I wasn’t meant to do this alone
- Take full ownership of my behavior, thoughts, and feelings—and offer a heartfelt apology when it’s due.
- Choose contentment, again and again—welcoming joy, gratitude, and grace into everything the day brings.
Each one might seem small—maybe even obvious. What I’ve learned, walking alongside other moms, is this: the simplest shifts are often the hardest to hold onto when the day grows loud. Especially when they’re not the rhythms of our childhood. In the thick of daily life, they’re anything but easy.
Yet, small choices, made with intention and repeated in love…
They become a new life.
For the Days That Blur…
…and the moments that challenge you— here’s a gentle reminder to keep within reach.
Set it as the background of your phone, hang it where the light hits your fridge, slip it into the pocket of your favorite apron, or pass it to a fellow mama who needs a little light.
If you have your own creative ways to use this printable version, I’d love for you to share it in the comments!
Legacy as an Everyday Act
I used to think my legacy as a mother would be written in grand moments—graduations, weddings, family portraits framed just right.
But now I know: legacy lives in the smaller moments.
It’s in how I look at my children when they interrupt me—whether my eyes show curiosity or frustration.
It’s in how I recover after a sharp word.
How I give recognition for their accomplishments, big or small.
It lives in whether I treat our home as a proving ground… or a place of sanctuary.
Legacy isn’t made of milestones. It’s made of moments.
Legacy is what my children will remember when they look back—they won’t care about what I accomplished; they’ll remember who I was when I loved them.
5. A Gentle Commissioning
If I could sit beside you today, friend, I’d tell you this: You’re not too late. You’re not behind. You haven’t failed.
Today can be the day you see your life through a different lens.
Let it be the day you choose presence over pressure. Gratitude over guilt.
When the house is messy and the schedule slips—smile anyway.
That’s the joy of motherhood. That’s where happiness lives.
You’re building something beautiful.
