Pictures and videos are highlights…the beautiful locations. The peaceful looking setting.
People see what we want them to see. They hear what we want them to hear. Especially on social media.
Sometimes, a picture only tells a piece of the story. Maybe a beautiful view, a quiet moment, a smile —it looks peaceful, and easy. But what you don’t see is the full weight of this season. The emotions that come rushing in when the house gets a little quieter. The mental checklist that never seems to end. The exhaustion that is felt, even after a full night’s sleep. Life right now is a mix of gratitude and growing pains, of love and letting go. And if I’m being honest? This season is beautiful—but it’s also really, really heavy.
This month is draining for me. The Month of February always will be now. I tell myself to shift my mindset, that it doesn’t have to be, to focus on the good, to let the memories just be there without taking over. But it’s hard. Some seasons of life just are.
This season… It’s been one of the heaviest.
On the outside, everything looks fine. Life moves forward. Kids go to school. Meals get made. The house gets cleaned (eventually). But inside, I feel stretched thin. A little lost. A little anxious. A little… different than I used to.
And I don’t talk about that as much as I should.
I’ve always been someone who processes things internally. Writing helps me process what I can’t always say out loud. It helps me sort through the noise, the exhaustion, the love, and the heavy.
Because no one really prepares you for this part of motherhood.
No one tells you that you’ll look at your kids one day and realize they’re not kids anymore. That they’re preparing to leave, to build lives of their own. That suddenly, the home you’ve spent years filling with noise will start to feel quieter.
No one tells you how bittersweet it is to watch them become independent, to see them walk into the world while you stay back, cheering, holding on, praying, remembering.
No one tells you what it’s like to sit in the in-between.
Because while our kids are growing up, so are our grandparents and parents.
And that might be the heaviest part of all.
Watching the people who raised you begin to slow down. The shift in roles. The quiet soft worry that lingers in the back of your mind, wondering how much time you have left.
And through it all, we’re trying to hold everything together.
Our marriages. Our homes. Our friendships.
Our finances. God, our finances. College tuition. Driving school, then lessons. Grocery bills that make no sense. Venmo requests that never seem to end. It feels like money is flying out of our accounts before we even know it’s there.
Our time is stretched.
Balancing schedules. Managing teenagers. Being the family Uber. Keeping track of who needs to be where and when—while also making sure there’s food in the fridge, laundry in the drawers, and maybe, just maybe, five minutes of quiet before falling asleep at 9:00 p.m.
And don’t even get me started on our bodies.
No one warns you enough about perimenopause. About waking up one day and realizing that the body you’ve lived in your whole life suddenly feels different. Aches, pains, exhaustion that hits in a way it never did before. The feeling of being slightly off, slightly not yourself, but not really knowing why.
And through it all, we just keep going.
Because we’re moms. Because we’re women. Because we don’t always give ourselves permission to say:
This is hard. This is heavy. This is overwhelming.
But here’s what I know now:
Admitting it’s hard doesn’t mean we are not grateful.
It doesn’t mean we love our kids any less. It doesn’t mean we don’t see the beauty in this season. It doesn’t mean we’re failing.
It just means we’re human.
And we need to talk about it.
Because if we don’t, we start to believe we’re the only ones feeling this way. And this is where it becomes really hard.
We start to think that everyone else has it figured out. That were the only ones struggling to hold it together. That we’re the only ones who feel both deeply blessed and deeply exhausted, and loss at the same time.
But we’re not alone.
This season is hard. But it’s also beautiful.
And even on the heaviest days, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
So if you’re in this season too, I see you. I feel it too. And I hope you know that you’re doing an awesome job, and you are ENOUGH.
Let’s keep reminding each other of that. 💛
From my heart to yours, Sending you love & light, Stacey
