Motherhood: The Hardest, Most Rewarding Job You’ll Ever Love

Motherhood. It’s the wildest, most beautiful, and excruciatingly difficult ride I’ve ever been on. It changes you in ways no one can possibly prepare you for, but I’m going to try to share a bit about my journey—a messy, imperfect one filled with love, pain, growth, and resilience. 

Let’s start with the beginning. I didn’t exactly ease into motherhood. I got pregnant just 17 days after my second marriage (more on that later). To make things more complicated, I was only eight months sober when it happened. You know how they say not to make any major life decisions in your first year of sobriety? Yeah, I definitely missed that memo.

Oh, and did I mention that the very day I found out I was pregnant was the same day the city shut down because of COVID? Talk about a chaotic start. There I was, newly married, newly sober, and now newly pregnant, trying to figure out how to navigate a global pandemic while growing a tiny human.

Pregnancy during the early days of COVID was its own special kind of nightmare. I had to go to all my prenatal appointments alone, masked up and terrified of getting sick. Every cough in the waiting room felt like a death sentence. I was constantly battling anxiety—an unwelcome companion I’d already known for years. But pregnancy anxiety? That’s a whole different beast. Every decision felt monumental, every twinge in my body a potential disaster.

And then there’s my body, which was already not in the best shape to begin with. Chronic pain, mental health struggles, and a history of neglecting my own needs meant I was starting this journey with some serious disadvantages. Add in ADHD, and it was a recipe for chaos. ADHD is a double-edged sword as a mom: it gives me the energy to stay busy (oh, am I great at staying busy), but it also makes it hard to slow down and connect. Connect with myself, with my child, with the moment.

Speaking of hard things—let’s talk about anger. No one tells you how much anger comes with motherhood. Not at your child necessarily, but at everything else: the endless demands, the sleepless nights, the lack of support, the mental load that feels like it could crush you some days. And, sometimes, yes, anger at yourself for not being able to keep it all together. I didn’t know what to do with all that rage for a long time.

But I’m learning. Therapy helps. So does my psychiatrist. So does my primary care doctor. I am a walking testament to the fact that asking for help is not weakness—it’s survival. Thanks to their guidance (and a lot of hard work on my part), I’m learning to process my emotions and channel my energy into being the best mom I can be. Not a perfect mom. Not the “Instagram mom” with color-coded snack trays and spotless floors. Just a mom who shows up every day and loves her kid fiercely.

And oh, my kid. My wild, untamed four-year-old boy. He is equal parts chaos and magic, destruction and joy. He tests every ounce of my patience, but he also lights up my world in ways I never thought possible. Being his mom is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Motherhood is relentless. It doesn’t stop. Even when you’re sick, exhausted, or overwhelmed, you have to keep going. The mental burden of it is staggering. You’re not just keeping a small human alive; you’re raising them, shaping them, guiding them, loving them, all while trying to hold onto some semblance of yourself. It’s enough to break you.

But here’s the thing—it also builds you. Being a mom has forced me to grow in ways I never thought possible. It’s taught me resilience, patience (still working on that one), and an entirely new capacity for love. It’s made me braver, stronger, and more determined to be the kind of person my child can look up to.

If you’re reading this and you’re struggling, please know you’re not alone. Talk to someone. A friend, a partner, a therapist, anyone who can hold space for you. You don’t have to do this alone. Motherhood is hard—damn hard—but you’re doing it. You’re showing up, day after day, in ways big and small. And that matters.

To all the moms out there: I see you. I hear you. You belong here. You are strong. Go moms, go. We’ve got this—together.