Motherhood is one of the most sanctifying journeys a woman can undertake—beautiful, yes, but also brutally honest. It strips away any illusions of control and forces us to face ourselves—our wounds, our fears, our deepest desires to love and be loved well.
In my first book, Exposed: Inexcusable Me…Irreplaceable Him, I shared the brokenness that once defined my life; how trauma and shame threatened to silence my voice and steal my identity. Those same wounds echoed into motherhood. I was not the perfect mother—not even close. I was a woman still healing, still learning how to mother myself. Yet I had tiny souls looking to me for safety, affection, and guidance.
No one tells you how triggering motherhood can be when you carry unhealed pain. The tantrums, the exhaustion, the fear of “messing them up”—all of it can dredge up buried insecurities. But no one tells you, either, how deeply healing it can be.
With each late-night rocking session, every scraped knee kissed, and in the mundane routines of laundry and homework, I began to understand the Father’s love for me. I began to believe, not just intellectually but experientially, that I was not inexcusable. I was chosen. I was enough – even in the chaos.
In my second book, Redeemed, I opened up about the restoration that followed my deepest surrender. That redemption didn’t come with a perfectly clean house or obedient children—it came in the moments I stopped trying to be a “Pinterest-perfect mom” and let my guard down. It came when I apologized to my children. When I sat on the floor beside them, tears in my eyes, admitting I didn’t have all the answers, but I loved them fiercely. It came when I finally believed God wasn’t waiting for me to fail—He was right there in the mess with me.
Motherhood taught me that love is less about perfection and more about presence. It’s not in the big, orchestrated moments—it’s in the ordinary. The cereal spilled at breakfast. The lost shoe before school. The bedtime prayer whispered through a cracked door.
To every mother who feels like she’s failing—you are not alone. Your struggle doesn’t disqualify you; it makes you human. And your humanity is exactly where God meets you. He doesn’t require perfection. He simply asks for your heart, open and willing to be refined.
Yes, there is joy in motherhood—the sticky kisses, the giggles under the covers, the pride of watching your child walk in truth. But the deepest joy comes from knowing that through the struggle, God is doing something holy. He’s not just raising children through you—He’s raising you into the woman you were always meant to be. That is what comes when you just show up.
You are seen. You are loved. You are redeemable.
And in Christ—you are never, ever alone.
