Raspberry Iced M

I talked yesterday about uncertainty…where I am in my life now. Why I don’t like the feeling of “not knowing.”

I know that the Lord knows that. I tell Him all the time that I don’t like this. I don’t like not being able to plan. I don’t like not knowing what to do all the time.

But I also know that He’s in control, and I believe He has stripped me of an itinerary because He knows I’d screw the pooch.

Something I’m dealing with that’s new? This stage of motherhood. It’s different. Complicated.

There are still lunches to pack. Schedules to keep. Conversations to have.

There are still moments where I’m “needed.” And I show up. Like I always have. On days when I’m tired. On days when my mind is somewhere else. On days when I know I am not doing it perfectly…

…because we don’t stop being a mom just because we don’t feel like it.

I watch other moms – who seem to know exactly what they’re doing – who have no problem flaunting their “perfection” – and it makes me doubt if I’ve ever done any of it right.

I see other moms post pictures of their kids on social media, and I question myself. One of my kids isn’t even speaking to me. And the other is almost grown and seemingly halfway out the door.

That’s a different kind of hurt. To do the best I can and still be rejected? Still be manipulated? Still be unappreciated?

And it’s where my head has been for the last week or so. I used to think being a “good mom” meant being able to guide everything. Protect everything. Shape everything.

But the harder lesson is that I can love deeply…and still not be able to control outcomes. I can care, and still not be chosen in the way I’d hoped.

It’s all a farce – to raise children and then let them go. It’s the hardest thing I’ll ever do. Being a mom, especially when your little ones become teenagers, isn’t always loud or busy. Sometimes it’s quiet. My house feels still. Moments feel slower now. And in that quiet, I have thought. I’ve reflected. I’ve felt. And those raw feelings are so uncomfortable that, at times, I can barely breathe.

I carry more than I say. There are things I think about that I can’t say out loud. The worry. The hope. The questions. The kind of thoughts that sit low and heavy in my chest while I go about my day, while practicing patience and restraint, while biting my tongue, while forking over hundreds of dollars that seem to go unnoticed, and while being quietly judged and neglected by the same people to which your entire life has been devoted.

(And yes, I know kids should not be tasked with managing the emotions of their parents. That’s why I don’t express my emotions to them. But I will express them here, because that’s allowed.)

The kind of mom I want to be – with big kids – looks different than it did before. It feels like letting go, a little at a time. Letting go of control. Expectations. How I thought things “would” look. Learning to love what is, even when it’s different than what I imagined. Even when things aren’t “just so.” Even when it’s complicated. Even when I question myself.

I’m still here. Still loving. Still trying. Still choosing to respect “boundaries,” even if they’re walls and not boundaries at all. Still giving grace, even when it isn’t returned. Still holding space, even if it feels like a hole in my heart. And still praying. Forever and always.

I’m not perfect. But I’m here. I continue to love, even when it’s overlooked. I continue to grow, for myself, by myself, even though it’s uncomfortable. And I show up, even though the outcome isn’t guaranteed.

It has not been easy for me to separate who I am from my kids. I know there is a space that exists for both. But I can’t seem to find that sweet spot – the line where my kids end and I begin. As they have grown…as they have become individuals…I am reminded that independent kids are well-raised kids. The quiet grief that moms feel when that happens, though? That’s real.

And I’m working through it…one day – sometimes even one hour – at a time.