this issue of the motherhood newsletter went out to subscribers on March 31st, 2025
I’ve been thinking about how motherhood (but really parenthood) holds this quiet paradox—how it can feel so universal, and yet so uniquely yours. We all carry similar rhythms: the feeding, the soothing, the wondering if we’re doing it right. But each of us is living a version no one else quite understands. A different page in the same story.
I’m 23 weeks into this adventure as a parent. Some days, it feels like I’ve got it—like I know the rhythms, like everything is in sync. And then there are nights where my kid’s sleep falls apart, and I’m back to feeling like I know nothing at all.
This space is where I’ll be writing from that middle place. The in-betweens: between naps and meetings, between who I was and who I’m becoming, literally before my own eyes.
I hope these notes feel like…a shared breath, or the kind of message you’d get from a friend who just knows.
I’m not sure yet what format the notes will take, perhaps they’ll mostly be like today’s: a few thoughts that have lingered in my mind, now finding shape through the act of writing them down and sending them to a few friends (you!) who subscribed.
the push and pull of returning to work
Ever since I’ve gone back to work, I’ve been noticing how hard it is to give my full attention to work—even when my kid isn’t around. My office will be quiet, the to-do list will be waiting, and still, my mind will drift: Is my kid okay? What’s he doing right now? It’s not worry, exactly. Just a gentle mental tether I can’t quite put down. And all of this despite the fact that he’s just upstairs with his dad, or in the next room with his grandmother.
At the same time, it’s such a relief to have a section of the day that’s kid-free. A few uninterrupted hours where I’m not needed. I’m trying to let that be okay too, to enjoy the space without guilt, even when a part of me is still tracing the outline of his day from afar. I’m not quite there yet, but I’m learning.
this week’s unsung hero: the robot vacuum
I bought it for my floors, but turns out, it’s pulling double duty as a baby whisperer. Something about the steady hum and the way it moves seems to calm my kid down when he’s particularly fussy and we can’t figure out what’s wrong. It even helps him drift off to sleep, sometimes.
It’s not the serene sound machine moment I imagined, but honestly? I’ll take it. Clean floors, quiet baby, no hands required.
I started out thinking being a “present” parent meant showing up with full clarity, full energy, full intention. But lately I’m realizing it’s okay to show up as I am: sometimes foggy, trying to be curious, kind of tired, and always trying (at least a little bit).
There’s so much noise about doing things right, but most days, the win is just staying soft. Staying open. Holding space for the messiness without needing to fix it right away. Holding space for experimentation, as my kid figures out who he is, and I do too.
This job of being a parent is just so different from my other work. The success metrics are nothing alike. There are no performance reviews, no tidy milestones—just a quiet, ongoing becoming.
This season asks for a lot, more than it appears to, emotionally, mentally, and physically. But perhaps presence isn’t a perfect performance, honestly it’d be pretty unsustainable if it had to be–it’s just returning, over and over, to what matters.
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