Friday Night Thoughts
They voted me Mother of the Year.
And if I’m being honest, my first thought wasn’t pride. It was anxiety.
Because most days, I don’t feel like Mother of the Year.
I feel tired. Overwhelmed. Behind.
Emotionally exhausted from carrying things nobody else sees.
I feel like a mom going through the motions. The mom answering emails while mentally planning practices, appointments, bills, laundry, dinner, and making sure everyone else is okay before even considering myself. The mom trying to hold a family together while quietly falling apart in the bathroom.
So hearing “Mother of the Year” felt almost uncomfortable.
Because somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that surviving didn’t count as succeeding. But maybe that’s exactly why it does.
People see the smiles in photos. The softball games. The posts. The moments where the girls are thriving.
What they don’t always see are the nights spent worrying about money, health, stress, heartbreak, disappointment, and trying to rebuild pieces of yourself while still showing up for everyone else.
They don’t see what it takes to keep moving when life keeps hitting below the belt.
And lately, one of those hits came in the form of being told by Ashton at Liberty Federal that what I’ve gone through somehow doesn’t qualify as “life-changing.”
Not a qualifying event. Not enough. Not valid.
The emotional weight. The stress. The sacrifices. The rebuilding. The battles no one sees?
That somehow doesn’t make the list.
And maybe that’s what stings the most when you’re already carrying so much — when systems and people reduce your pain to paperwork and policies.
But here’s the truth I keep reminding myself of:
I am not defined by someone else’s checklist of hardship. I am defined by what I survived.
I am the woman who kept going when it would’ve been easier to quit. The mom who still showed up to games, school events, bedtime routines, and life while carrying invisible weight on her shoulders.
The woman who has endured disappointment and uncertainty — and still managed to raise daughters who feel loved, safe, confident, and celebrated. My therapist helped me see that this award isn’t really about me. This award is about MJ. She is proud and confident in her own feelings.
That doesn’t happen by accident. That pride doesn’t come from having a bad mom.
Bad moms don’t worry if they’re good moms.
Bad moms don’t lose sleep trying to make life magical for their kids while barely holding themselves together.
Bad moms don’t continue pouring from an empty cup because they refuse to let their children feel the heaviness they carry.
And maybe being Mother of the Year isn’t about perfection. Maybe it’s about resilience.
Maybe it’s about getting up every single day and choosing love anyway. Choosing your kids anyway. Choosing to fight anyway.
So no — I may never fully feel deserving of a title like Mother of the Year.
But I am starting to realize something important: A badass mom isn’t the mom who has it all together. She’s the mom who keeps going after life tried to take her out.
And that?
I’ve done over and over again.
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