The Version of Me That Exists Between Motherhood and Ambition

On this second Mother’s Day, I woke up feeling two things very deeply: gratitude and exhaustion.

The night before, I had emceed one of the biggest weddings of the season, and I remember telling Jonathan that all I wanted for Mother’s Day was to sleep in. Somehow, that’s exactly what I got. Phoenix woke up around 6 AM which, these days, is actually considered early for him. He usually wakes up closer to 8:30 AM and goes to sleep around 8 PM, but lately his schedule has been a little unpredictable. Jonathan took him to his playroom so I could squeeze in a little more sleep, which honestly is not a luxury I typically have. So when I finally opened my eyes around 7:40 and he walked in with my matcha cream latte, it felt incredibly thoughtful because he knows that’s exactly how I love to start my mornings.

The entire morning, I felt reflective. About motherhood. About my mom. About all the women I’ve known who carried so much with so little.

There are small advantages I have now that my single mother never had while raising my brother and me. And I think becoming a mom has made me recognize those things more than ever before.

Truthfully, I’ve been tired. Between planning what feels like 9 or 10 events at once, coordinating teams of 18 people at a time, trying to keep up with work that honestly feels like the workload of three people without any real change in compensation to reflect how much I’ve taken on, navigating leadership changes, and still wanting to be fully present at home, I’ve been trying very hard not to reach the point of burnout.

When you’re planning events like this, you’re carrying the weight of so many people’s emotions and expectations. These days matter deeply to the families trusting you with them, and I don’t think our minds were ever really built to hold that much responsibility at one time. It’s a kind of tired that rest and a good cup of coffee can’t really fix.

Yesterday, during a short vendor meal break at the wedding, I was sitting with a vendor and his assistant when they asked me how this season has been. I told them honestly that it’s been wonderful. I’m finally at a point in my career where I feel lucky enough to choose the events and clients I genuinely want to take on because if something isn’t meaningful to me anymore, I don’t want to leave my child for it.

His assistant looked at me and said, with a sharp edge in his voice, “Wow, that must feel like such a privilege.”

And for a second, I just looked at him because it was the first time someone had spoken to me that way. Then I realized something very simple: he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know the ten years it took to build this life. The sacrifices. The risks. The years of saying yes to everything before I earned the right to say no. So after processing what he said, I simply responded, “You’re right. It is a privilege. And one I worked for a very long time to earn.”

One thing motherhood has taught me is how to cancel out the noise. As a recovering people pleaser, I used to feel so affected by other people’s opinions. I wanted everyone to understand my choices, validate them, agree with them. But becoming a parent changes something in you. You realize very quickly that critics do not get to dictate how you live your life or raise your child.

Of course, there’s wisdom in community and guidance. I’ll always value that. But I also have a vision for the kind of life I want to build for my son. A lot of that has less to do with what I tell him and more to do with what I show him, the way I treat people, the way I move through this world, the way I carry myself when things are hard. I want him to witness kindness, integrity, curiosity, resilience, and compassion in real time. And eventually, I want to step back enough to give him the space to take all of those lessons and turn them into something entirely his own.

And seeing my brother become the kind, grounded person he is today reminds me that my mom did it. Which means I can too.

What I’m learning lately is that motherhood carries this strange duality that almost feels impossible to explain unless you’ve lived it. There’s exhaustion. There’s overstimulation. There are moments where I miss having uninterrupted time to myself. And then there’s this ache when I’m away from Phoenix. This overwhelming awareness that one day, the little boy reaching for me will become a young man with a life of his own. Sometimes I look at him and feel excited for the gentleman he’ll become while simultaneously grieving the fact that he’s already growing out of who he is today.

I think my biggest job right now is simply to be present.

To remember that the chaos, the mundane routines, the sleepless nights, none of it lasts forever. But neither do the beautiful parts. The tiny hand reaching for mine. The way he cuddles with me every night and pulls my arms over his little body. The way he lays on my belly and kisses it every single day, like he somehow remembers it was his home for nine months.

I hold all of it very differently now. Yes, I’m a full time mom. But if you asked me honestly, I still feel very young at heart. There’s still a part of me that wants to chase the things that set my soul on fire. A part of me that wants to travel the world, create beautiful things, build meaningful work, and experience life in a way that still feels true to me. I’ve realized life feels fuller when you continue making space for the things you love and keep showing up for yourself too. The world can sometimes try to rob you of your joy, and protecting that joy becomes part of the work.

Because the truth is, we only get this one life.

And lately, that thought has made me think more intentionally about where I want to go, what I want to do, who I want to become, and most importantly, who I get to experience all of it with. Maybe this season is teaching me something I’m still learning to believe: that I don’t have to stop being myself to become a good mother. I just have to learn how to hold both at the same time.

And I also want to say this for the stay at home moms who temporarily put their careers on pause to raise their children. For the working moms sacrificing time away from their babies to give them a better life. For the mothers carrying invisible weight every single day.

My God, women do so much for their families. And most of the time, we do it without stopping to ask for acknowledgment because with or without it, we still carry on.

Some of us are doing it alone. Some of us are still healing from our own childhoods while raising children of our own. Some of us are doing it without a blueprint, figuring it out one day at a time. And somehow, we still learn how to problem solve, pivot, find beauty in the chaos, and continue showing up.

So years from now, when I’m old and my time is near, I know these are the moments I’ll return to.

The ordinary days. The hard days. The deeply beautiful days.

I’m cheering for myself. I’m cheering for you. For every mother. For every parent who had to step in and become both. For anyone grieving a mother today. For anyone missing theirs. And especially for my own mom, who gave us everything before she ever gave herself anything.

Sending you all my love.

Signing off now to go kiss and hold my son <3