The Mom I Thought I'd Be

There’s a lot happening in this picture. I’m working an event, camera pressed to my face, trying to capture everything happening around me. And I’m also on the phone.

Because something family-related needed my attention at exactly the same time.

When I saw this picture, I laughed. Of course. Of course this is the picture.

Not the perfectly posed photo of me and my son. Not a sweet candid moment where I'm leading effortlessly. This one. Camera in one hand. Phone against my ear. Working and mom-ing simultaneously because apparently motherhood did not consult my calendar before needing me. And the more I looked at it, the more I realized:

This picture captures something I struggle with more than I probably admit.

See there is the mom I thought I would be. And then there is the mom I actually am.

Or maybe more accurately—the mom I am being called to be.

And I'm still learning how to make peace between the two.

The Mom in My Head

I had ideas about motherhood long before I became a mother. I think most of us do. I thought I knew what kind of mom I would be. What I would prioritize. How present I would be. What our home would feel like. What traditions we'd have. What I would never do. Which is adorable, really.

Then I actually became a mom. And motherhood met the rest of my life. My work. My ministry. My marriage. My dreams. My education. My creativity. My calling.

The million things that make me me. And suddenly, the version of motherhood I had imagined didn't fit quite so neatly. Sometimes that has been harder for me than I want to admit. Because I love being a mom. Deeply. And maybe that's exactly why the tension can hurt so much. There are days when I wonder whether I'm giving enough. Days when work needs more of me than I wish it did. Days when my attention is divided. Days when I look at another mom and quietly wonder why motherhood seems to fit her differently than it fits me. Days when the imaginary mom in my head whispers, You thought you'd do this differently. And she's right. I did.

But Different Doesn't Mean Wrong

This is the part I'm still learning. Not something I've mastered. Not something I'm writing from the other side of. Something I'm actively wrestling with.

Maybe becoming the mom I'm called to be requires letting go of the mom I thought I was supposed to become. Because the imaginary version of me didn't know the life I would actually have. She didn't know my child yet. She didn't know what my family would need. She didn't know the gifts God would give me or the places I would be called to use them. She didn't know what would make me come alive. She didn't know how complicated it would sometimes feel to love motherhood fiercely while also loving work, ministry, creativity, leadership and the other pieces of myself. She was building motherhood out of expectations. I'm living it with an actual child. Those are very different things.

None of Us Fit the Mold

We talk a lot about "good moms" as though there's a template somewhere.

Stay home—but don't lose yourself.

Work—but make sure your kids always come first.

Be involved—but don't helicopter.

Give them independence—but don't miss anything.

Keep the house together.

Make memories.

Build traditions.

Take care of yourself.

Take care of everyone else.

Be patient.

Be present.

Be productive.

And for goodness' sake, enjoy every second because it goes so fast.

No wonder so many of us feel like we're failing. The mold is impossible.

And here's the big surprise: None of us fit it.

The mom who looks like she has it all together doesn't fit it either. We're all figuring out our particular children, our particular families and our particular lives as we go.

Some moms work.

Some stay home.

Some do both in ways that are difficult to explain on a form.

Some moms are natural nurturers. Some have to work at slowing down.

Some love crafts and classroom parties.

Some would rather do literally anything else.

Some are carrying diaper bags into meetings.

Some are answering work emails during nap time.

Some are taking family phone calls with a camera pressed against their face.

Different doesn't mean less devoted.

Different doesn't mean less loving.

Different doesn't mean you're doing motherhood wrong.

Maybe My Son Doesn't Need the Mom I Imagined

This one gets me. Because maybe my child doesn't need the fictional mom I've spent so much time comparing myself to. Maybe he needs his mom. Me. Maybe he needs to see that his mom loves him more than she could possibly explain and has things she cares deeply about outside of motherhood.

Maybe he needs to see me work.

Create.

Serve.

Learn.

Lead.

Rest.

Mess up.

Apologize.

Try again.

Maybe he needs to grow up knowing that loving your family doesn't require erasing yourself. That calling can exist in more than one place. That sometimes loving people well means putting down what you're doing when the phone rings. And sometimes it means saying, "I can't right now, but I will."

Maybe being the mom I'm called to be won't always look like the mom I imagined and I'm learning to believe that's okay.

To the Moms Who Don't Fit the Mold

This is for you. But it's also for me. I'm not writing this from some mountaintop where I've completely stopped comparing myself to other mothers. I haven't.

I'm still fighting the tension.

I'm still grieving pieces of the mother I thought I'd be.

I'm still learning when to put the camera down.

I'm still learning when it's okay to pick it up.

I'm still learning which hats are mine to wear and which ones I need to set down.

And I'm still learning that my worth as a mother isn't measured by how closely I resemble the version of motherhood I once imagined.

So maybe we can give each other—and ourselves—a little more grace.

Cheer for the working mom.

Cheer for the stay-at-home mom.

Cheer for the mom chasing a dream.

Cheer for the mom who put one on hold.

Cheer for the mom who has found her rhythm.

Cheer even louder for the one who hasn't.

Cheer for the mom wearing six hats.

And remind her that she's allowed to take a few of them off.

There isn't one right way to look like a mother. There isn't a mold we're failing to fit. There are just women loving their kids, carrying complicated lives, making mistakes, learning as they go and becoming the mothers their children actually need.

And maybe one day I'll look at this picture and see more than a woman trying to do two things at once. Maybe I'll see a mom who was learning that she didn't have to choose between loving her child deeply and becoming the woman God was calling her to be.

Maybe those things were never competing callings after all. Maybe learning to hold them together—with plenty of grace for the days when I don't—is part of the calling itself.

I'm not the mom I thought I would be.

And I'm slowly learning to stop treating that like a confession. Maybe someday, I'll be able to say it like a celebration. 🤍