Feel like you’re failing?

Those three words – “I forgive myself” – were the words my counselor told me to tell myself.

Now, you need to know this was immediately after I told her I tended to ruminate on past stuff. I’m a classic ruminator. You know, the going over and over things and wishing I had responded differently and so forth.

I can get stuck in my head.

I can go over things again and again.

I can be really hard on myself.

And she saw it.

She knew it. She probably could see the tears I worked so hard to hold back. Tears of a perfectionist, tears remembering the stumbles, tears of a girl who has a hard time letting go.

So she called it out. She told me to forgive myself.

I started to cry, honestly. How does one just do that so instantly? How does one let go? And yet, wanting to move forward meant instead of holding the bar so high for myself I dared to be kinder to myself.

“I forgive myself.”

“I forgive myself.”

“I forgive myself.”

That is what I have been telling myself lately.

It seems simple, but my friends, it is profound.

The irony?

With my friends, with you, with others – I would tell you to give yourself grace, to be kind, to not be perfect – and yet, sometimes in my own life the standard I hold is just crazy. Giving myself grace has been an amazing gift – it is like the breath I’ve needed for so long. In those moments of forgiveness there is a breath of space.

Margin.

The margin to grow, to learn, to move forward.

So friend, my sweet words to you are to be kinder to your own heart.

To celebrate your steps.

To let go of what you need to.

To forgive yourself for those times when you get stuck in your own thoughts.

To love your journey.

You matter. You make a difference.

And you are important.

Be kinder to your own heart.

~Rachel

“It was just a hard day.”

That’s what I told my husband. He kept trying to fix things, which is so sweet, but I honestly, couldn’t even think enough to figure out how to fix stuff. I was just trying to hold it together. And truthfully, if you were to ask me why I hit my breaking point, I couldn’t even tell you.

I could tell you about a whole bunch of little things. Little things that normally wouldn’t bother me. Things that typically I can brush aside or laugh at or get creative and solve. But today, today those little things built up like lint in my dryer waiting to ignite.

“Mom. I need you.”

Spilled drinks.

Goofy kids.

Math problems.

Health insurance.

“Mo-o-m he’s looking at me weird.”

Normal, normal things. Especially tucked within a world of challenges.

So by the time dinnertime came, there I was standing by the stove, with tears falling and me not knowing what was wrong.

Life is like that.

And it can feel lonely.

We don’t really share about these kind of days. I think we reserve sharing about the pressure cooker kind of challenging days because compared to the challenging days they feel kind of petty small. Like we don’t want to be judged for it – as if there is a hierarchy that determines what constitutes okay frustration. And then we tell ourselves, “you know, get perspective, it could be worse…” And then when we realize it could be worse we get more frustrated at ourselves for feeling so selfish and then it just makes it worse. So we stuff it in and tell ourselves, “get a grip.”

It’s like a merry-go-round.

Or a pressure cooker.

And then, then it all releases. After all, how long can it just stay there percolating? Tears and frustrations and worries and stuff to do and just being human. No where does it say we have to have it perfectly together. We are allowed hard days. We are allowed hard days when it shouldn’t even feel like a hard day. We are allowed moments when we feel frustrated.

There are days that test us. They are the days that push us. They are the days so often hidden.

If that’s your today – no guilt. Don’t grade your hard day. Don’t compare. Don’t get so frustrated at yourself.

Just breathe. You are not alone.

These days don’t determine success or if you’re a good mom. They are just days in a calendar of days. And these are the days that truthfully, make the good days matter more. These are the days that make us appreciate the normal. These are the days where we can be human.

You are okay.

That’s what I told myself. I tried to not judge the tears, I just let them fall. And in fact, I told my husband that I didn’t need a solution – because I could see them – I just needed to get some of what I’d been holding together inside out. To release that pressure. You know, sometimes the only goal is to make it through. To do the best you can, to show up, and to extend grace to yourself. You’d extend it to your friends, to others, and today, today remember to extend it to your own story as well.

Thank you for showing up.

Thank you for giving.

Thank you for caring.

Thank you for trying.

Thank you for loving.

Thank you for those hard days.

You are a warrior.

This day matters, by the way. They all do. So tonight, tonight before you go to sleep, instead of seeing what you didn’t do or where you messed up or what you think you should have done, take a moment and just be proud. Be grateful for your story, see your amazing and know that you, even on the imperfect days, make a difference.

~Rachel

#findingjoy

I found myself writing “mom guilt is brutal” as a reply today.

Not annoying, not tedious, not nothing. But, instead, the word brutal.

Mom guilt, oh mom guilt. Why so much guilt? Why so much power? And yet, there it is. Threatening to dismantle our pride in what we do. Threatening to discredit the awesome we complete every single day. I know, sister. I know how heavy it can be. I know that feeling, that racing pulse, that holding of one’s breath, of the tears shed behind the bathroom door while they knock needing you, of smiles plastered on faces while your inside shatters, of sitting in principal’s offices, of waiting at the table for their return, of showing up over and over and never feeling like it was enough.

I know that late night whisper of guilt keeping you awake despite exhaustion. 

I know that fear of talking about it because once we say we feel it are we in some way admitting that we’ve stumbled?

Oh my friend. 

You are not alone.

Stumbling is part of motherhood. 

Mom guilt likes to lie to us. It likes to tell us that we are the only ones dealing with this. It likes to make us cower in the shadows for fear of not measuring up. It likes to whisper things like, “you are failing” and “you’re messing up your kids.” It likes to ignore everything that we do well. It likes to minimize our impact. 

But sister. Listen. Listen very closely. 

You know about mom guilt because you care. 

You love. You give. You want the best.

 

That’s the other side. That part of you. The cheerleader, the reader, the homework helper, the wait of for texts person, the giver despite the tired, the driver here and there and back again, the mom. Their mom. 

Our kids will never be perfect. They just won’t. And there will be times where you will find yourself sitting in a room or at a table or behind the steering wheel of your vehicle wondering what on earth is going on and why life is so hard. Life, despite the thirty minute sitcom of bliss, was not designed to be roses and rainbows and glitter. Instead it’s a life of molding little ones into middle ones into teenage ones into adults. And whenever you mold something, whenever you invest in something there is the pain of figuring it out.

Mom guilt looks at the falls and not the triumphs.

Do you see you? Do you see the amazing things you do every day? Or do you brush them under the rug because they are, well, just what a mom does? Well, listen, again – mothering is the farthest thing from ordinary.

It’s extraordinary.

So back to this brutal thing about mom guilt.

It’s brutal because you love with the same brutal intensity. You give and give and give. You would die for those kids of yours, right? You march into teacher’s offices and doctor’s clinics for them. You stay up late and get up early and do it over and over again for them. You work exceptionally hard. You deal with slammed doors and toddlers that don’t go to bed or teenagers that think you’re nuts. You don’t give up. 

And that is hard. It’s beautiful and brutal.

Years ago Glennon Doyle called life brutiful. 

And that’s motherhood, my friend. It is a life filled with ups and downs and moments of triumph and moments of pain. If it wasn’t for one we wouldn’t feel the other. 

So mom guilt? Don’t let it define your now. 

Look at your story. Look at it with pride. You aren’t a wimp. You aren’t messing up. You aren’t failing.

Sister, you are mothering.

My oldest is 23. I thought I messed up so many times. My next is 21. I felt that too. But they are amazing. And so are the rest of my kids. Not because I am perfect. But rather because I never quit. I took the stumbles and learned from them. I took the hard places and pushed through. Because they stumbled and learned to try. Because instead of perfection we decided to write a story of real. Of a family that loves each other no matter what, that forgives, that gives, that tries. 

You can do this.

You are the part of the most beautiful story.

Motherhood.

No more guilt. And if you feel it – know that the only reason it is there is because you LOVE deeply. You want the best. You don’t quit. And that? That’s the most beautiful, brutal love story there ever was told.

Thank you sweet mom. Thank you.

~Rachel 

I need you to know this.

I may be your mom and you may think I’m the best and strongest and most reliable person in the world, but kids, I’m also human. I’m real and have emotions and you can be the best kids in the whole entire world and I still will have days where I feel like the worst mom in the world. And there can be times where you drive me crazy too.

But I always love you.

Even on those days when you see me cry.

Or hide in the closest because I don’t want you to see me crying. Those are the days when you’ll knock on the bathroom door and ask if I’m okay and I’ll try to stuff it in and tell you I’m fine. Then when you see me I’ll have that splotchy face and I know you might wonder why.

Sometimes it is the stress of motherhood. I don’t know why I didn’t expect dishes and homework and fighting and laundry and sickness and just being tired to sometimes get the best of me. But there are some days when it just feels like so much and in those moments the simplest thing could push me to tears. I’m sorry about those days, I really am. I want to be your rock all the time.

But I also think that somehow seeing me being real, being a mom who tries her very very best gives you the breath of permission to sink into your own humanness. 

You see, we were never created or designed to be perfect. I know that sometimes you look at the world or instagram and it seems like a scroll of people who have it together or are cleverly funny or who never have a moment that makes the tears well in their eyes. You see, my sweet kids, you are just seeing a part, a part that is behind filters and a dozen pictures and thought out words. You see, behind everyone in this entire world is a part of us that feels.

We feel the joys and sadness and ups and downs and good days and bad days and days where we just have had enough.

It’s not my job to be perfect, it’s my job to model to you how to be a good human and how to make a difference.

So because of that, sometimes I do cry.

You know, sometimes I cry when you astound me. Those moments are the most beautiful profound moments of motherhood. Like seeing you with a reading score that hits average when a year ago I wasn’t sure you’d ever read. My word, that makes me teary right now. Or when you love each other so deeply or are so thoughtful to others. Those are the moments of life – the glitter and sunshine moments that draw us through the bad days. They remind us of the good, the potential. Of love.

It’s okay to cry at those. That means you feel deeply.

It means you love. 

And sometimes I cry because life is hard. Life is hard, my sweet kids. There is nothing I can do to sugarcoat that reality away from you. And, in fact, I would be doing you a disservice if you only believed it was a the glitter. Life will have moments that will leave you feeling like you are standing in the middle of a thunderstorm and the rain is pelting your face and you are so very alone. But you will never be alone, because I will be there, next to you – in heart and spirit and lesson.  That is my role, my job, my gift.  But listen, there are also moments of pain. I wish beyond wish I could shield you from them. Bu you know. They are the breaks of divorce or death or sickness or lost dreams. Don’t stuff the pain inside, but allow yourself to feel. To be real.

You see when we hide our hearts and our emotions we keep ourselves stuck.

So feel.

Your heart wasn’t designed to be without emotion. Emotion is what makes life a gift.

It is what makes those moment of triumph stories you will tell your grandchildren. It is what makes the places where you are low and claw yourself out the wisdom you will share.

I am strong. You know that. But I am also strong enough to know that in moments of weakness that real strength doesn’t come in having it all together, it comes in human moments of tears and real. And in those moments of letting go you create within you the most profound thing – space for hope.

I love you with all of me.

When I cry, it’s because I am real. I want you to live that way too. Knowing that you are strong but that you can feel. Knowing that you can try but if you stumble it is not the end. Because you will stand up, you will brush off those tears, you will push your hair out of your face, and you will try again.

Because that is what you have seen in me.

~mom.

original words by Rachel Marie Martin

read The Brave Art of Motherhood for more hope, encouragement and real.

Every morning, for the past three days, my son, Elijah, has come into my room and told me that the tooth fairy must have forgotten again to retrieve his tooth from under his pillow.

So, mom, that tooth is still under the pillow, just so you know. 

I’ve told him that I’ve been emailing this tooth fairy and that the glitch is me and that this night I am sure it will be resolved.

He laughs because he knows it’s all pretend, he’s just in it for the money.

Which would be cute, except, and I’m fully admitting this – I have never done the tooth fairy with him. Not once. Not for the first baby tooth he lost, not any. His tooth losing journey has been during my most busy mom journey. So the tooth that he’s been waiting to earn a couple bucks from is a molar.

Friends, he’s eleven. 

So despite his joking, I still have that little pang of way to go, you failed again, you’ve never done the tooth fairy.

He doesn’t really care, he laughs each morning, and says maybe tonight that tooth fairy will remember.

If all the extra stuff in motherhood was required then I really would be failing. But despite it seeming like it’s critical and part of being a good mom, it’s not required. Let me say that again – it is not required.  

It’s not that I think it’s bad or good or we should or shouldn’t be doing the extra awesome fun stuff – seriously, most of the time I forget or fall asleep or just don’t have the creativity.  And while I’m trying to get the kitchen tidied and am scrounging through the pantry figuring out if I have enough stuff to pack a lunch or if I have to run to the store, my eleven year old is upstairs plotting ways to earn those dollars.

I told him that I’ve failed in the tooth fairy business.

He tells me he loves me and reminds me of the other things. In fact, he will remind me about how I write him a note on a post-it note every single day for school. Sometimes they are really lame and sometimes they are a joke but every day I end it with this:

I love you. 

Maybe that’s my secret sauce in motherhood. Maybe I fail at one outside expectation but excel at another. You see that picture above – that’s him on his school field trip that I chaperoned. So maybe instead of thinking I failed at the tooth fairy, maybe I need to start seeing all the awesome things I do accomplish.

And that goes for you as well.

Our highlight reel culture likes to make it seem like everything we see on Instagram or Facebook is required, but breathe, breather, breathe – it’s not.  Tooth fairy, crazy socks or crazy hair days at school, birthday parties, dress up like a vocabulary word, the Elf on the Shelf thing (which I also failed at – I told me kids that he just decided that our house was too cool to visit) and so forth. But the real truth is this – doing them or not doing them DOES NOT DEFINE YOU AS A MOM.

Think of all of those things as optional.

Do you know what isn’t optional?

Loving your kids. 

Your kids need love. They need you.

They need you trying your best and giving yourself grace to exist in a world of crazy to-do lists that are not all necessary. 

Maybe you are in the season where you are like you know what? Tooth fairy all the way. Notes, glitter, a special song. And that is awesome. I’m not judging, I’m loving. But if you’re not in that season and your kids are like mine asking three nights in a row what happened and you’re talking about emailing, well, that’s just as awesome too. Same thing with the Elf thing and all of the other optional motherhood choices.

Motherhood is hard enough without adding all of these things in as requirements.

Our kids don’t need perfection.

They need you.

A good mom?

She sometimes forgets the tooth fairy and sometimes remembers.

She makes organic meals and sometimes gets fast food.

She is patient and sometimes impatient.

She sometimes does the Elf or never does.

She gives and tries and loves.

That’s what motherhood is about.

All that other stuff? The tooth fairy culture of expectations? Breathe. 

You decide.

And we will love you for whatever you choose.

Same with your kids.

Thank you for being a good mom, their mom.

~Rachel

Off to find two dollars, put it under a pillow, and end this debacle.

 

The other day I was driving my daughter to work. We were late, it was pouring rain, and someone pulled out in front of me and out of my mouth came words that I would rather not repeat her. I tried to reframe them, desperately attempted to cover it with the radio (that’s like cleaning up AFTER the surprise guests leave), but there it was out in the open and my daughter looking at me. I tried to think of words to cover up my snafu but to be honest that day I had had enough WAY before someone decided to not follow basic traffic laws and that moment was the last straw. She laughed. I didn’t know what to think about that laughing part – was that good or bad? – but then she said,

Seriously mom, you’re just real. It’s not like I’ve never heard that before. 

Okay, while she’s chill my internal dialogue went something like this way to go, Rachel. Aren’t you supposed to be the one setting the example? Why can’t you be like other moms? Or chill? So all of a sudden I’m categorizing good moms, what moms say, and deciding that because of my real I messed up. You know, and truthfully, it’s not about swearing, it’s really about this idea that I wouldn’t even give myself a breath to be real.

I don’t like feeling like I don’t have it together. 

Now, fast forward a couple days and I am being asked on National Television (lets just digest that number for a moment) about the MASKS that we wear as moms and why. Okay so first, lets just be real about that too – we wear masks as moms. And I’m not talking about make-up or looking good or having nice things – I’m talking about that mask of thinking that good moms have it all together and therefore we can’t share our real lives. Yes, the real life. The part behind. The part of us that struggles or is annoyed with motherhood or wishes that things would change or is going through relationship stuff. All of that real tucked behind what we see on the outside or what we present to everyone.

So here’s a question: when did looking like we’re all together equal being a good mom??

Because I’m going to tell you this – it doesn’t. I’d add the swear word I spit out when the guy almost t-boned us on the way to Starbucks but since I try to keep the site PG I’ll refrain but you get the picture. So don’t go buying into the truth that good moms have it all together. We don’t. And I say WE because that means me, you, and all the other moms out there. All of us.

You know what?

First I think the reason we want to be seen as having it together might not be bad and evil – we just want to be the best moms we can for our kids. I love them so much and want them proud of me. I didn’t really like losing my cool in front of my daughter BUT I also know that I taught her something valuable. I taught her that motherhood is hard and real and that I can make mistakes and come back and try again and again and again.

In some ways, it stops the expectation of perfection.

There is no shame in NOT having it together. In fact, there is a great deal of relief from all the rest of us moms out there when we see another member of our community saying I hate homework or somedays I go crazy and I don’t know why and then that bothers me or I need to sit in my bathroom for a break from the kids. I mean, seriously, that is real. So don’t buy into this lie, this illusion, this march of perfectionism.

Back to this interview – so I’m sitting there telling them all that I hid behind masks because of this shame. Because somehow I felt like admitting I was real meant that people wouldn’t like me, wouldn’t be friends with me, wouldn’t invite my kids over and so forth. Well, truth be told, that might happen. So don’t let me tell you that being real means that everyone will love you. And if you read that, ignore that. But what I will tell you is this –  IF PEOPLE DON’T LIKE YOU FOR BEING REAL THEY ARE NOT YOUR FRIENDS AND WORTH YOUR AWESOME.

Really. Let that sink in.

Life is too short for fake. It’s too short for people who only like the external of you and not the real you. Because I need a friend who understands that the places I feel shame, hurt, fear, awesome, hope, and normal are places of motherhood bonds. Not competition, not one-upping. Because if there is this hypothetical race to motherhood utopian – what’s the prize? Are we better moms? Or are we just competing with self and driving each other to this place of loneliness?

If you wear a mask and your friends wear masks well then aren’t we all kind of saying, only show me your best? Then what happens when we have a bad day? Or we just need a shoulder? And what about our friends? Don’t we want to show up for them but we need to give the PERMISSION to be real. Think about that.

You see, I love you for you.

I know that might sound funny coming from me some writer here in Nashville, but trust me, it’s true. I didn’t go onto The Today Show and drop my mask for my own freedom – I did it for all of us – to show that there is hope, joy and awesome  in living  in an authentic way.

You are wonderful, beautiful and worth a life vibrantly alive.

So here’s the deal. You don’t have to put it down all the time. I get real life. I get that there are seasons and places and things to do. But what if you just let yourself see it and loosened its grip and challenged your friends to be the same?

Invite them into your house, past the dishes, and give them a seat at the table. No apologies.

Just real.

After all, my daughter, the seventeen year old in the van? She knows I’m real and one day, if she becomes a mom, I hope it gives her that same breath of freedom.

~Rachel

My book, The Brave Art of Motherhood, is all about living authentically, pursuing dreams, finding confidence and developing life friendships. You can get your copy here

Amazon

Autographed 

Bookstores around you (send me a selfie of you and the book….awesome)