As I write this on the evening of Mother’s Day 2021, I sit perched on a barstool overlooking my messy kitchen and cluttered family room. I am tired but mostly content. I was determined to spend the day enjoying time with my family rather than tidying up and doing laundry or yardwork or the other chores that tend to fill my weekends. I slept in this morning, which was lovely, although it would probably take a solid year of late mornings to put a dent in the sleep deficit I’ve accumulated over the past few years.

We enjoyed a sunny patio brunch at a local restaurant we used to frequent in the before times. “Enjoyed” might not be the best word for it, as I spent a good portion of my time there chasing after my son who would not sit down. Eventually my husband took over wrangling the preschooler, who threw a tantrum when the server took away our table number, and I sat and shared my meal with my infant daughter. A bite for her, a bite for me, a dropped pacifier, a brief cry, another bite. This is motherhood when you have an infant and a three year old.

I’m not a fan of mothers becoming martyrs, but raising young children requires a significant amount of sacrifice. These days, most of my free time is not really my own. I leave my paying job and begin my second shift, in service to others most of my waking hours. I haven’t written many blog posts lately because it is quite challenging to find quiet time in which to write. The only time I can seem to carve out for myself is an hour or so in the evenings after I’ve put my kids to bed, when I usually feel too tired to be very creative or thoughtful. In that little bit of time each evening, I shower, talk to my husband, meditate, sometimes squeeze in a bit of exercise, sometimes write in my journal, and get everything ready for the next day, so I can do it all over again.

I know, of course, that this is my choice. I chose to have children, and despite the claims they have laid to my body and my freedom, I would do it again, without question. It is my choice to spend as much time as possible with my kids rather than relying more heavily on babysitters and scheduling activities for myself a few nights a week. I have made that choice because I genuinely love being with them, exhausting as it often is. My life these days can be simultaneously mundane and overwhelming, and at times I feel as though I’m on the cusp of burnout. But it is also beautiful, and fleeting. I notice each day how much my children have grown and think about how little they used to be–just yesterday, it seems. I am hyper aware of how quickly this time is passing. Nothing lasts forever, neither the struggles nor the blissful parts.

Caring for my children brings me moments of incredible joy. At times I feel intense gratitude and pure love. It is a demanding job. It tests my patience, but it also presents numerous opportunities to practice being more patient. As cliché as it is, my kids make me want to be a better person. I am a work in progress, raising myself as I raise them. In order to be the best mother for them–the best mother I can be–I strive to underreact, to show more empathy, to think less about myself, to be more present. But sometimes I yell, or I scold when perhaps I shouldn’t, or I scroll through my phone while I’m with them, and I feel guilty. And then I vow to do better going forward.

Kids are so impressionable, and parenting is such a huge responsibility. It’s a lot of pressure, shaping young minds, knowing that the words I say in their presence may echo throughout their lives. I try my best to balance holding myself accountable for the way I show up for them, and giving myself some grace. This is an important job, and a hard one, and I’m so lucky to have it. Being a mother has added meaning and depth to my life that was unfathomable before I had kids.

Motherhood is a long journey, and I’m still near the start of it. I expect that at each step, it will get easier in some ways and harder in others. I’m excited about it all. At this juncture, motherhood strikes me as one of the greatest components of my spiritual journey. No other relationship or situation has prompted me to continually examine myself and to seek to align my behavior with my values. Nothing else has made me feel so connected to humanity as this.

So while a day for mothers is nice, motherhood is, for me, a privilege. I receive as much as I give, in ways I’m sure I don’t even understand yet. But to the mothers who are struggling, I see you. I am you. I understand the complexities and the ups and downs and just how hard it can be. You are amazing, and so is this whole messy, beautiful journey.

Happy Mother’s Day,

Alexis