A Letter to Myself Before Motherhood
Hey, you.
I know you think you’re tired now. You probably rolled out of bed after hitting snooze three times, cursing the alarm and wondering why adulthood is so overrated. But I’m here from the future to say this isn’t tired yet. Real tired is when you haven’t slept in three nights, there’s dried spit-up in your hair, and you’re reheating the same coffee for the fourth time. And still drinking it.
But I’m not here to scare you. I’m here to tell you a few things I wish someone had told me. Or maybe someone did, and I was too stubborn or sleep-deprived to listen.
You’re going to mess up. A lot. You’ll yell when you promised yourself you wouldn’t. You’ll forget the extra clothes on picture day. You’ll let them watch way more screen time than you ever said you would. And guess what? You’re still a good mom.
No one gets it right every day. Whether you’re winging it in leggings and a messy bun or showing up in a coordinated outfit with color-coded snacks, we’re all figuring it out. Some days look more put together than others. That doesn’t make one more real than the other.
You’ll spend too much time feeling guilty. For working, not working, breastfeeding, bottle feeding, co-sleeping, or sleep training. Even for handing your kid another McDonald’s meal because the day got away from you.
Guilt isn’t a parenting strategy. Let it go when you can. Or at least stop letting it lead the way.
There’s no one right way to do this. There’s only what works for you and your kid.
You Will Lose Yourself and Come Back Slowly
You’ll lose parts of yourself. That carefree version of you who used to go on spontaneous road trips and binge-watch entire seasons in one weekend will take a backseat.
You’ll start answering to “Mom” more than your own name. Some days it’ll feel like all you do is serve snacks, wipe butts, and referee arguments about who touched whose sock.
And you’ll wonder if this is it.
But little by little, you’ll come back. Maybe not all at once, and maybe not exactly the same. You’ll return softer in some ways, stronger in others, and more grounded than before.
You’ll learn that “me time” isn’t selfish. It’s how you survive.
Sometimes it means hiding in the bathroom with your phone.
Other times it’s eating the good chocolate without sharing. Or saying no to one more event, one more errand, one more thing.
Take it. No one is handing out medals for burning out.
You don’t have to love every moment. That “they grow up so fast” line is true, but it doesn’t mean you need to cherish every diaper blowout or tantrum in the grocery aisle.
Some moments are just plain hard. Some days you’ll cry in the bedroom while pretending to fold clothes because you need a second to breathe.
That doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you human.
You’ll feel invisible sometimes. You’ll do everything, and no one will notice. You’ll carry the mental load and keep things running while wondering if anyone even sees it.
But just because no one claps doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.
You Were Always Enough
And please, ask for help. I know you like doing things yourself, but you don’t have to carry it all. Let someone else make dinner or fold the laundry, even if they don’t do it your way. Especially if they don’t do it your way. Letting go of perfect is one of the best things you’ll ever do.
You will doubt yourself constantly. You’ll wonder if you’re doing it all wrong. If you’re too soft. Too strict. Too distracted. Too tired. The answer will always feel like maybe. But also no. Because you love them. You’re trying. And that counts more than you think.
One day, your toddler will squeeze your neck in a sticky, too-tight hug. Or your baby will finally sleep through the night. Or your big kid will randomly say “I love you, Mom” in a quiet moment that hits you straight in the chest. And for a second, it’ll feel like maybe you’re not doing everything wrong.
And for what it’s worth, you’re not.
They won’t remember every meltdown. They won’t remember if dinner was frozen or made from scratch. But they will remember how you made them feel. Safe. Loved. Seen.
They’ll remember how you still smiled at them when you were running on no sleep. How you still packed their snacks when your head was pounding. How you kept showing up, even when you were completely over it.
One day, they’ll walk into a room and suddenly look older.
And you’ll miss the way they used to ask for one more bedtime story. You’ll miss their little teeth and the way they mispronounced “spaghetti.” You’ll even miss the mess sometimes.
And on the days you feel like you’re failing, I want you to picture this version of you. Sitting at the table, feeding her third child, still figuring it out. She’s tired. But she’s calm. And she’s saying, “You’re doing enough. You’re allowed to be tired. You’re not alone.”
You don’t need to be the best mom in the room. You don’t need a clean house or themed snack trays. You don’t need to fake joy or pretend everything is okay. You just need to keep loving them.
Motherhood will break you open. Not to destroy you. But to rebuild you into someone wiser, softer, and more grounded than you thought you’d ever be.
Take the nap. Say yes to the photo, even when you hate how you look. Let them eat the cupcake. Say sorry when you need to. Hug them longer than usual. And hug yourself too.
You’re not perfect. But you were never supposed to be.
You’re doing your best. And your best is still enough.
