The Strength in Saying “I Don’t Know.”

Before I became a mom, I thought I knew what kind of mother I would be. I had big ideas. I would be patient, gentle, consistent, and fully present. I would be the opposite of my own mother. My kids would eat well-balanced meals, I’d never raise my voice, and I’d somehow juggle everything without losing myself in the process. Easy enough, right? HA.

And then? Motherhood actually happened.

Suddenly, I was sleep-deprived, overwhelmed, and questioning every single decision I made. I was crying over spilled breast milk, feeling guilty about screen time, and wondering if my child’s tantrum at Target meant I was failing somehow. We have all been there. I was also angry. Angry that no one warned me about this part. Did I miss this chapter in the 3 different books I read before delivering?

The thing was that even after being thrown into motherhood, my big ideas were still very present. I was pushing back against everything that motherhood was throwing at me, still trying to be the “best” mom. I wish I could say that I learned to throw those ideas out after my first child and was able to lean into motherhood more gracefully with my second. I assume most moms think “I got this!” when it’s time for baby number 2. Nothing can surprise me this time, right? Wrong. It was like starting all over again. There I was, trying to live up to yet another set of unrealistic expectations but this time while caring for 2 children.

The main thing that I wasn’t prepared for was how vulnerable motherhood would make me. How exposed I’d feel when I didn’t have the answers. How isolating it can be when you think you’re the only one struggling. No one really tells you that even when you’re surrounded by love, motherhood can feel incredibly lonely. You have arguably the biggest responsibility in life- raising a child. The amount of pressure that is put upon a woman to get that right is bound to leave us vulnerable and lonely.

I am not good at being vulnerable. I’m not sure anyone is.

But here’s what I’ve learned—being vulnerable as a mom doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re human. It’s not something you’re good or bad at, it’s something you just are. Something that everyone is at some point.

Vulnerability means admitting when you’re exhausted and need a break. It means telling another mom, “I have no idea what I’m doing either.” It means letting go of the pressure to have all the answers and realizing that the most important thing you can be for your kids isn’t perfect—it’s real. It means starting a blog about motherhood, when you’re not used to oversharing. This extends past motherhood, too. Because remember, you’re not just someone’s mom. You’re someone’s partner, you’re someone’s co-worker, daughter, friend, etc. There’s no playbook for any of these roles.

We don’t have to pretend we’re okay when we’re not. We don’t have to do this alone. The more we share the hard parts—the messy, confusing, very much not Instagram-worthy parts—the more we remind each other that we’re not failing, we’re just figuring it out. My hope as I continue putting my thoughts, struggles, and imperfect moments out into the world is that someone else feels a little less alone.

So if today feels heavy, if you’re questioning yourself, if you’re drowning in mom guilt, just know: you’re not alone. You’re doing better than you think. And the fact that you even care this much? That says everything about the kind of mom you are.

Keep showing up. Keep being honest. Remind the women around you that vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s motherhood in its truest form.