The Woman Motherhood Is Revealing

On patience, marriage, rough edges, and the grace to keep growing.

Becoming a mother has highlighted more of my weaknesses than I'd probably care to admit.

My patience. How easily I get overstimulated. How quickly I can complain when I'm exhausted. My tone when I'm frustrated. The way something very small can suddenly feel very big when my brain already has 47 tabs open and someone decides to open tab 48. 😂

I've had more than a few moments over these first four months where I've thought, Lord, I really thought I was more patient than this.

Turns out, maybe I was just well-rested.

I knew motherhood would change me. I expected the learning curve, the exhaustion, and the kind of love everyone tells you is impossible to understand until you're actually living it.

What I didn't expect was how much motherhood would reveal about me.

It hasn't made me an entirely different person. If anything, it has brought parts of me that were already there much closer to the surface.

Some of those things have been beautiful.

I've discovered a strength I didn't know I had. A fierceness. A tenderness. A capacity to love and sacrifice that somehow keeps stretching further than I thought it could.

But some of what has surfaced has been a little harder to look at.

Because exhaustion reveals things.

So does overstimulation.

So does having a tiny human need you when you already feel like you have absolutely nothing left in the tank.

Motherhood has a way of finding your rough edges.

And apparently, I have a few. 😂

Motherhood Changed More Than Just Me

One thing I didn't fully understand before becoming a mom was how much becoming parents would change the rhythm of our marriage, too.

I didn't stop being a wife the day I became a mother. But suddenly, I'm learning what it looks like to love my husband well while so much of me is also being poured into caring for our son and my full-time career.

And some days, I do that better than others.

My husband is my safe place, and I've learned that sometimes the safest person in the room gets the version of you that has been holding it together all day and suddenly has nothing left.

He gets the tone.

The dramatic sigh.

The words I definitely could've chosen differently.

The unnecessary freak-out over something that, two hours later, I'm wondering why it felt like such a big deal.

I've found myself apologizing more often than I'd probably care to admit.

I'm sorry for my tone.

I'm sorry. That wasn't fair.

I'm overwhelmed, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you.

And occasionally...

Yeahhhh. I don't know what that was. I'm sorry. 😂

That's been humbling.

Because I love my husband deeply, and I don't want motherhood to become an excuse for giving my marriage whatever happens to be left of me.

At the same time, I'm learning to have grace for the fact that this is a completely new season for both of us.

There probably isn't some perfect balance where everyone gets the absolute best version of me every single day.

Some days the baby needs more of me.

Some days we're both exhausted.

Some days the house is a mess, dinner is take-out most days, and somebody is crying — possibly me.

Sometimes romance looks less like a planned date night and more like looking at each other across the room after a long day and knowing, We're tired, but we're in this together.

And I think there's something beautiful about that, too.

I still want to be intentional about our marriage in the middle of this season. Not because I think I'll always get it right, but because our marriage matters.

I want our son to grow up seeing parents who genuinely enjoy each other. I want him to see affection, laughter, friendship, and two people who continue choosing one another through changing seasons.

And I'm realizing more and more that my home is my first ministry.

The people inside these walls see the version of me no one else does.

They see me tired.

They see me overstimulated.

They hear my tone when I'm frustrated and see how I respond when things don't go according to plan.

And that matters to me.

Because if I can talk about Jesus, grace, patience, and loving people well everywhere else, but the people closest to me consistently receive the least patient version of me, then something is out of order.

My husband and our children will experience my faith most intimately by the way I live it here.

In the ordinary moments.

In how I speak to them.

In how I serve them.

In how I respond when I'm frustrated.

In the moments no one else will ever see.

I don't want to save my kindness, patience, or best effort for everyone outside my home and give the people I love most whatever is left.

I want my faith to be lived here first.

That doesn't mean I'll always get it right.

I won't.

But I want our children to see what happens when we don't get it right, too.

• Apology.

• Forgiveness.

• Humility.

• Repair.

Because loving someone well doesn't mean never getting frustrated or saying something the wrong way.

Sometimes love looks like swallowing your pride and saying, I was wrong.

Sometimes it's recognizing that being exhausted or overstimulated may explain your reaction, but it doesn't excuse how you treated someone you love.

And sometimes it's saying I'm sorry for my tone for what feels like the 900th time and asking God to please help me catch it a little sooner next time. 😂

The Parts I'd Rather Not See

As uncomfortable as some of this has been to recognize, I'm actually grateful motherhood is bringing these things to the surface.

Because motherhood hasn't only shown me how deeply I'm capable of loving someone.

It's shown me how much I still need God.

My patience needs Him.

My words need Him.

My reactions need Him.

My marriage needs Him.

The way I respond when I'm tired, overwhelmed, or overstimulated needs Him.

There have been moments I've replayed later and wished I'd handled differently. Times I've complained when I should've been grateful. Times I've allowed exhaustion to determine my attitude. Moments when I've realized the wife and mother I want my family to know wasn't exactly the woman I was being five minutes ago.

That's uncomfortable to admit.

But I'm learning there's a difference between conviction and shame.

Shame makes me look at those moments and decide I'm failing.

Grace lets me look at them honestly and say, Okay, Lord. There's something here we need to work on.

I don't have to hide the ugly parts from Him.

I don't have to pretend they aren't there.

And I don't have to beat myself up every time one of them shows up. Even though, I do. Everytime. I always beat myself up and probably longer than I should...but,

I get to bring those things to Jesus.

Again and again.

I can apologize when I need to apologize. I can ask for forgiveness. I can learn from what happened and try again.

That's grace, too.

Grace isn't God pretending my rough edges aren't there. It's knowing He sees them more clearly than I ever could, loves me right in the middle of them, and cares enough about me to keep working on them.

Maybe This Is What Growth Looks Like

I think I've spent a lot of my life imagining growth as eventually reaching some version of myself who has everything figured out.

Endlessly patient. Always grateful. Never says anything with the wrong tone. Handles stress beautifully.

Probably drinks her coffee while it's still hot, too.

I haven't met her yet. 😂

But maybe growth doesn't always look like finally conquering every weakness.

Maybe sometimes it's simply recognizing something sooner than you used to.

Apologizing quicker.

Catching your tone halfway through the sentence instead of realizing it two hours later.

Pausing before reacting.

Knowing when you need a minute before you speak.

Complaining a little less and choosing gratitude a little more.

Being quicker to admit when you're wrong.

Maybe growth is being able to say, God, there's still some work to do here, without believing that the unfinished parts of you make you a failure.

My son doesn't need a mother who never gets overwhelmed.

My husband doesn't need a wife who never has a hard day.

Neither of them needs some perfectly patient, polished version of me that doesn't actually exist and never will.

But I do want to be a woman who is willing to keep growing.

I want to own it when I get something wrong. I want to apologize without immediately explaining away what I did. I want to become slower to react, quicker to listen, and more aware of the atmosphere I'm helping create in our home.

And more than anything, I want to keep returning to Jesus instead of believing I can fix every rough edge through sheer willpower.

Because the goal isn't perfection.

It's transformation.

The Woman Motherhood Is Revealing

Four months into motherhood, I'm realizing this season isn't only introducing me to my son.

In a strange way, it's introducing me to myself.

Motherhood is revealing a woman I'm still getting to know.

She's stronger than she thought she was.

She's softer in places that used to be hard.

She loves more fiercely than she knew she could.

She's also apparently a little less patient than she thought. 😂

She gets overwhelmed.

She complains sometimes when she's tired.

She occasionally needs to walk back into a room and apologize for what just came out of her mouth.

She's learning how to pour herself into motherhood without forgetting the marriage that was there before it.

She's learning that gratitude and exhaustion can exist at the same time.

That loving this life doesn't mean every moment of it has to feel easy.

That having a hard moment doesn't make her a bad mother or a bad wife.

And that grace isn't permission to stop growing.

Grace is what gives her room to keep going.

Some of what motherhood is revealing makes me proud.

Some of it humbles me.

And some of it sends me straight back to Jesus.

Maybe that's part of the beauty of this season.

While I'm watching my son discover the world, God is showing me more of my own heart.

He's showing me where I'm strong and where I'm tender. Where I've grown and where I still have some growing to do.

He's teaching me patience when mine runs thin.

He's teaching me gentleness when my words want to come out sharp.

He's teaching me gratitude when exhaustion makes complaining easier.

He's teaching me humility every time I have to say, I'm sorry.

And He's reminding me that I don't have to already be the woman I hope to become in order for Him to meet me right where I am.

Maybe years from now, I'll look back and realize that becoming a mother wasn't only about God entrusting me with a little boy to raise.

Maybe part of the gift was everything He knew motherhood would reveal and refine in me along the way.

More patience.

More gentleness.

More gratitude.

More humility.

A softer tongue.

A quicker apology.

A stronger marriage.

A deeper dependence on Him.

So lately, this simple prayer has meant a little more:

Thank You, God, that You are making something beautiful out of me.

Thank You for the beautiful things motherhood has revealed.

And thank You for the not-so-beautiful things, too.

Thank You for showing me the places that still need Your hands. Thank You for giving me grace while You work on them. Thank You for the opportunity to recognize where I've gotten it wrong, make it right, and try again.

I'm still learning how to be a mom.

I'm still learning what it looks like to love my husband well in this new season of our marriage.

I'm still learning when to speak, when to pause, when to apologize, and when to simply admit that I'm tired and probably shouldn't trust everything coming out of my mouth right now. 😂

Motherhood is revealing a woman I'm still getting to know.

I'm not perfect.

I'm not finished.

But I am HIS daughter.

And He's still making something beautiful out of me.

— The Wildflower Letters

For the Weathered Souls Who Kept Going.