What Motherhood Has Given Me

Motherhood was always something I carried quietly inside me, long before it arrived, long before I knew when or how it would find me, a longing that lived beneath my daily life like an underground river, unseen but constant, shaping everything in its path, a knowing without a timeline, a desire without a map, just the deep, steady sense that this was where I was meant to arrive, eventually.

Before motherhood, I moved through the world a little unmoored, searching without fully realizing what I was searching for, mistaking beauty and movement and ambition for belonging, not yet understanding that there was a piece of me waiting to be claimed by something larger than myself, something that would ask everything of me and give me a reason to say yes without hesitation.

Then Clover arrived.

He is almost three years old now (just a few more weeks), wild and strong-willed, mischievous in the way only children who are deeply alive can be, testing boundaries with bright blue eyes and quick hands, carrying a heart so pure and golden it takes my breath away on the days when his energy feels like a storm and he is my first true love, the moment my understanding of love was rewritten entirely, expanded beyond recognition, no longer theoretical or romantic or imagined, but fierce and immediate and absolute.

I did not know what love was until I met him.
Not really.

I did not know how far I would go for another being, what I would sacrifice without a second thought, how instinctively my body and spirit would rise to protect something so small and vulnerable and endlessly important, how naturally I would lay myself down, piece by piece, for the sake of his safety, his joy, his becoming.

He changed me.
He made me better.
He made me braver than I ever knew I could be.

And then, just as my heart had learned how to stretch around him, Murphy arrived, one and a half years old now, gentle and loving, soft in his presence yet strong and mighty in ways that feel ancient, a child who leans into closeness, whose affection is steady and grounding, whose quiet strength revealed to me something astonishing, that love does not divide, it multiplies.

I did not know my heart could grow larger than it already was.
I did not know it could deepen, widen, make room in ways that feel infinite.

With Murphy, I discovered a new dimension of tenderness, a depth of patience and devotion that surprised me, showed me that my capacity for love was not fixed or finite, but alive, responsive, capable of expanding again and again without breaking.

Together, these two boys have taught me what strength truly is.

I knew I was strong physically, motherhood makes that unavoidable but what I did not know was how strong I could be emotionally, mentally, spiritually, how much resilience lived inside me waiting to be called forth, how capable I was of holding chaos and joy and exhaustion and wonder all at once, how deeply I could endure while remaining open-hearted.

They softened me in ways I desperately needed, taught me to linger, to notice, to kneel down at their level and see the world through their eyes, but they also hardened me in the best possible ways, clarifying my values, sharpening my discernment, teaching me what matters and what does not, what deserves my energy and what can be left behind without regret.

Motherhood has given me direction.
It has given me gravity.
It has given my life a center.

I no longer wonder what is important.
I know.

It is them.
It is presence.
It is love made visible through care, consistency, and staying.

Motherhood did not erase who I was, it revealed her, shaped her, anchored her to something true and in loving my sons, I have finally learned how to belong, not just to them, but to myself.