Motherhood in the Mirror: 5 Years In, Still Standing

Mother’s Day always sneaks up on me. Not because I forget the date, but because I rarely make space to pause and reflect. But this year, I’m giving myself that gift: a moment to breathe and look back—not just at the mother I’ve become, but at the woman who fought like hell to get here.

This year marks five years of motherhood—and three years since everything cracked open. Three years since I became a single mother. Three years and two months to date that I was released from Peachford Hospital, the mental facility that saved me.

It’s no coincidence that May is Maternal Mental Health Awareness Month. Because for me, motherhood and mental health have always been intertwined—sometimes at war, sometimes working in tandem to keep me going.

On March 5th, three years ago, I made an attempt on my life. That sentence is hard to write. But harder still was waking up the next morning and being involuntarily admitted to a facility, facing what came after: shame, silence, survival. I was deep in grief, carrying trauma from a relationship that broke more than my heart. I was trying to coparent with someone who caused much of that trauma. I was clinically depressed, overstimulated, exhausted, and still—still—showing up for my son.

That’s the part that matters most. I never stopped showing up.

It’s been five years of being a mother. Three of those as a single mom. And in that time, I’ve gone from barely surviving to learning how to sustain myself emotionally, mentally, and financially—while still showing up for my son in every way that matters. The transition was brutal. I went from building a family to watching it fracture, while still having to parent through the pain. My son was just two when I became a single mom. I was heartbroken and overwhelmed, living in the shadows of trauma that reshaped me. Coparenting with someone who hurt me deeply—who eventually moved across the country to Arizona—added a layer of emotional complexity I wouldn’t wish on anyone. But I did it. I’m doing it.

In these three years, I’ve mothered through some of the darkest nights of my life. I’ve redefined what it means to keep going. I’ve juggled a career, coparenting complexities, and the full weight of healing while parenting.. I’ve had to keep smiling through daycare drop-offs and work meetings when I was barely holding on. I’ve had days where the only thing I accomplished was keeping my child safe and loved—and that was enough.

In the past three years, I’ve had to rebuild a life that works for me and my child. I’ve been clinically depressed, overstimulated, and exhausted—but never absent. Even when I was unraveling, I was present. That’s something only mothers will understand: the art of holding it together while falling apart.

I’ve also been supported by a small but steady village. Ironically, some of my greatest help at times came from my ex’s family, who remained rooted in Atlanta and rooted in love for my son. I’ve also leaned on friends, found moments of laughter in the chaos, and even experienced love again. I had a partner during these years—someone who offered connection, comfort and peace until we couldn’t give each other what we needed anymore.

I’m still figuring out work-life balance, and no, I haven’t mastered it. But I’ve learned how to take up space as more than just a mother. I’ve learned to ask for help, to forgive myself for not being perfect, and to prioritize my peace. Some days I crush it. Other days, we’re eating cereal for dinner and I’m wearing three-day-old sweats. But every day, my son knows he is loved. That’s my win.

This Mother's Day, I’m not chasing perfection. I’m honoring resilience. I’m celebrating the mom who had to mother herself while raising a child. I’m choosing softness where I once only allowed survival.

And to any mother reading this—especially the single ones, the tired ones, the grieving or growing ones—you are seen. You are enough. You are doing the damn thing, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

Happy Mother’s Day to us. We deserve more than flowers. We deserve rest, recognition, and radical self-love.