If you only knew me from the pieces of my life I share online, you might think I have things pretty well figured out.
You'd see the kids.
The business.
The job.
The apartment.
The little moments I'm proud of.
You'd probably see a woman who rebuilt her life and is doing a pretty damn good job of it.
And that's all true.
But it's not the whole truth.
Because there are a lot of parts you don't see.
You don't see what it looks like to parent three kids between two households.
You don't see the guilt that comes with wanting to be the "yes mom" and sometimes having to be the mom who says, "Not this time."
The mom who has to make sure the rent is paid and there's food in the refrigerator before saying yes to the fun thing.
The mom who misses the after-school pickups.
The rides to practice.
The playdates.
The ordinary moments I didn't realize I'd miss so much until I wasn't there for them.
You don't see the days when everything looks completely normal from the outside, but inside I'm falling apart.
Sometimes the messy doesn't look messy.
There aren't always dishes overflowing from the sink or laundry covering the floor.
Sometimes the messy is sitting with your oldest child and realizing he's censoring what he asks you for because he doesn't want to disappoint or upset you.
Sometimes it's learning your middle child feels like she doesn't get enough time with you.
Sometimes it's hearing something from your child that cracks your heart open and then having to keep going because three little humans still rely on you.
Dinner still needs to happen.
Tomorrow still needs to be prepared for.
Mom is still Mom.
So you hold it together while a little piece of you is falling apart inside.
That's real life, too.
And I don't think we show enough of that part.
I thought I'd know I was enough by now.
I know I'm enough.
At least, logically, I know it.
I've been through enough. I've done enough. I've rebuilt enough.
But knowing something and feeling it every single day are two very different things.
There are still days when that little voice creeps in.
You're not doing enough.
You're not giving them enough.
You're not there enough.
Maybe you're just...not enough.
And I wish I could tell you I've reached some magical point in my life where I never believe her anymore.
I haven't.
Maybe that's part of the real-life version we don't talk about enough.
Confidence doesn't mean you never doubt yourself.
Growth doesn't mean you never question yourself.
Knowing your worth doesn't mean there aren't days when you temporarily forget it.
Sometimes you just get better at finding your way back.
And sometimes you need to look at the evidence.
For a long time, I was terrified I wouldn't be able to provide for my kids on my own.
That fear was real.
And today, my life doesn't look like some picture-perfect version of financial independence. I receive alimony that helps me cover my rent every month. There isn't always extra money for the fun things. Sometimes I have to say no.
But this year?
I bought their school supplies.
I bought their school clothes.
I make sure there are snacks in the house and food for lunches on the days they're with me.
They have what they need.
I did that.
There was a version of me who was terrified she wouldn't be able to.
And now there's this version of me who is.
Maybe that's not Instagram-worthy.
There's no glamorous photo for "I made sure everyone had lunch."
But maybe there should be. Because this is what building a life actually looks like.
It's not always the giant milestones.
Sometimes it's standing in the checkout line with three kids' worth of school supplies and realizing:
Holy shit. I'm doing it.
Not perfectly.
Not without help.
Not without fear.
But I'm doing it.
I still look at other women and wonder how they do it.
How does she keep her cool?
How is her house so clean?
How does she work and parent and exercise and cook dinner and maintain friendships and somehow remember it's spirit week at school?
How does she make it look so damn easy?
Then I remember:
I'm seeing her highlight reel, too.
I'm not there when she cries in the bathroom.
I don't hear the conversations with her kids that break her heart.
I don't know what's sitting unpaid on her counter or what she had to say no to this month.
I don't know what she's worried about at 2 a.m.
I don't know what she thinks she's failing at.
Maybe she's looking at someone else's life and wondering exactly the same thing.
Maybe she's even looking at mine.
So here's the part I'm not hiding anymore.
I'm imperfect.
My life is imperfect.
I have gone through some shit.
Some of it changed me for the better.
Some of it just fucking hurt.
And all of it brought me here.
I don't want to be embarrassed by the messy parts anymore.
I don't want to pretend I've reached some destination where I've figured everything out.
I'm still learning how to be this version of myself.
I'm still learning how to parent in this version of our family.
I'm still figuring out how to balance working full time, motherhood, a business, relationships, responsibilities, and occasionally doing something simply because I want to.
Some days I feel strong as hell.
Some days I question everything.
Most days are somewhere in between.
That's real life.
The good.
The messy.
The "holy shit, look how far I've come."
And the "I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing."
All of it gets to exist together.
So if you're reading this after a long day and wondering how everyone else seems to have figured out something you haven't, I want you to know:
They probably haven't.
I haven't.
We're all living parts of our stories that don't make it onto Instagram.
And maybe instead of looking at everything we haven't done, everything we couldn't give, or every place we think we've fallen short, we need to occasionally look at the evidence of everything we have done.
The lunches packed.
The bills paid.
The hard conversations had.
The times we showed up exhausted.
The no's we said because they were necessary.
The yes's we gave when we could.
The kids who are loved.
The life we're still building.
Maybe you're doing better than you think you are.
Maybe I am, too.
And maybe neither of us has to have it all together to be enough.
