The Burden of Motherhood: Comfortable, Peaceful, and Yet Chaotic

An honest reflection on gratitude, grief, and growth in this season of life.

July 27, 2025

Where do I begin?

I’ve been very preoccupied with everything and nothing. My energy has felt scattered, my stamina low, and it’s been hard trying to return to the things I love. The things that used to stir life in me now feel like tasks I can’t always find the strength to face.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about my life. It’s comfortable, peaceful, and yet chaotic. Trying to find balance is a daily challenge with four young children. Some days, I’m amazed by the calm, and other days I feel like I’m drowning in noise, crumbs, and needs.

“Are you even grateful?”

Sometimes I get the sense that people wonder if I’m truly grateful for my children.

Let me be clear: I am very grateful for them.

I chose this life—motherhood—intentionally, knowing it would come with sacrifice. Yes, it’s exhausting to haul all of them around when it’s just one of us. Yes, there are days I feel overwhelmed. But that’s part of the package. It’s the consequence of the choice I made.

And when I say consequence, I don’t mean punishment. I mean outcome. A path that unfolds after a decision. It’s what follows. Sometimes good, sometimes difficult—but always real.

When I say “burden,” I don’t mean broken

Another word I use that tends to get misunderstood is burden.

People often assume I mean something negative or oppressive. But for me, burden is simply a reality—something I carry because it matters. In fact, burden and consequence mean almost the same thing to me: they’re what naturally follow when something is worth the weight.

The burden I carry now is the burden of motherhood. It’s not always heavy, but it’s always present. And I’m still learning how to carry it with open hands and a full heart.

As I grow older and my children grow with me, I know this burden will shift. It will take different shapes. But at its core, it will still be the same sacred weight—the daily work of loving, guiding, and showing up.

“You act like you have it all together…”

No, this is just me holding it together.

There’s a difference.

Most days, I’m doing my best to stay grounded—for their sake and mine.

I try really hard to raise my children to be kind and to have manners—not because I care about appearances, but because it matters deeply. In a world that can be careless with words and quick to overlook others, I want them to notice, to pause, to honor people.

It takes consistency. Correction. Gentle reminders. Sometimes tears. It takes modeling the very behavior I struggle with myself.

I also try really hard to do what I know in my spirit needs to be done.

But I procrastinate. I stall. I take a while to catch on. I’m like a late bloomer—slow to act, but steady once I do. I wish things clicked faster sometimes, but when they do, they stick.

“You must be unhappy.”

I know I talk a lot about grief. Grief over where I thought I’d be by now. Grief over how what I’m doing doesn’t always add up to the life I envisioned.

But that doesn’t mean I’m unhappy.

It means I’m human. I’m growing.

And yes—it’s exhausting to feel like I’m stuck on repeat.

I do know the life I want. I do know how to get there. But getting there is taking longer than I hoped. And maybe that’s because the burden I’m carrying now isn’t quite heavy enough to move me with the urgency I need.

It’s bearable—for now. But I know I can carry more. Not to glorify hardship, but because weight builds strength. And I want to be strong enough to break through the things that hold me back.

Striving isn’t negative—sometimes it’s necessary

I’m always striving to be better. And I try to encourage others to do the same.

Some people see that striving as discontentment. But for many of us, striving is mandatory. It’s the grit that grows us.

Still, in my own shame, I’ve let myself become too comfortable. I haven’t always taken the action that growth requires.

And yes—some may call this selfish, this desire to grow, to gain, to evolve.

But how can it be selfish if everyone around me benefits from that growth? My children, my husband, my community—they gain when I gain. And it’s not for my glory.

It’s for God’s alone.

Something is ending—and something else is beginning

I can feel it in my spirit: A season in my life is coming to a close.

And I’m ready for it—whatever the next one brings.