There are some things that feel too heavy to put into words—and yet, it’s those very things that most need to be shared. This post is for the moms quietly carrying a weight that most people can’t see. The ones showing up with a smile while managing a storm behind the scenes. The ones doing everything they can to support a child who’s struggling with their mental health… while also trying to hold it together themselves.
I see you. I *am* you.
Mental illness isn’t new to me. It runs in my family. Depression. Anxiety. The familiar heaviness that lingers even when things look fine on the outside. I was diagnosed in high school, and it followed me into adulthood. Over the years, I’ve learned to manage it—not perfectly, but with intention. I’ve found what works for me, how to recognize when I’m out of balance, and how to bring myself back to center without relying on medication. It’s a daily practice of grace and awareness.
But nothing prepared me for what it would feel like to walk this road again—this time as a mom.
As my daughter has gotten older, we’ve faced our own version of this battle together. Her struggles haven’t looked exactly like mine. They’ve come out sideways. Loud. Messy. Confusing. Scary.
The past few years have been some of the hardest of my life. I’ve cried more tears than I can count. I’ve prayed prayers that felt like they were hitting the ceiling. I’ve questioned everything—my parenting, my faith, my strength, and my ability to keep going.
And the hardest part? Feeling completely and utterly alone.
Most moms talk about soccer games and sleepovers and report cards. Few talk about emergency therapy appointments, school meetings, or the nights spent wondering if your child is okay—truly okay. There’s no small talk for that kind of worry. And even the people who love you often don’t *really* get it.
But if that’s your story too, I want you to hear this loud and clear:
You are not alone.
You’re not a failure. You’re not a bad mom. You’re not weak for feeling tired or overwhelmed or lost. You are walking a path that requires immense strength, compassion, and resilience. And while it may not be the motherhood journey you imagined—it is still full of meaning, purpose, and love.
There are no perfect answers, and healing isn’t linear. But I do believe in small victories. In showing up again tomorrow. In letting your child see that love doesn’t walk away when things get hard. In finding tiny pockets of peace—even if it’s just five minutes to breathe and regroup.
If you’re in the thick of it, I hope this post wraps around you like a warm blanket. I hope it reminds you that your pain matters, and your story deserves to be held gently.
And if you’re lucky enough to not relate—maybe this is a quiet invitation to check in on a friend who might be walking a road like this in silence. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can say is: “You don’t have to go through this alone.”
To the mom reading this with tired eyes and a heavy heart:
You are doing better than you think. Keep going. Keep loving. Keep hoping. You are not alone.
