If I’d Only Known
Reflections on Motherhood and Friendship
It’s 6:30 a.m., and the day is already in motion. The babies are playing on the floor, their giggles breaking the quiet hum of morning. Light streams in through the windows, painting the walls in soft pinks from the sunrise. Disco balls scattered around the room catch the pink light, reflecting tiny rainbows that dance across the walls and floor. It’s a magical scene—chaotic, messy, and utterly mine. And yet, as I sit here in the midst of the noise and light, I feel a familiar tug of reflection: how much I didn’t know before stepping into this season of life.
If I’d only known how beautiful and bittersweet motherhood would be, how love can feel like both the softest embrace and the heaviest weight, maybe I would have prepared my heart differently. Or maybe I wouldn’t have prepared at all, maybe it’s something you can’t prepare for.
One of the things I didn’t expect was the loneliness. It’s not that I’m alone, far from it. My days are filled with little voices, tiny hands reaching for me, the constant rhythm of care. But the loneliness isn’t about being physically alone; it’s about the moments when you wonder if anyone else truly sees you, the version of you that exists beyond the mothering, the doing, the giving.
In those first months of motherhood, I didn’t realize how much I’d come to rely on the other moms in my life. The friends who sent a quick “How are you?” text that reminded me I wasn’t invisible. The ones who showed up with coffee and sat on my couch, unfazed by the mess. The ones who said, “You’re doing great,” on the days I felt like I was barely holding it together.
I didn’t know how much I’d crave those lifelines—those small acts of connection that made me feel less alone in the messy, beautiful, exhausting middle of it all. And if I’d only known how much those little gestures would mean to me, I think I’d have sent more of them myself.
Motherhood can be so isolating, even though we’re all in this together. So this is my reminder, to myself and to you: reach out to your mom friends. Send the text, make the call, knock on the door. Tell her she’s doing amazing, even if she doesn’t believe it in the moment. Sit with her in her chaos, without judgment, and let her know she doesn’t have to walk this road alone.
As I sit here, watching the pink sunrise fade into daylight and listening to my babies’ laughter, I feel grateful for the ones who’ve done this for me. Motherhood can be loud, and it can be lonely—but love, shared love, is louder.
So here I am, sending this as my text to you: You’re doing great. You’re seen. And I’m here, in the messy middle, walking this road with you.
Because if I’d only known how much it mattered, I’d have said it sooner. 💛
