Some days, I’m not the mother I imagined I’d be.
Not the patient one.
Not the always-smiling one.
Not the one with crafts prepared, snacks portioned, or calm words flowing like poetry.
Some days, I am tired.
I am short-fused.
I am quiet because I’m too overwhelmed to explain what I’m feeling.
And I wonder if my children see me—the real me—through the haze of noise, chores, and all the things I’m carrying.
But even on those days… I show up.
I hold them when they cry.
I apologize when I raise my voice.
I whisper “I love you” even when I feel like I’m unraveling.
I pack lunches and brush hair and kiss scraped knees, even with tears in my own eyes.
Motherhood is not a performance of perfection.
It’s a quiet, relentless offering.
An offering of crumbs and cuddles.
Of deep sighs and deeper love.
Of scraped-together strength, even when your heart is sore.
This season has been hard.
There are things happening around me—things that weigh heavy on my spirit.
And I wish I could shield my children from all of it.
But maybe, just maybe…
What they need most isn’t a perfect mother.
Maybe they need a real one.
One who feels deeply.
Who cries, but gets back up.
Who loves fiercely, even when the world feels fragile.
If today you’re struggling—please know you’re not alone.
If all you managed was a whispered “I love you” and a warm plate on the table, you did enough.
You are enough.
And one day, your children won’t remember the dust or the tears or the chaos.
They’ll remember that you were there.
Even when it was hard.
Of Crumbs & Cuddles 