“Mom… you’re always happy.”
That’s what my 9-year-old daughter, Kaden, said from the backseat the other day—right in the middle of telling me about recess and spelling tests and whatever else was tumbling out of her after-school brain. We were driving, the radio was on, I had just started singing along to a song, and she said it like a statement… but also like a question.
As if she was trying to confirm what she was experiencing.
“You’re always happy.”
It stopped me for a second. Not because it wasn’t lovely—because it absolutely was. But because it made me pause and think:
Is that really what she sees?
Is that who I am to her now?
Because she’s seen me unhappy.
She’s seen me angry and overwhelmed and completely wiped out.
She’s seen me cry through a divorce.
She’s seen me lose my patience over homework and yell during sibling arguments and go quiet when I’ve been emotionally drained.
She has absolutely witnessed the version of me that wasn’t always "happy."
But in that moment… she didn’t bring up any of those memories.
She looked at me, in that ordinary, drive-home-from-school kind of moment, and she saw this version of me.
The one who laughs more.
Who sings in the car.
Who is softer, calmer, more present.
The one who’s worked hard—really hard—to come back to herself.
I smiled at her and said, “Yes, I am happy. I have a lot to be happy for. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel sad or angry or hurt sometimes. But it does mean that no matter what happens in the day, I choose to focus on the good.”
And then I listed some of the things I was most grateful for: her, her siblings, our home, our dogs, her stepdad. The life we’ve created.
As we pulled into the driveway, she went back to being nine—unbuckling, asking for a snack, and moving on with her day. But I stayed with that moment. I felt the tears quietly roll down my cheek. The kind of tears that only come when your mom heart is full in the best possible way.
Because here’s the truth: Too many of us grew up with more hard moments than good ones. With versions of our parents that were stressed, distracted, overworked, or emotionally distant.
We don’t always have enough warm memories to outweigh the hard ones.
But that moment?
That was a mom win.
That was healing made visible.
And it made me realize:
She’s slowly forgetting the old version of me.
And together, we’re building something new.
Healing Isn’t Just for You—It’s for Them Too
When I think back to who I was five, even ten years ago, I know without a doubt that I was doing my best. I was showing up, carrying the weight, pushing through, keeping it all together.
But I was also tired.
Frustrated.
Distracted.
Pulled in too many directions.
Trying to be everything for everyone—except myself.
And the truth is, even when we try to shield our kids from those feelings, they feel them.
Even when we say, “I’m fine,” they notice the edge in our voice or the way we’re just… not fully there.
Even when we love them fiercely, we sometimes model stress, control, anxiety, or emotional disconnection as the norm.
But here’s the beautiful thing:
healing doesn’t have to be loud to be effective.
There was no big speech. No Pinterest-perfect family meeting where I announced I was going to “grow” or “transform.”
What changed was me.
Quietly, consistently, day by day—I made different choices.
I set boundaries. I asked for help. I cried when I needed to. I started saying no to things that drained me. I slowed down. I got intentional. I got honest with myself.
I started putting myself on the list—not last, but on it.
And my daughter noticed.
Not in the way adults notice when someone looks more “balanced” or “healthy.”
She noticed in the way only kids can—by feeling the difference.
She felt me become more present.
More playful.
More available—not just physically, but emotionally.
And because I’ve started handling myself with more care, she’s learned to handle herself with more care, too.
We talk more now. We repair quicker after conflict.
We use words instead of shutting down or melting down.
We spend more time together instead of just around each other.
And that’s when it hit me:
This is what happens when you stop thinking that taking care of yourself is selfish.
This is what happens when you stop beating yourself up for every bad day or messy moment.
This is what happens when you stop trying to be the perfect mom and start being the present one.
Your kids don’t need a flawless version of you.
They need the version who is willing to do the work.
The one who apologizes when she messes up.
The one who sings in the car.
The one who is building new memories—new neural pathways—one intentional moment at a time.
Let Them Meet the Healed Version of You
If you’ve been on your own growth journey—or maybe just starting to dip your toe in—it’s easy to wonder if it’s working. If the changes you’re making are even noticeable. If any of this “inner work” is really making a difference.
Here’s your reminder:
It is.
Maybe not right away. Maybe not with confetti and celebration. But little by little, the people closest to you start to feel the difference.
They feel your presence.
They feel your softness.
They feel your joy.
Even on the days you lose your cool.
Even when the house is a mess or the to-do list is untouched or your patience runs out by bedtime.
They don’t need perfect.
They need you—happy, whole, and present.
And if you’re not there yet? That’s okay.
You don’t have to overhaul your life in one day.
You don’t have to rewrite your past to create a better future.
You just have to begin—again and again and again.
The truth is:
Taking care of yourself is not selfish.
Kids don’t remember every breakdown—they remember how you made them feel.
It’s never too late to let them meet the healed version of you.
So go ahead—take the walk, go to therapy, say no to what drains you, say yes to your peace, cry when you need to, rest without guilt, laugh loudly, and sing in the car.
Because the more you heal…
The more they heal, too.
And that, my friend, is a win you’ll never regret.
Want support on your own healing or growth journey?
Whether you’re navigating motherhood, burnout, reinvention, or just trying to find your joy again—I’ve got you.
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