The moment my son was born, everything about me changed. I did all the “right” things—read all the books, took the classes, practiced meditations, made the perfect playlist, and found the best doctor—all to make sure he arrived through a natural birth. But, as he often does, he had other plans. He decided to play around with the umbilical cord and got himself tangled up in it. I tried everything. For 19 hours, I gave it my all. And in the end, I had to surrender to a C-section. That was the first of many surrenders in motherhood. For his first four years, I was a stay-at-home mom. I won’t sugarcoat it—yes, it was magical, yes, it was meaningful, and yes, it gave us a bond I haven’t quite felt again. But it was also the hardest, rawest time of my life. I had no life beyond him. The pandemic didn’t help. No job, no seeing my friends, no time for my marriage, no time for myself. I wouldn’t do it again. It made me angry, and even though I was with him all day, every day, I wasn’t whole. I wasn’t happy. Something had to be different. I had to change.

Fast forward a few years—I went back to work, started exercising again, left my marriage. Now, I’m a single working mom, which comes with its own brand of exhaustion and doubts. It’s the hardest job I’ve ever had, but I’m happy because it’s a life I chose. I’m showing my son that you should never settle—that you should always chase happiness, growth, and something better.

 When I first thought about this project, I asked myself: “Am I thriving as a mother? Will I ever thrive and stay that way? What does it even mean to thrive in motherhood?” The perfectionist in me is convinced I’m not. Some days, I feel like the worst mom in the world. Other days, I think, “Okay, maybe I’m not so bad.” But I’ve realized that thriving doesn’t mean being happy all the time. It doesn’t mean perfection. It doesn’t mean achievement. For me, it means I’m not just surviving. I’m living it. I’m learning from it. I’m feeling all of it. I’m showing up every day, one day at a time. And through all of this, I’ve learned the power of a word I love: Ubuntu—"I am because we are."

I am the mother I am because of my experiences. Because of the incredible women and men around me, pushing me to grow, to be present, to be patient, to enjoy the ride. Because of the ones who remind me that I don’t have to just “hang in there.” I can thrive.