The Side of Motherhood No One Prepares You For
I’ve always loved looking back at old Facebook and Instagram memories—the small snapshots of life I didn’t realize I was documenting in real time. For years, I shared often: encouragement, verses, reflections, pieces of my heart. Writing has always been my safe place. Long before social media, it was notebooks and journals—words were how I processed the world.
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I don’t share the same way I used to. About 20+ years after those childhood diary entries, I found myself walking through one of the hardest seasons of my life. A season that stretched me + humbled me in ways I never expected. Now, as I slowly find my footing again, I feel a quiet pull to tell our story—honestly, imperfectly, and with purpose.
Motherhood is often painted as this beautiful, joy-filled journey. And sometimes it is. But for those of us living the unspoken, messy chapters - the ones filled with grief, exhaustion, fear, and uncertainty - it can feel deeply isolating.
This is the part that’s harder to put into words… but maybe you’re there too.
Here’s a glimpse of our story.
THE SIDE OF MOTHERHOOD NO ONE PREPARES YOU FOR:
Over the past year, I’ve found it hard to show up on social media when real life has felt so heavy. I never imagined motherhood would include this chapter: the chapter where your child is hurting, angry, and lost in emotions too big for them to handle- every. single. day. My son was diagnosed with autism a few years ago, and while I pictured a brilliant, quirky, joy-filled kid— and in many ways, he is that— this past summer looked very different. When I say anger, I don’t mean he just gets mad or yells. I mean real, intense aggression: punching holes in walls, breaking doors, throwing objects across the house, breaking window screens, tackling and punching, slapping our faces, threatening me with knives, and having to physically restrain him or lock him in his room to keep everyone safe.
I want to respect his privacy— this is his life, his journey, and his struggles—and sometimes talking about it feels like we’re airing out our dirty laundry. But I also know that the struggles we’ve been facing with him are rarely talked about, and for years, we thought, and were told, that our parenting was the problem. For a long time, I believed it.
Autism for us looked like hours of screaming, crying, and destruction. Like holding back tears after he’s hurt his own brother. Like walking on eggshells in my own home, never knowing what might trigger an outburst. And more than anything, it looked like an emotional exhaustion I can’t even put into words. Honestly, I know there is more, but a big part of me feels like my body has tried to forget or block it out of my brain.
What makes it even more confusing and isolating is how differently he behaved in public. Out in the world, he can appear calm, polite, and even charming. People might see the sweet, “typical” side of him and have no idea what happens behind closed doors. It creates this strange dual reality where I’m left constantly explaining myself, questioning if anyone would ever really understand, and feeling like I have to carry the weight of it all alone. I never knew this side of motherhood was a real experience.
There’s no manual for those moments. I knew motherhood would be hard—sleepless nights, thousands of snacks a day, big feelings. But this felt like something no book, podcast, or parenting class could have ever prepared me for.
No one tells you that you can pour your whole heart into helping your child, try every strategy and support you can find, and still feel utterly helpless.
LIVING IN EMOTIONAL EXHAUSTION:
Some weeks, we saw huge improvements. And other weeks… it felt like we were back at square one. I know this is exhausting and terrifying for all of us—but I also know it was just as hard for him. He didn’t mean to do it. It’s like something takes over, and afterward, he’s left picking up the pieces too.
What people don’t see is what that kind of unpredictability does to a person’s body. We all lived in a constant state of alert—always listening, watching, bracing. My nervous system never fully powered down. Even in the quiet moments, my body stayed ready for the next explosion.
I once told my mom it feels like being in a relationship I can’t walk away from—one filled with emotional and physical pain. I’m treated harshly. I’ve been hit, yelled at, broken by words and actions—and yet I stay. Not because I have to, but because I love him with everything I have. I’m his mom.
MOMENTS OF REFLECTION, HOPE & FAITH:
One morning, I was out walking and a song came on—“Take It All Back” by Tauren Wells. At first, I almost skipped it, but then I heard the first verse: “Fear’s got me living with the lights out. Chained down like a prisoner in my own house. Shame cycles like a daily medication. I try, but I can’t change my situation.” The words hit deep, and I started weeping. It felt like God placed those lyrics in my ears at exactly the moment I needed them. Later that day, I scrolled through old baby videos—Facebook Memories filled with giggles, first steps, and joy—and I couldn’t help but wish I could rewind to when life felt simpler, lighter, hopeful.
Some days, I wondered if our situation would ever change—and I had to come to terms with the possibility that it might not. There were so many moments I was convinced the enemy was trying to wear us down—stealing our joy, our peace, our connection. We’ve felt isolated, alone, like no one truly understands what it’s like to live this every day.
Even the simplest “How are you?” can feel impossible to answer. I don’t share this for pity or attention. I share it because maybe someone else needs to know they’re not alone either.
I believe God has us here for a reason. I may not understand it all now—but I trust He’s working it out for His glory. And I know this was NOT where our story would end. I truly believe God has always had great things ahead—and one day, we’ll see the fruit of all this labor.
But for now, we’re choosing—every single day—to take back our joy, our peace, our life the best we can.
As we start to see some relief, improvement, and feel like we’re finally coming out of the fog, I feel compelled to share our story - to encourage others, and to open the veil to transparency.
If you’re in a season of exhaustion, fear, or heartbreak, please remember you’re not alone. Keep showing up. Keep loving. Keep trusting. Keep nourishing yourself and your family. The fruit of your labor will come in it’s time - this is what we’re experiencing. We’re learning to release what we can’t control and trust that God is still at work, even in the waiting.