We just celebrated Mother’s Day, and like many of you, I found myself reflecting deeply on what it means to mother and be mothered. It’s not always simple, and it’s certainly not always soft. But it’s always powerful.
Motherhood, in all its forms, is a force that shapes us - often before we even realise it. Our mothers imprint us with their stories, their strength, their wounds, and their wisdom. Whether we carry their resilience like a flame or spend our lives trying to unlearn the lessons of their pain, we are shaped by their presence - or their absence. Sometimes both.
I also want to acknowledge the journey to motherhood. Mine wasn’t easy. I spent over two years hoping, waiting, aching. Every month brought heartbreak. Baby showers were unbearable. Pregnancies announced on social media felt like daggers. I was happy for others - but silently grieving for myself. Eventually, we chose to walk the IVF path, and even now, I carry those years with me. If you are in the depths of that longing - waiting for your turn, hoping for your miracle - I see you. I hold space for you. You are no less a mother in your heart.
When my baby finally came, it should have felt like the sun rising after a long night. And sometimes, it did. But more often, I felt like I was underwater. Postpartum depression and anxiety crept in quietly, turning joy into something I had to reach for, not something that just arrived. I loved my baby fiercely - but I was struggling to love myself in the process.
And then came the judgement.
It was everywhere. From strangers in the shops to whispers from people I once called friends. Too young, too old, too soft, too distracted, too tired, too messy. I remember feeling like I couldn’t win - and like I was the only one who felt this way.
But I know now I wasn’t alone.
So many mothers are just hanging on - silently, tenderly, doing the very best they can. Please, if I can encourage you to do one thing, it’s this: see people. Especially mothers. See beyond the curated moments, beyond the tired eyes and tantrums in the aisles. Lead with compassion, not comparison. We are all navigating uncharted waters, and no one has the map.
What helped save me - slowly, quietly - was my garden. Getting my hands in the soil. Planting seeds when I felt like I had none left. Watching something tiny become something beautiful. Herbs and Homesteading was born from that pain. It gave me purpose again - outside of nap schedules and nappies. It gave me a place to belong, and a reason to dream.
To all the mothers - the ones raising babies, raising businesses, raising themselves - I see you. I honour you. I know the ache and the beauty of it. And if you’re still finding your way, if motherhood doesn’t look the way you thought it would, that’s okay. You’re not broken - you’re blooming.
And to my own mother - thank you for the parts of me I love, and for the parts I’ve had to wrestle with. Both shaped me into this version of myself - the one my son now calls “Mama.” And that’s the most sacred name I’ve ever been given.
Here’s to the ones who mother - through blood, through bond, through bare hands in the earth.
Here’s to the ones waiting to hold a child of their own.
Here’s to the ones doing their best - even when it doesn’t feel like enough.
We are always growing.
Wishing you a beautiful week, sweet ones.
With love and wildflowers,
Kels x