The Blog

Being part of a blended family means learning to plan holidays a little differently.

This year, we won’t have my partner’s kids with us on Halloween, so we try to make sure we take everyone trick-or-treating the weekend before. It gives us a chance to have that time together and make those memories while we have all the kids under one roof.

I had been looking all October for an event happening last weekend where the kids could trick-or-treat together. We got everyone’s costumes and accessories. I was excited to see them all dressed up and to have a little Halloween night with everyone together.

Then, last week, hand, foot, and mouth made its way through our household.

And just like that, the plans I had been looking forward to started falling apart.

I was so sad. I know getting sick isn’t something anyone chooses, and the kids needed rest more than they needed an event. I wasn’t going to drag sick kids around just because I wanted the night to go a certain way. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed.

I had spent so much time trying to find something that worked for our family’s schedule. I had made sure we had the costumes. I had pictured how the night would go. I wanted it to feel special for them, and I hated that something completely outside our control had changed the plan.

But I also didn’t want being sick to mean we had no Halloween at all.

So we made a new plan.

We all got into our costumes anyway. Our neighbors helped us make the night special by handing out candy and letting the kids stop by their doors. We came home, watched a Halloween movie, and decorated cookies together.

It wasn’t the event I had spent October searching for. It wasn’t the evening I had pictured in my head. But the kids still got to dress up, collect some candy, decorate cookies, and have a Halloween memory with us.

And I’m so grateful our neighbors helped make that happen.

I’m still sad they got sick. I’m sad we missed the plans I had been looking forward to. I’m sad because I wanted the night to be perfect for them, and for a little while, I cried about it.

That’s the part of motherhood I don’t always know how to explain. Sometimes you cry over something other people might think is small, because it isn’t only about one event. It’s about the effort you put into making childhood feel special. It’s about wanting your kids to have memories they’ll look back on and smile about. It’s about hoping you’re giving them enough.

And when you’re in a blended family, holidays can carry an extra layer of emotion.

Having a split household on holidays will always be hard sometimes. We work around schedules. We try to make sure everyone gets to experience the traditions. We look for events on the weekends when we have all the kids. And even when we plan ahead, things happen that we can’t control.

I hate the idea of disappointing the kids when it comes to things like this. I want them to feel included. I want them to have the same excitement and the same chances to make memories. I want to give them the kind of childhood where the holidays feel full of fun and love.

But I’m learning that making a holiday special doesn’t mean every detail has to go the way I planned.

Sometimes the event gets canceled for your family because someone gets sick. Sometimes the schedule doesn’t line up. Sometimes you have to change the plan at the last minute. And sometimes the version of the holiday you end up having is much smaller than the one you pictured.

That doesn’t mean it was a failure.

Our Halloween looked different this year. We didn’t get the evening I had planned, and I’m still allowed to feel sad about that. I can wish things had gone differently and still be happy about the way we made the best of it.

The kids still got dressed up. They still got candy. They still decorated cookies and watched a Halloween movie with us. We still found a way to make the night feel like something worth remembering.

Maybe that’s what I want to remember from this Halloween. Not that everything went wrong, but that even when it did, we found a way to give the kids a good night.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting things to be special for them. I’ll probably always care a little too much about the details, because I want them to have happy memories and know how much thought goes into making those memories happen.

But I’m trying to remind myself that the kids don’t need every holiday to be perfect. They need love, time together, and people who keep trying even when plans change.

And this year, even with hand, foot, and mouth and a plan that didn’t work out, we still got to give them a little Halloween magic. 🩵

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When I was younger, fall was really just another season. We didn’t do a whole lot during the fall that I can remember. Summer had its things. Christmas had its things. But fall was kind of just… there. I don’t want it to be that way for my kids.

When I was younger, fall was really just another season.

We didn’t do a whole lot during the fall that I can remember. We did things during the summer, and we had our things during Christmas, but fall was kind of just one of those seasons that came and went.

And now that I’m a mom, I don’t want fall to be just another season for my kids.

I want them to have traditions.

I want them to remember going to the pumpkin patch. I want them to remember carving pumpkins, getting cute little fall outfits, taking full family photos, going to trunk-or-treats, and all of those little things that make this time of year feel special.

I want them to have those little memories that maybe seem insignificant when you’re living them, but become the things you remember years later.

And in our family, that can be a little complicated.

We’re a blended family, and we have four kids between us. We don’t have all four kids every single week. We have Andrew’s kids every other week, so naturally, we try to save some of the bigger things for the weeks when everyone is together.

We still do plenty of things during the weeks when it’s just our girls, but there’s something really special about being able to make those bigger memories when all four kids are together.

So we try.

We really, really try.

Even in the years when we don’t have all four kids for Thanksgiving or Halloween, I still make sure everyone has matching Thanksgiving outfits.

I still want everyone to have costumes.

I still want to take them to as many trunk-or-treats as we possibly can throughout October so they can all get that experience.

And honestly?

Sometimes it gets stressful.

Because when you’re trying to make memories with four kids who aren’t always in the same house at the same time, you start looking at the calendar differently.

You start checking weekends. You start comparing schedules. You start hoping that the trunk-or-treat you’ve been looking forward to falls on a weekend when you have everyone.

And sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes the event you’ve been excited about lands on a weekend when we don’t have Andrew’s kids.

And we miss it.

And I hate that.

I think one of the things I didn’t fully understand before becoming part of a blended family was how much missing out can come with it.

It’s not always the big things.

Sometimes it’s something as simple as a Halloween event that all the kids can’t attend together.

Sometimes it’s a holiday that has to be split.

Sometimes there’s a picture you wish you could have gotten with everyone.

Sometimes you’re trying to make two different schedules fit together and they just don’t.

And as a mom, I worry about that.

I worry that one of the kids is going to feel left out.

I worry that we’re not doing enough.

I worry that they’ll look back someday and remember the things they missed instead of the things we did.

I think that’s probably where a lot of the stress comes from.

Because I don’t just want to make memories.

I want to make sure they all have the same memories.

But I’m slowly learning that I can’t control everything.

I can’t make every event fall on the right weekend.

I can’t make every holiday happen exactly the way I imagined it.

I can’t make every year look the same.

And I can’t do everything.

That’s a hard thing for me to accept.

Because when you really care about giving your kids a childhood full of memories, it’s easy to feel like you’re failing when something doesn’t go according to plan.

But I’m starting to realize that missing one trunk-or-treat doesn’t mean we missed Halloween.

Missing one pumpkin patch doesn’t mean we didn’t make fall memories.

And not having all four kids together for every single tradition doesn’t mean they’re missing out on having a childhood full of love and memories.

Because we still try.

We still take the pictures.

We still buy the matching outfits.

We still carve the pumpkins.

We still find another trunk-or-treat.

We still make the most of the weekends we have together.

And even when things don’t go perfectly, we’re creating something.

We’re creating traditions.

We’re creating memories.

We’re giving our kids a fall that feels like more than just another season.

Maybe they won’t remember every pumpkin patch.

Maybe they won’t remember every costume.

Maybe they won’t remember which trunk-or-treats they went to or what they wore for Thanksgiving one year.

But I hope they remember the feeling.

I hope they remember that fall meant doing things together.

That it meant getting dressed up.

That it meant pumpkins and pictures and laughing and running around.

That it meant their family making an effort to make the season special.

And maybe that’s what matters most.

Not that we did everything.

Not that every weekend went perfectly.

Not that all four kids were there for every single memory.

But that we tried.

Because I don’t want my kids to grow up and look back on fall and think it was just another season.

I want them to think, “That was our time of year.”

And if I can give them that, even imperfectly, then I think we’re doing something right. 🍂

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I’ve mentioned before that my mom wasn’t always present in my life, but I’ve never really gone into much detail about what that actually looked like.

I’ve mentioned before that my mom wasn’t always present in my life, but I’ve never really gone into much detail about what that actually looked like.

My mom went to prison when I was very young. When she got out, she would come in and out of my life because of her struggles with drugs. For most of my childhood, her presence was inconsistent. She would be there for a little while, then she wouldn’t. And when you grow up that way, you learn to appreciate whatever pieces of your parent you can get.

One memory that has stayed with me happened on my 16th birthday.

I had a friend over, and I was getting ready to eat my birthday cake. I had no idea my mom was coming. Then she showed up.

She was obviously high.

She had a bag of things from the dollar store. She basically threw the bag at me, said very little, and left.

And at 16 years old, I remember being happy.

Not because it was some amazing birthday or because I got something special. I was just happy that she remembered it was my birthday. I was happy that she came.

Looking back at that memory now, especially as a mother myself, it makes me incredibly sad.

I cannot imagine walking into one of my children’s birthdays in that state, handing them a bag of dollar-store things, and walking back out. And yet, at the time, I had learned to accept that kind of thing as love because that was what I knew.

That was basically my childhood. My mom would come in for a little while, and I would be happy simply because she was there.

As I got older, things became worse.

After COVID, my mom became almost unrecognizable to me. I started distancing myself from her more and more. Once I was able to drive, there were long periods of time when I wouldn’t see her at all.

Then I became a mother.

After I had my first daughter, my mom went to rehab. I decided to give her another chance, and I allowed her to meet my daughter. For a while, she was actually part of her life.

I don’t know exactly what happened. I don’t know the entire story, and I’m not going to pretend that I do.

What I do know is that my mom struggled with drugs and alcohol, and she also has schizophrenia. She had medication prescribed to her, but there were times when she wouldn’t take it. And when she wasn’t taking her medication and was struggling with everything else going on, it felt like I was watching her become someone completely different.

Someone angry.

Someone unpredictable.

Someone I didn’t feel comfortable having around my child.

I started having to keep my daughter away from her.

And then I became pregnant with my second child.

My mom was very upset about my pregnancy. She didn’t like my partner and felt like he was taking me away from her. Before he and I moved in together, I stayed with my mom for about a week because she believed she was finally going to have her daughter living with her.

But even then, she was constantly mean to him. She would say things about him to me and say things directly to his face. She wanted me to be with somebody else, and our relationship became another source of conflict between us.

There was another part of our relationship during this time that became increasingly difficult for me.

My mom wanted to control me.

She would tell me what I could and couldn’t do, who I should or shouldn’t be with, and how I should live my life. And whenever I pushed back, there was always that reminder that she was my mother and I was her child.

But she seemed to forget something.

I wasn’t a child anymore.

I was an adult. I had been making my own decisions for years. I had my own home, my own relationship, my own daughter, and I was building my own family.

She didn’t get to suddenly step into a parental role because she had missed so much of my childhood.

And I had to tell her that more than once.

You don’t get a do-over.

You don’t get to miss the years when I needed a mother and then come back when I’m an adult and decide that you get to mother me now.

I didn’t need someone telling me what I could and couldn’t do. I needed a mother who could respect that I had grown up.

And I think that was one of the hardest things for me to accept about our relationship. I spent so much of my childhood wanting my mom to be there. I wanted her attention. I wanted her love. I wanted her to care about what was happening in my life.

Then, when I finally became an adult and built a life of my own, she wanted to have control over that life.

It felt like she wanted the authority of being my mother without having been there for the responsibility of actually raising me.

And I couldn’t keep allowing that.

Especially once I had children of my own.

Because becoming a mother changed something in me. I started looking at my own childhood through completely different eyes.

I started asking myself, If my daughter were in this situation, would I think this was okay?

And the answer was becoming increasingly clear.

Then came the night at Applebee’s.

I was only a few weeks away from having my second daughter.

The restaurant was busy, and my mom became upset because our food was taking too long. She started getting loud with the waitress. I told her to calm down because I wasn’t okay with how she was treating someone who was simply doing their job.

That turned into an argument between the two of us.

She got in my face.

Then she walked out.

She told me she was done, and she left the restaurant.

Afterward, she sent me a text threatening to hurt me.

And I remember thinking about the fact that I was about to bring another baby into this world.

I had already spent my entire life trying to navigate my mom’s instability. But now I wasn’t just responsible for myself anymore.

I had children.

And in that moment, I made a decision.

I didn’t want my mom in my life anymore.

Not because I didn’t love her.

Not because I wasn’t hurt.

Not because I suddenly stopped wishing I had a normal relationship with my mother.

I made that decision because I couldn’t afford to risk another situation where she could hurt me or one of my children.

It has now been over a year since I’ve spoken to my mom.

And honestly, there are still days when it’s hard.

People talk about needing their mom, and I understand that feeling more than anyone probably realizes.

I still have moments where I want my mom.

I still have moments where I wish things were different.

I still have moments where I wonder what it would be like to have the kind of relationship with my mother that I see other people have.

Going no contact doesn’t magically erase that.

But I’ve also learned something during this past year.

Missing someone doesn’t mean you made the wrong decision.

I can miss my mom and still know that I needed distance.

I can love my mom and still refuse to allow certain behavior around my children.

And I can grieve the mother I wish I had while becoming the mother I want my children to have.

I have too much respect for myself, too much respect for my partner, and too much love for my children to let them grow up thinking that this is what love is supposed to look like.

I don’t know what the future holds.

I don’t know if my mom will ever change. I don’t know if we’ll ever speak again.

But for now, I’ve chosen peace.

Sometimes choosing peace means choosing a boundary that breaks your heart.

I didn’t stop loving my mom. I just stopped allowing that love to put my children or myself at risk. ❤️

— Kiley

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Yesterday was one of those days I knew was coming, but somehow nothing could have prepared me for how nervous I would actually be.

I was a nervous wreck. My voice was shaky, the waiting was the worst part, and the few days leading up to it had been harder than I expected.

Yesterday was one of those days I knew was coming, but somehow nothing could have prepared me for how nervous I would actually be.

I was a nervous wreck.

My voice was shaky, my nerves were all over the place, and honestly, the waiting was probably the worst part. Sitting there and waiting made my nerves feel even worse, so I kept pacing around because I couldn't sit still.

The few days leading up to yesterday weren't much better. I could barely eat, I couldn't sleep well, and my nerves were so bad that they would actually make me feel sick.

So, before court, I decided I needed to keep myself busy.

I spent some time going around my community and hanging up flyers for my blog, A Mother's Perspective.

And honestly? It helped.

There was something really special about walking around and seeing something I created actually posted in my own community. 🥹

This little blog started as an idea in my head, and now there are actual flyers for it hanging on community boards. Seeing my work out there gave me something positive to focus on when my nerves were getting the best of me.

It was a small thing, but it made me really proud.

And then came court.

Once we actually got into the room, I calmed down a lot.

I had to remind myself that I knew what I was talking about. I had to remind myself that I wasn't dumb and that I didn't need to let my nerves make me doubt myself.

Getting to that point was hard, though.

And through all of it, Andrew was there.

He did everything he could to make me feel better. He made me laugh when I needed to laugh, made me smile when I didn't feel like smiling, and was so understanding of everything I was feeling.

He was so sweet to me leading up to yesterday, during all the nerves, and afterward too.

Once everything was over, he took me to our little strip mall and we just walked around for a while before we had to go get the kids.

And somehow, I ended up getting myself a new outfit. 😂

It might sound like such a little thing, but those little things meant so much to me.

He knows me.

He knows what helps me feel better. He knows when I need a distraction, when I need to laugh, and when I just need someone beside me.

And I love that about him.

Because before him, I never really had that.

I've learned that support doesn't always have to be some huge grand gesture.

Sometimes it's someone helping you with your shoe when you're stressed.

Sometimes it's someone making you laugh.

Sometimes it's walking around a store with you afterward.

Sometimes it's encouraging you to get yourself something new just because you deserve a little pick-me-up.

Sometimes it's simply having someone beside you who understands.

Yesterday was a hard day for me.

But there were also little moments that made it easier.

Seeing my blog flyers around my community.

Having someone beside me who knew exactly how nervous I was.

Getting out of my head for a little while.

And remembering that even on the hard days, life is still happening around you.

I'm still processing yesterday. I'm still learning. And I'm still taking things one day at a time.

But I'm grateful for the people and the little moments that made a difficult day feel a little lighter. 🩵

— Kiley

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Yesterday was one of those days that I know I’m going to look back on someday and wish I could relive.

Our city had a community event at the park, and we spent the day eating, playing, laughing, and making memories together. And honestly, the whole day just felt full of love.

Yesterday started with a little breakfast stop at Starbucks. We grabbed breakfast sandwiches and all sat together and ate before heading to the community event.

And honestly, even that felt special.

There was something about all of us sitting together, eating breakfast, and just starting the day as a family that I really loved.

Then we headed to the park, where our city was having a community event. There was food, inflatables, little rides, and so many things for the kids to see and do.

Willow got her face painted, we had hot dogs, and of course we had to get the giant stick of cotton candy. 😂

She also got to learn about the ambulance and some of the things they use. She was so excited about everything happening around her.

But one of my favorite parts of the day was getting to see so much of Willow’s personality come out.

There was a DJ playing music, and there were bleachers with everyone sitting around watching. And somehow, Willow decided she was going to get right out in front of everybody and dance.

She didn't care who was watching.

She just danced.

And honestly, it was the cutest thing.

I stood there watching my daughter completely be herself, and I couldn't help but feel proud.

I love seeing how confident she is becoming. I love that she feels comfortable enough to express herself without worrying about what everybody else thinks.

She's still so little, but moments like that make me wonder who she's going to become.

Watching her dance in front of all those people wasn't just funny or cute to me. It was one of those little moments where I got to see her personality shining through.

And I hope she always keeps that part of herself.

I hope she always feels confident enough to dance when she hears music.

I hope she always feels comfortable being a little silly.

I hope she never becomes afraid to be herself because she's worried about what somebody else might think.

Because yesterday, she was just completely herself.

And I got to stand there and witness it.

Another really cool part of the day was getting to see her learn about the police and emergency services.

Willow got to sit inside a police car and even push the button for the siren. She was absolutely thrilled.

Those are the moments I love most about being a mom.

Not necessarily the big vacations or expensive things.

Just watching my kids experience something for the very first time.

Watching their faces light up.

Hearing them get excited over something that might seem so small to an adult.

Getting to be there for it.

After we left the park, we went to the library and each picked out a movie to bring home.

And honestly, that part reminded me of the old days.

Nowadays, it's so easy to just turn on Disney+ or Netflix and pick something to watch. Everything is right there on a screen, and you don't really have to go anywhere or do anything to find something.

But there was something different about actually going to the library and looking through the movies together.

We got to walk around, look at all the choices, and each pick something we wanted to watch. It felt simple, but it felt special.

It reminded me of the kind of little experiences I remember from growing up.

And I realized I want my kids to have those memories too.

I want them to remember going to the library and picking out a movie.

I want them to remember getting excited over something as simple as choosing what we're going to watch that night.

When we got home, we all changed into our comfy clothes, grabbed our blankets, made cookies, and settled in together to watch our movies.

And honestly, that might have been my favorite part.

There was something so comforting about ending the day that way. Everyone was home, everyone was comfortable, we had cookies baking, movies playing, and we were all together.

It wasn't anything fancy.

It was just us.

And I think that's what made the whole day feel so special.

From watching Willow dance in front of everyone, to seeing her get excited about sitting in a police car, to eating hot dogs and way too much cotton candy, to picking out movies at the library and ending the night wrapped up in blankets together...

The entire day just felt full of love.

And I loved it so much.

These are the days I want to hold onto.

The ordinary days that somehow become the memories you never forget.

And luckily, we're not done making memories just yet.

There's another community event happening this Saturday, and this one is supposed to have rides and fireworks. I'm already so excited because we'll have Andrew's kids with us this week, which means all four kids will get to go together.

I already know it's probably going to be chaotic. 😂

But I also know those are the moments we're going to talk about years from now.

The four kids running around.

The rides.

The fireworks.

The excitement.

Probably somebody crying because they're tired.

Somebody asking for food five minutes after we just ate.

And somehow, all of us going home exhausted but happy.

That's motherhood to me.

It's not always the big moments.

Sometimes it's a hot dog at the park.

A face painted with a little bit of glitter.

A child sitting in a police car with the biggest smile on her face.

A giant stick of cotton candy.

A movie picked out at the library.

Cookies in the oven.

Blankets on the couch.

And knowing that, for one afternoon, your kids were just really, really happy.

Those are the little days I want to remember. 🩵

— Kiley

One thing I never expected was how lonely I was going to feel after becoming a mother.

Right before I became pregnant, I had just started establishing a new friend group. I was hanging out with different people, getting really close to some of them, and honestly, I was really happy. We were making plans, talking about our goals, and figuring out what we wanted our lives to look like.

And then I got pregnant.

For the longest time, everyone was so excited. And I was excited too.

But as time went on, everyone started having their own lives.

And obviously, I completely understand that. They have their own lives, and I have mine. I just can't do all of the things I used to do anymore.

I can't just leave whenever I want.

I can't make plans without thinking about who has the kids.

I can't go everywhere because I have children with me.

I can't always go to the places my friends are going because they're not necessarily places where children can be.

And I wouldn't change any of that.

I love my life. I love my kids. I wouldn't trade being their mom for anything.

But that doesn't mean I never miss the freedom I used to have.

There are days when I see everyone else going out and doing things, and sometimes it hurts.

It really does.

Because even when I know I'm loved, sometimes it feels like I have no one.

And I know that's not actually true.

I've had friends help me through some of the hardest parts of my life. Some of the people I consider family now have been there for me in ways I'll never be able to fully repay.

I genuinely don't know where I would be without some of them.

They love my kids, too, and they prove it every time they're around them.

I will forever be grateful for that.

But sometimes I still feel lonely because the things that I experience every day aren't necessarily things they can relate to anymore.

They don't necessarily understand what it's like to feel left out because you had to stay home.

They don't understand what it's like to have to turn down plans because you have children.

And I don't expect them to.

It's just hard sometimes.

Especially after having a baby.

Postpartum was one of the loneliest periods of my life.

You're suddenly home with a newborn, and everything about your life has changed overnight.

I was scared to leave the house before my babies were vaccinated. I spent so much time at home, and while I loved being with my baby, there were moments where I felt completely isolated from the rest of the world.

And when you're a young mom, I think there's another layer to it that people don't always talk about.

I'm 22, and I have young children.

Not a lot of people my age have kids around the same ages as mine.

But I also don't always relate to moms who are older than me, because we're in different stages of life.

And then sometimes I don't relate to younger moms either.

So I've found myself in this weird middle ground where I'm trying to find people who understand both sides of my life.

I'm incredibly grateful that I have found some of those people.

The friends I can text and make plans with.

The friends whose kids are friends with mine.

The people who understand that sometimes plans have to revolve around nap schedules, bedtime, school, and who has the kids that day.

Those are the people I really cherish.

But even with those people in my life, motherhood can still feel lonely sometimes.

There are nights I've laid awake thinking about it.

There have been moments where I've cried over it.

And I think part of what makes it so difficult is that I feel like I shouldn't be lonely.

I have people who love me.

I have people who care about my kids.

I have friends who have shown up for me.

So why do I still feel this way sometimes?

I think I'm finally realizing that feeling lonely doesn't mean I'm ungrateful.

It doesn't mean my friends aren't good friends.

It doesn't mean I don't love my life.

It just means that motherhood changed my life in ways I wasn't prepared for.

And sometimes I miss the version of myself who could just get up and go.

I miss being able to see my friends whenever I wanted.

I miss feeling like I fit into the same stage of life as everyone around me.

But I'm also learning that this season won't last forever.

My kids will get older.

Things will get easier in some ways.

I'll have more freedom again.

And hopefully, I'll keep finding people along the way who understand this version of me.

Until then, I'm trying to remind myself that I'm not actually alone.

I'm just living a life that looks different now.

And maybe that's one of the hardest parts of growing up.

Sometimes you don't lose the people you love.

You just grow into different seasons of life.

And sometimes those seasons feel really lonely.

But I'm still here.

I'm still figuring it out.

I'm still making friends, making memories, raising my babies, and trying to find my place in this version of my life.

And if you're a mom reading this who has ever felt lonely even though you know you're loved, I hope you know something:

You're not the only one. 🩵

— Kiley

I put so much pressure on myself to be the best mom I can be.

I put pressure on myself to make every holiday special, every birthday memorable, and every little moment feel like something my kids will remember forever.

And honestly, sometimes that pressure gets to me.

I have this habit of planning things months in advance. I'll start buying things early, order the cake, pick out the decorations, think about the theme, and basically create an entire picture in my head of how the day is going to go before the day even gets here.

I don't just plan the event.

I plan the feeling.

I imagine what everything is going to look like. I imagine my kids being excited. And somewhere along the way, I think I started believing that if everything didn't go according to that picture in my head, then somehow I had failed.

One of the moments that really made me realize this happened on my oldest daughter's second birthday.

I had been planning her birthday for months.

The theme was Bluey, and I was so excited about it. I had ordered her cake. I had balloons. I had decorations. I had everything I thought we needed to make her birthday special.

There was just one thing I didn't do.

I didn't reserve a shelter house at the park.

The park we usually have birthdays at charges around $80 to reserve one, and honestly, at that point, I just didn't have the extra money.

I figured there would probably be a shelter house available anyway.

I was very wrong. 😂

When we got there, every shelter was taken.

All we had was a little picnic table underneath a tree.

But I remember thinking, Okay. That's fine. We can make this work.

And we probably could have.

Except then it started pouring rain.

Not a little rain.

A complete downpour.

And all of the decorations I had spent months planning and buying were getting ruined.

I remember watching everything fall apart and feeling like I was falling apart with it.

I started crying uncontrollably.

I felt like everything was going wrong.

The birthday I had pictured in my head wasn't happening anymore, and in that moment, it felt like I had failed my daughter.

Looking back, I know that sounds dramatic.

It was just a birthday.

But at the time, it didn't feel like just a birthday.

I had put so much pressure on myself to make the day special that when things didn't go according to plan, it felt like something much bigger had gone wrong.

I was overwhelmed.

I was upset.

And eventually, I decided we were just going to go home.

I figured all of the decorations were ruined anyway, so we'd take her back to our apartment, get some cupcakes, and celebrate there.

I remember feeling so defeated.

But then something happened that I didn't expect.

My friends who I had invited to the party showed up at my apartment.

Even though I had told everyone that I was too upset and that I just wanted to go home.

They still came.

They brought their gifts.

They showed up for my daughter.

And they celebrated her.

And suddenly, the birthday I thought I had ruined didn't feel ruined anymore.

My daughter had a good birthday.

She was happy.

She felt loved.

She felt celebrated.

She was surrounded by people who cared about her.

And none of the things I had been so worried about mattered to her.

She didn't care that the decorations got ruined.

She didn't care that we didn't have the shelter house.

She didn't care that the day didn't look exactly like the picture I had created in my head.

She just knew that people she loved were there celebrating her.

And honestly, that experience taught me something I really needed to learn.

Sometimes I get so caught up in trying to create the perfect moments for my kids that I forget what actually makes a moment special.

It's not the decorations.

It's not the perfect cake.

It's not whether the plans go exactly the way I imagined.

It's not whether everything looks like the Pinterest board I had saved months ago.

It's the love behind it.

It's the people who show up.

It's the laughter.

It's the hugs.

It's watching your child smile because they're surrounded by people who love them.

I still struggle with putting too much pressure on myself.

I still plan things months in advance.

I still have a picture in my head of how I want things to go.

And I'm sure I'll continue to stress when things don't go according to plan. 😂

But I'm trying to remind myself that my kids don't need a perfect childhood.

They need a childhood where they feel loved.

They need memories.

They need people who show up.

They need a mom who tries her best—but also understands that sometimes the balloons are going to pop, the cake might not look right, the weather might ruin the plans, and everything might go completely sideways.

And that's okay.

Because sometimes the moments we think are ruined end up becoming the moments we remember the most.

That birthday didn't go the way I planned.

It didn't look the way I imagined it would.

But my daughter was happy.

And she was loved.

And at the end of the day, that's what mattered.

Maybe I don't have to make every moment special.

Maybe I just have to be there for it. 🩵

— Kiley

PTSD is something that comes up in conversation a lot.

For me, there is one very specific thing that I know I will probably always struggle with: guns.

Before I say anything else, I want to make something very clear.

I am not saying that I don't believe people should own guns.

I actually respect a lot of people who keep guns in their homes, and I understand why having a gun can be important to someone, especially when it comes to protecting themselves and their family.

My experience is just different.

I don't think I will ever have a gun in my home. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to look at one without feeling that immediate panic that takes over my body.

Because when I see a gun, I'm not just seeing a gun.

I'm remembering something that happened to me when I was about 14 years old.

At that age, I was dating a boy who traumatized me in a lot of different ways. Looking back now, I think that relationship really taught me to become comfortable with things that should have never felt normal.

I got used to toxic environments.

I got used to being uncomfortable.

I got used to situations where I didn't feel safe.

And because I was so young, it took me a long time after that relationship ended to realize that those things weren't normal and that I didn't have to keep living that way.

There is one memory in particular that has stayed with me.

I remember being at his house when nobody else was home. I know now that I probably shouldn't have been there, but at the time, my mom was trying to get on my good side. She was telling me she was sober, and because of that, I had been given a little more freedom than I normally would have had.

And honestly, having that freedom felt nice.

I was young. I wanted to be trusted. I wanted to feel like I could make my own decisions.

But that freedom also put me in situations that I didn't know how to get myself out of.

I was too scared to ask anyone for help.

And then he pointed a shotgun at me.

He wanted me to do things that I didn't want to do.

Things I wasn't comfortable with.

And because I had a gun pointed at me, I did things I never would have chosen to do otherwise.

I don't think I'll ever forget how helpless I felt in that moment.

I was just a kid.

And when you're a kid, sometimes you don't know how to recognize that you're in a situation you shouldn't be in until you're already there.

You don't always know who to call.

You don't always know what to say.

Sometimes you're just trying to survive the moment you're in.

For me, that moment never completely went away.

Years have passed, but my body still remembers.

That's the part about trauma that I think people don't always understand.

You can know logically that you're safe now and still feel like you're back in that moment.

I can see a gun and my brain doesn't simply think, "That's a gun."

It can take me right back to being 14 years old.

Right back to feeling trapped.

Right back to feeling helpless.

Right back to not knowing what was going to happen next.

And suddenly I'm not 22 anymore.

I'm that scared kid again.

That's why I don't think I'll ever be comfortable having a gun in my home.

It's not because I think everyone else is wrong for owning one.

It's because I know myself.

I know what that experience did to me.

And I know that for me, having a gun around wouldn't make me feel safer. It would make me feel like I was constantly waiting for something terrible to happen.

I think sometimes people hear the word PTSD and assume it only applies to certain kinds of trauma.

But trauma doesn't always look the way people expect it to.

Sometimes it's a sound.

Sometimes it's a smell.

Sometimes it's a place.

Sometimes it's a person.

And sometimes it's an object that everyone else can look at without thinking twice, but that makes you feel like you're right back in the worst moment of your life.

For me, that's a gun.

I wish I could say that someday I'll completely get over it.

Maybe I will.

Maybe I won't.

But I'm learning that healing doesn't always mean becoming completely unaffected by what happened to you.

Sometimes healing means understanding why you react the way you do.

Sometimes it means giving yourself permission to have boundaries.

And sometimes it means accepting that something can be completely normal to someone else and still be something you cannot have in your own life.

I don't expect everyone to understand my fear.

I don't expect everyone to agree with me.

And I don't need them to.

I just know what happened to me.

I know how it made me feel.

And I know that little girl deserved to feel safe.

I can't go back and protect her now.

But I can protect the woman she grew up to become.

And maybe that's part of healing too. 🩵

— Kiley

Before I got pregnant, I had no real desire to become a mother anytime soon.

I was in high school, and while I always knew I wanted kids someday, motherhood was something I imagined happening well into my 20s. I had other plans for myself. I wanted to go away to college. I wanted to become a nurse. I wanted to grow up, experience life, and reach all of those big milestones before becoming someone’s mom.

I didn’t realize I would be growing up alongside a baby.

I didn’t realize I would be celebrating my own milestones while watching my daughter reach hers at the same time.

And honestly, sometimes I wonder if becoming a mother so young was exactly what I needed.

Sometimes I think I was trying to move too fast. I wanted to leave. I wanted to grow up. I wanted to get away from everything I knew.

Other times, I really believe God knew the path I was heading down wasn’t the best one for me.

I truly believe my daughter saved me.

Having her meant I had to grow up very quickly. I had to learn how to be responsible, how to make decisions for myself, and how to do things I had never done before.

Before I got pregnant, I was so dependent on other people. I didn’t know how to do much on my own. I wasn’t even comfortable making my own doctor’s appointments.

Then I found out I was pregnant.

And I was terrified.

I was so scared to tell my family that, for a while, I was figuring things out mostly on my own, with the help of one of my closest friends and her mom. They supported me through a time when I was honestly just a scared kid trying to figure out what I was supposed to do next. I’m still close with them to this day, and I will always be grateful for the way they showed up for me.

I was a scared child.

I was scared of the world. Scared of making the wrong decisions. Scared of doing things on my own.

But then I had my daughter.

And somewhere along the way, something changed in me.

I started realizing that if I had to, I could figure things out. I could make the phone call. I could make the appointment. I could handle the hard things. I could advocate for my child. I could keep going even when I was scared.

I developed a confidence in myself that I didn’t have before.

And honestly, I love that part of me.

I’m definitely not the same person I was before I became a mother. Anyone who knew me back then probably wouldn’t recognize me now.

But for a while, I didn’t recognize myself either.

After I had my daughter, there was a period where I felt like I was just a shell of a person living on autopilot. I knew how to be Mom. I knew how to take care of my baby. But I didn’t really know who I was outside of that.

So I had to find myself again.

I had to figure out what I liked. What I didn’t like. What made me happy. What made me feel like me.

And one of the hardest parts was realizing that I could love being a mom with my whole heart while still being a person outside of motherhood.

Motherhood is a huge part of my identity. I love being a mom, and I wouldn’t change that for anything.

But I’m also still a 22-year-old girl.

I still like sitting down and doing my makeup.

I still like going shopping every once in a while.

And honestly, one of my favorite things to do is walk around Walmart when I don’t have my kids. 😂

I don’t go out much. I don’t party anymore—not that I ever really did. I can probably count the number of parties I’ve been to on one hand.

But I think I’ve grown into a much better version of myself than the person I was before.

I’m still learning.

I’m still growing.

I’m still figuring out who I am.

And maybe that’s the part of finding yourself that I didn’t understand before.

You don’t necessarily find yourself one day and suddenly have everything figured out.

Sometimes you find yourself little by little.

In the confidence you didn’t have before.

In the things you learn to do on your own.

In realizing what you deserve.

In laughing at yourself while walking around Walmart alone.

In putting on makeup just because you want to.

In remembering that you’re more than one role, even when that role means everything to you.

I’m still a mom.

I’ll always be a mom.

But I’m also Kiley.

And every day, I’m learning a little more about who she is.

Maybe I haven’t completely found myself yet.

But I think I’m getting pretty close. 🩵

Alright, mommas. Thank you so much for coming to my blog. 🩵

Today I want to talk about something a little more personal. I want to talk about what it was like growing up without a mother, and how I think that has made motherhood a little more challenging for me in ways I didn’t expect.

I never really had a mother growing up.

My mom struggled with addiction and went to prison when I was very young. After that, she spent a long time coming in and out of my life.

Thankfully, I had my grandma.

She was the one who raised me. She gave me the love, stability, and care I needed growing up, and so much of what I know about being a mother comes from watching how she loved me.

But growing up without my own mother still left me with something I didn’t realize I was missing until I became a mom myself.

I never really had an example of what motherhood looked like.

I learned how not to be a mother before I ever knew how to be one.

And then I had my own children.

One thing I never expected was how affectionate my kids would be. They are cuddly. They want hugs. They want to sit close. They want to be held.

And I absolutely love it.

But sometimes, I think about how unfamiliar that kind of love felt to me when I was little.

Motherhood has made me incredibly aware of my children’s feelings. I never want them to feel the way I felt growing up. I never want them to question whether they are loved, wanted, important, or safe.

I see so much of myself in my kids.

I want them to know how loved and special they are.

I think that is also part of why I put so much pressure on myself to make everything feel perfect, especially birthdays, Christmas, holidays, and all those little moments that make childhood feel magical.

Sometimes I worry too much about getting everything right.

But I think I know why.

I want my kids to have a childhood that actually feels like a childhood.

I want them to laugh loudly, make messes, be silly, have big feelings, ask a million questions, and figure out who they are without feeling like they have to grow up too soon.

I don't want them to feel like they have to act a certain way to deserve love.

I want them to know they are loved on their best days and their worst days.

I want them to have the kind of childhood where, when they look back someday, they remember feeling safe.

Remember feeling loved.

Remember being a kid.

I didn't get to have that kind of childhood with my mother.

But I get to give it to my children.

And maybe that's one of the most unexpected parts of motherhood for me.

I thought becoming a mom would force me to confront everything I didn't have growing up.

Instead, it has also given me the chance to create something different.

Something softer.

Something I hope my kids carry with them for the rest of their lives.

And maybe I didn't have a mother to teach me how to be one.

But every day, I'm learning.

And every day, I choose to be the kind of mom my younger self needed. 🩵

There are seasons of life that you don't understand while you're living through them.

Looking back, I can see that some of my messiest seasons taught me the most about who I was, what I needed, and what kind of person I wanted to become.

I've had seasons where I was angry, overwhelmed, lost, and honestly just trying to get through the day. I've made mistakes. I've handled things badly. I've said things I wish I could take back.

For a long time, I thought those parts of my life were something I needed to hide.

But I've started realizing that pretending those seasons never happened doesn't help me grow from them.

I can acknowledge that I wasn't always the person I wanted to be without believing that I'm still that person.

I've learned that growth isn't about having a perfect past. It's about being willing to look at yourself honestly and decide what you're going to do differently moving forward.

Some of the hardest lessons I've learned came from moments I wish I could redo.

I've learned to take responsibility for my actions. I've learned to apologize. I've learned that being hurt doesn't give me permission to hurt other people. I've learned that boundaries matter, that communication matters, and that sometimes stepping back is the healthiest thing you can do.

Most importantly, I've learned that I don't have to stay stuck in the version of myself I was during my hardest seasons.

I'm still learning. I'm still growing. And I'm still figuring out what it means to become the woman and mother I want to be.

Maybe that's what I want this blog to be about, too.

Not pretending that I have everything figured out, but being honest about the things I've been through and the things I'm still learning.

Because maybe someone else is in a messy season right now and needs to know that it doesn't have to be the end of their story.

Sometimes a messy season is just that—a season.

And eventually, you get to look back and realize you made it through. 🩵

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One thing I never expected was how lonely I was going to feel after becoming a mother.

Right before I became pregnant, I had just started establishing a new friend group. I was hanging out with different people, getting really close to some of them, and honestly, I was really happy. We were making plans, talking about our goals, and figuring out what we wanted our lives to look like.

And then I got pregnant.

For the longest time, everyone was so excited. And I was excited too.

But as time went on, everyone started having their own lives.

And obviously, I completely understand that. They have their own lives, and I have mine. I just can't do all of the things I used to do anymore.

I can't just leave whenever I want.

I can't make plans without thinking about who has the kids.

I can't go everywhere because I have children with me.

I can't always go to the places my friends are going because they're not necessarily places where children can be.

And I wouldn't change any of that.

I love my life. I love my kids. I wouldn't trade being their mom for anything.

But that doesn't mean I never miss the freedom I used to have.

There are days when I see everyone else going out and doing things, and sometimes it hurts.

It really does.

Because even when I know I'm loved, sometimes it feels like I have no one.

And I know that's not actually true.

I've had friends help me through some of the hardest parts of my life. Some of the people I consider family now have been there for me in ways I'll never be able to fully repay.

I genuinely don't know where I would be without some of them.

They love my kids, too, and they prove it every time they're around them.

I will forever be grateful for that.

But sometimes I still feel lonely because the things that I experience every day aren't necessarily things they can relate to anymore.

They don't necessarily understand what it's like to feel left out because you had to stay home.

They don't understand what it's like to have to turn down plans because you have children.

And I don't expect them to.

It's just hard sometimes.

Especially after having a baby.

Postpartum was one of the loneliest periods of my life.

You're suddenly home with a newborn, and everything about your life has changed overnight.

I was scared to leave the house before my babies were vaccinated. I spent so much time at home, and while I loved being with my baby, there were moments where I felt completely isolated from the rest of the world.

And when you're a young mom, I think there's another layer to it that people don't always talk about.

I'm 22, and I have young children.

Not a lot of people my age have kids around the same ages as mine.

But I also don't always relate to moms who are older than me, because we're in different stages of life.

And then sometimes I don't relate to younger moms either.

So I've found myself in this weird middle ground where I'm trying to find people who understand both sides of my life.

I'm incredibly grateful that I have found some of those people.

The friends I can text and make plans with.

The friends whose kids are friends with mine.

The people who understand that sometimes plans have to revolve around nap schedules, bedtime, school, and who has the kids that day.

Those are the people I really cherish.

But even with those people in my life, motherhood can still feel lonely sometimes.

There are nights I've laid awake thinking about it.

There have been moments where I've cried over it.

And I think part of what makes it so difficult is that I feel like I shouldn't be lonely.

I have people who love me.

I have people who care about my kids.

I have friends who have shown up for me.

So why do I still feel this way sometimes?

I think I'm finally realizing that feeling lonely doesn't mean I'm ungrateful.

It doesn't mean my friends aren't good friends.

It doesn't mean I don't love my life.

It just means that motherhood changed my life in ways I wasn't prepared for.

And sometimes I miss the version of myself who could just get up and go.

I miss being able to see my friends whenever I wanted.

I miss feeling like I fit into the same stage of life as everyone around me.

But I'm also learning that this season won't last forever.

My kids will get older.

Things will get easier in some ways.

I'll have more freedom again.

And hopefully, I'll keep finding people along the way who understand this version of me.

Until then, I'm trying to remind myself that I'm not actually alone.

I'm just living a life that looks different now.

And maybe that's one of the hardest parts of growing up.

Sometimes you don't lose the people you love.

You just grow into different seasons of life.

And sometimes those seasons feel really lonely.

But I'm still here.

I'm still figuring it out.

I'm still making friends, making memories, raising my babies, and trying to find my place in this version of my life.

And if you're a mom reading this who has ever felt lonely even though you know you're loved, I hope you know something:

You're not the only one. 🩵

— Kiley

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I put so much pressure on myself to be the best mom I can be.

I put pressure on myself to make every holiday special, every birthday memorable, and every little moment feel like something my kids will remember forever.

And honestly, sometimes that pressure gets to me.

I have this habit of planning things months in advance. I'll start buying things early, order the cake, pick out the decorations, think about the theme, and basically create an entire picture in my head of how the day is going to go before the day even gets here.

I don't just plan the event.

I plan the feeling.

I imagine what everything is going to look like. I imagine my kids being excited. And somewhere along the way, I think I started believing that if everything didn't go according to that picture in my head, then somehow I had failed.

One of the moments that really made me realize this happened on my oldest daughter's second birthday.

I had been planning her birthday for months.

The theme was Bluey, and I was so excited about it. I had ordered her cake. I had balloons. I had decorations. I had everything I thought we needed to make her birthday special.

There was just one thing I didn't do.

I didn't reserve a shelter house at the park.

The park we usually have birthdays at charges around $80 to reserve one, and honestly, at that point, I just didn't have the extra money.

I figured there would probably be a shelter house available anyway.

I was very wrong. 😂

When we got there, every shelter was taken.

All we had was a little picnic table underneath a tree.

But I remember thinking, Okay. That's fine. We can make this work.

And we probably could have.

Except then it started pouring rain.

Not a little rain.

A complete downpour.

And all of the decorations I had spent months planning and buying were getting ruined.

I remember watching everything fall apart and feeling like I was falling apart with it.

I started crying uncontrollably.

I felt like everything was going wrong.

The birthday I had pictured in my head wasn't happening anymore, and in that moment, it felt like I had failed my daughter.

Looking back, I know that sounds dramatic.

It was just a birthday.

But at the time, it didn't feel like just a birthday.

I had put so much pressure on myself to make the day special that when things didn't go according to plan, it felt like something much bigger had gone wrong.

I was overwhelmed.

I was upset.

And eventually, I decided we were just going to go home.

I figured all of the decorations were ruined anyway, so we'd take her back to our apartment, get some cupcakes, and celebrate there.

I remember feeling so defeated.

But then something happened that I didn't expect.

My friends who I had invited to the party showed up at my apartment.

Even though I had told everyone that I was too upset and that I just wanted to go home.

They still came.

They brought their gifts.

They showed up for my daughter.

And they celebrated her.

And suddenly, the birthday I thought I had ruined didn't feel ruined anymore.

My daughter had a good birthday.

She was happy.

She felt loved.

She felt celebrated.

She was surrounded by people who cared about her.

And none of the things I had been so worried about mattered to her.

She didn't care that the decorations got ruined.

She didn't care that we didn't have the shelter house.

She didn't care that the day didn't look exactly like the picture I had created in my head.

She just knew that people she loved were there celebrating her.

And honestly, that experience taught me something I really needed to learn.

Sometimes I get so caught up in trying to create the perfect moments for my kids that I forget what actually makes a moment special.

It's not the decorations.

It's not the perfect cake.

It's not whether the plans go exactly the way I imagined.

It's not whether everything looks like the Pinterest board I had saved months ago.

It's the love behind it.

It's the people who show up.

It's the laughter.

It's the hugs.

It's watching your child smile because they're surrounded by people who love them.

I still struggle with putting too much pressure on myself.

I still plan things months in advance.

I still have a picture in my head of how I want things to go.

And I'm sure I'll continue to stress when things don't go according to plan. 😂

But I'm trying to remind myself that my kids don't need a perfect childhood.

They need a childhood where they feel loved.

They need memories.

They need people who show up.

They need a mom who tries her best—but also understands that sometimes the balloons are going to pop, the cake might not look right, the weather might ruin the plans, and everything might go completely sideways.

And that's okay.

Because sometimes the moments we think are ruined end up becoming the moments we remember the most.

That birthday didn't go the way I planned.

It didn't look the way I imagined it would.

But my daughter was happy.

And she was loved.

And at the end of the day, that's what mattered.

Maybe I don't have to make every moment special.

Maybe I just have to be there for it. 🩵

— Kiley

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PTSD is something that comes up in conversation a lot.

For me, there is one very specific thing that I know I will probably always struggle with: guns.

Before I say anything else, I want to make something very clear.

I am not saying that I don't believe people should own guns.

I actually respect a lot of people who keep guns in their homes, and I understand why having a gun can be important to someone, especially when it comes to protecting themselves and their family.

My experience is just different.

I don't think I will ever have a gun in my home. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to look at one without feeling that immediate panic that takes over my body.

Because when I see a gun, I'm not just seeing a gun.

I'm remembering something that happened to me when I was about 14 years old.

At that age, I was dating a boy who traumatized me in a lot of different ways. Looking back now, I think that relationship really taught me to become comfortable with things that should have never felt normal.

I got used to toxic environments.

I got used to being uncomfortable.

I got used to situations where I didn't feel safe.

And because I was so young, it took me a long time after that relationship ended to realize that those things weren't normal and that I didn't have to keep living that way.

There is one memory in particular that has stayed with me.

I remember being at his house when nobody else was home. I know now that I probably shouldn't have been there, but at the time, my mom was trying to get on my good side. She was telling me she was sober, and because of that, I had been given a little more freedom than I normally would have had.

And honestly, having that freedom felt nice.

I was young. I wanted to be trusted. I wanted to feel like I could make my own decisions.

But that freedom also put me in situations that I didn't know how to get myself out of.

I was too scared to ask anyone for help.

And then he pointed a shotgun at me.

He wanted me to do things that I didn't want to do.

Things I wasn't comfortable with.

And because I had a gun pointed at me, I did things I never would have chosen to do otherwise.

I don't think I'll ever forget how helpless I felt in that moment.

I was just a kid.

And when you're a kid, sometimes you don't know how to recognize that you're in a situation you shouldn't be in until you're already there.

You don't always know who to call.

You don't always know what to say.

Sometimes you're just trying to survive the moment you're in.

For me, that moment never completely went away.

Years have passed, but my body still remembers.

That's the part about trauma that I think people don't always understand.

You can know logically that you're safe now and still feel like you're back in that moment.

I can see a gun and my brain doesn't simply think, "That's a gun."

It can take me right back to being 14 years old.

Right back to feeling trapped.

Right back to feeling helpless.

Right back to not knowing what was going to happen next.

And suddenly I'm not 22 anymore.

I'm that scared kid again.

That's why I don't think I'll ever be comfortable having a gun in my home.

It's not because I think everyone else is wrong for owning one.

It's because I know myself.

I know what that experience did to me.

And I know that for me, having a gun around wouldn't make me feel safer. It would make me feel like I was constantly waiting for something terrible to happen.

I think sometimes people hear the word PTSD and assume it only applies to certain kinds of trauma.

But trauma doesn't always look the way people expect it to.

Sometimes it's a sound.

Sometimes it's a smell.

Sometimes it's a place.

Sometimes it's a person.

And sometimes it's an object that everyone else can look at without thinking twice, but that makes you feel like you're right back in the worst moment of your life.

For me, that's a gun.

I wish I could say that someday I'll completely get over it.

Maybe I will.

Maybe I won't.

But I'm learning that healing doesn't always mean becoming completely unaffected by what happened to you.

Sometimes healing means understanding why you react the way you do.

Sometimes it means giving yourself permission to have boundaries.

And sometimes it means accepting that something can be completely normal to someone else and still be something you cannot have in your own life.

I don't expect everyone to understand my fear.

I don't expect everyone to agree with me.

And I don't need them to.

I just know what happened to me.

I know how it made me feel.

And I know that little girl deserved to feel safe.

I can't go back and protect her now.

But I can protect the woman she grew up to become.

And maybe that's part of healing too. 🩵

— Kiley

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Before I got pregnant, I had no real desire to become a mother anytime soon.

I was in high school, and while I always knew I wanted kids someday, motherhood was something I imagined happening well into my 20s. I had other plans for myself. I wanted to go away to college. I wanted to become a nurse. I wanted to grow up, experience life, and reach all of those big milestones before becoming someone’s mom.

I didn’t realize I would be growing up alongside a baby.

I didn’t realize I would be celebrating my own milestones while watching my daughter reach hers at the same time.

And honestly, sometimes I wonder if becoming a mother so young was exactly what I needed.

Sometimes I think I was trying to move too fast. I wanted to leave. I wanted to grow up. I wanted to get away from everything I knew.

Other times, I really believe God knew the path I was heading down wasn’t the best one for me.

I truly believe my daughter saved me.

Having her meant I had to grow up very quickly. I had to learn how to be responsible, how to make decisions for myself, and how to do things I had never done before.

Before I got pregnant, I was so dependent on other people. I didn’t know how to do much on my own. I wasn’t even comfortable making my own doctor’s appointments.

Then I found out I was pregnant.

And I was terrified.

I was so scared to tell my family that, for a while, I was figuring things out mostly on my own, with the help of one of my closest friends and her mom. They supported me through a time when I was honestly just a scared kid trying to figure out what I was supposed to do next. I’m still close with them to this day, and I will always be grateful for the way they showed up for me.

I was a scared child.

I was scared of the world. Scared of making the wrong decisions. Scared of doing things on my own.

But then I had my daughter.

And somewhere along the way, something changed in me.

I started realizing that if I had to, I could figure things out. I could make the phone call. I could make the appointment. I could handle the hard things. I could advocate for my child. I could keep going even when I was scared.

I developed a confidence in myself that I didn’t have before.

And honestly, I love that part of me.

I’m definitely not the same person I was before I became a mother. Anyone who knew me back then probably wouldn’t recognize me now.

But for a while, I didn’t recognize myself either.

After I had my daughter, there was a period where I felt like I was just a shell of a person living on autopilot. I knew how to be Mom. I knew how to take care of my baby. But I didn’t really know who I was outside of that.

So I had to find myself again.

I had to figure out what I liked. What I didn’t like. What made me happy. What made me feel like me.

And one of the hardest parts was realizing that I could love being a mom with my whole heart while still being a person outside of motherhood.

Motherhood is a huge part of my identity. I love being a mom, and I wouldn’t change that for anything.

But I’m also still a 22-year-old girl.

I still like sitting down and doing my makeup.

I still like going shopping every once in a while.

And honestly, one of my favorite things to do is walk around Walmart when I don’t have my kids. 😂

I don’t go out much. I don’t party anymore—not that I ever really did. I can probably count the number of parties I’ve been to on one hand.

But I think I’ve grown into a much better version of myself than the person I was before.

I’m still learning.

I’m still growing.

I’m still figuring out who I am.

And maybe that’s the part of finding yourself that I didn’t understand before.

You don’t necessarily find yourself one day and suddenly have everything figured out.

Sometimes you find yourself little by little.

In the confidence you didn’t have before.

In the things you learn to do on your own.

In realizing what you deserve.

In laughing at yourself while walking around Walmart alone.

In putting on makeup just because you want to.

In remembering that you’re more than one role, even when that role means everything to you.

I’m still a mom.

I’ll always be a mom.

But I’m also Kiley.

And every day, I’m learning a little more about who she is.

Maybe I haven’t completely found myself yet.

But I think I’m getting pretty close. 🩵

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Alright, mommas. Thank you so much for coming to my blog. 🩵

Today I want to talk about something a little more personal. I want to talk about what it was like growing up without a mother, and how I think that has made motherhood a little more challenging for me in ways I didn’t expect.

I never really had a mother growing up.

My mom struggled with addiction and went to prison when I was very young. After that, she spent a long time coming in and out of my life.

Thankfully, I had my grandma.

She was the one who raised me. She gave me the love, stability, and care I needed growing up, and so much of what I know about being a mother comes from watching how she loved me.

But growing up without my own mother still left me with something I didn’t realize I was missing until I became a mom myself.

I never really had an example of what motherhood looked like.

I learned how not to be a mother before I ever knew how to be one.

And then I had my own children.

One thing I never expected was how affectionate my kids would be. They are cuddly. They want hugs. They want to sit close. They want to be held.

And I absolutely love it.

But sometimes, I think about how unfamiliar that kind of love felt to me when I was little.

Motherhood has made me incredibly aware of my children’s feelings. I never want them to feel the way I felt growing up. I never want them to question whether they are loved, wanted, important, or safe.

I see so much of myself in my kids.

I want them to know how loved and special they are.

I think that is also part of why I put so much pressure on myself to make everything feel perfect, especially birthdays, Christmas, holidays, and all those little moments that make childhood feel magical.

Sometimes I worry too much about getting everything right.

But I think I know why.

I want my kids to have a childhood that actually feels like a childhood.

I want them to laugh loudly, make messes, be silly, have big feelings, ask a million questions, and figure out who they are without feeling like they have to grow up too soon.

I don't want them to feel like they have to act a certain way to deserve love.

I want them to know they are loved on their best days and their worst days.

I want them to have the kind of childhood where, when they look back someday, they remember feeling safe.

Remember feeling loved.

Remember being a kid.

I didn't get to have that kind of childhood with my mother.

But I get to give it to my children.

And maybe that's one of the most unexpected parts of motherhood for me.

I thought becoming a mom would force me to confront everything I didn't have growing up.

Instead, it has also given me the chance to create something different.

Something softer.

Something I hope my kids carry with them for the rest of their lives.

And maybe I didn't have a mother to teach me how to be one.

But every day, I'm learning.

And every day, I choose to be the kind of mom my younger self needed. 🩵

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There are seasons of life that you don't understand while you're living through them.

Looking back, I can see that some of my messiest seasons taught me the most about who I was, what I needed, and what kind of person I wanted to become.

I've had seasons where I was angry, overwhelmed, lost, and honestly just trying to get through the day. I've made mistakes. I've handled things badly. I've said things I wish I could take back.

For a long time, I thought those parts of my life were something I needed to hide.

But I've started realizing that pretending those seasons never happened doesn't help me grow from them.

I can acknowledge that I wasn't always the person I wanted to be without believing that I'm still that person.

I've learned that growth isn't about having a perfect past. It's about being willing to look at yourself honestly and decide what you're going to do differently moving forward.

Some of the hardest lessons I've learned came from moments I wish I could redo.

I've learned to take responsibility for my actions. I've learned to apologize. I've learned that being hurt doesn't give me permission to hurt other people. I've learned that boundaries matter, that communication matters, and that sometimes stepping back is the healthiest thing you can do.

Most importantly, I've learned that I don't have to stay stuck in the version of myself I was during my hardest seasons.

I'm still learning. I'm still growing. And I'm still figuring out what it means to become the woman and mother I want to be.

Maybe that's what I want this blog to be about, too.

Not pretending that I have everything figured out, but being honest about the things I've been through and the things I'm still learning.

Because maybe someone else is in a messy season right now and needs to know that it doesn't have to be the end of their story.

Sometimes a messy season is just that—a season.

And eventually, you get to look back and realize you made it through. 🩵

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