Her heart still fluttered every time they called her Mom. It caught her off guard, soft and surprising, like a minor miracle that never lost its shine. Motherhood hadn’t been something she planned the traditional way. She was twenty-seven, single, and focused on her own life when the call for foster care came. One moment she was living alone, the next she was the overnight mom of three little souls who had already carried more pain than most adults ever would. That was almost five years ago. She is still single, still learning, and the proud foster and adoptive mother of six beautifully chaotic, funny, and healing children.
Parenting changed her in ways she never saw coming. Friday nights out turned into blanket forts and movie marathons. Quiet mornings with coffee turned into nap-time negotiations and breakfast spills. She often thought of parenting as a mirror that reflected every flaw she had ever tried to hide. Sometimes, the reflection startled her, the sharp tone in her voice, the sigh of frustration, the moments when exhaustion made her forget how small they still were.
Some weeks felt like standing in the middle of a storm. The air filled with the noise of trauma meltdowns, endless therapy appointments, missed naps, and court visits. Sometimes it felt like everyone in the house spoke a different language, each child shouting their own version of hurt. Yet through all the noise and chaos, she discovered something important, there isn’t just one way to be a parent. Love doesn’t fit neatly into rules or checklists. Every family writes its own messy, beautiful version of love. She still laughs when she remembers one story from her early days as a mom, though she wanted to disappear at the time. It had been only three months since the first three children moved in, and she was barely keeping things together. Two kids had just started an after-school reading program at a local church, and she was so proud of that little milestone. But one day, she completely lost track of time. When she realized how late she was, panic took over.
Fifteen minutes behind schedule, she grabbed her phone to call the program director. As she drove, she hit a red light without noticing and shouted an instinctive “Oh sh*t!” It wasn’t until she heard the voicemail beep that she left it on the director’s. For a moment, she just stared at the phone, mortified. Maybe the woman wouldn’t know it was her, she thought. Maybe she didn’t have her number saved. Perhaps she’d believe it was an accidental call.
But fate wasn’t that kind. When she arrived, trying her best to look calm, the director greeted her with a polite smile and said, “I got your message.” There was no lecture, no judgment, just five quiet words that stung more than any scolding could. She smiled back, collected her children, and left with her pride slightly bruised but her humor intact. That night, while folding laundry and packing lunches, the whole day replayed in her mind—the red light, the voicemail, the impatience, the tiny mistakes that seemed to pile up. The guilt sat heavy on her chest, that constant feeling so many parents know well, the worry that they are getting it all wrong. But then, a small thought surfaced as she stood in her kitchen surrounded by half-folded clothes and the sound of laughter from another room. It was a simple reminder, a line from a movie her kids loved: let it go.
She smiled, breathing in that truth. She wanted her children to grow up kind, not only toward others but toward themselves. She wanted them to see her fail and get back up again. She wanted them to know that mistakes don’t define a person; they prove that we are human. She realized parenting is sticky and loud, humbling and beautiful all at once. She sometimes lost her patience, said the wrong things, and tripped over toys and pride, but she always tried again. Every morning brought another chance to say sorry, to laugh harder, and to choose grace instead of guilt.
And maybe, she thought, that’s what motherhood truly is. I am not perfect, I do not always know what to do, but I show up anyway, even after running a red light and swearing into a voicemail. Love doesn’t vanish when things get messy; it grows stronger in the middle of the chaos. Tomorrow will always come, washed clean and full of second chances, and that, she believed, is the quiet miracle of being called Mom.
