To be perfectly honest, being a mother transformed me. It exposed my agony of growing up without a father + it opened my soul to the woman my mother desired to be. In fact, it reminds me that everything isn’t as easy as it looks + sometimes raising your child looks eerily similar to your own upbringing. I imagine when the Universe bestowed children to individuals, it was a form of endearment. Somehow, I’m still learning how to parent myself hoping that my children make it to adulthood minimally unscathed. Daily I gather my mistakes + rinse them with goodness hoping to see a better reflection of myself.  Every day I speak life into my children for all the conversations that escaped me as a child. Regularly, I shower them with love for all the adoration that went towards cultivating a warm house + full fridge. Frequently, I show up with arms wide for all the closed doors + silent evenings that were normalized as security. I’ve learned that the joy of motherhood exists in giving my children what I didn’t have.