Parenting with Bad Glue
When Motherhood Becomes Your “Why”
Before I became a mother, my goals were shaped by external measures—fitness milestones, productivity, pushing through pain to “keep up.” I equated strength with hustle, and healing with being able to do more.
But everything changed when I had kids.
Suddenly, my body wasn’t just mine—it was the vessel through which I would love, comfort, and raise a tiny human. My “why” shifted overnight. I didn’t want to deadlift a certain number or crush a hike anymore. I wanted to be present. To kneel beside the tub for bath time. To hold little hands on a walk. To read stories on the couch without straining every joint.
And to do that, I had to stop fighting my body—and start working in partnership with it.
A Mother’s Day Moment of Grief and Grace
One Mother’s Day, I found a surprising grief, not from physical pain, but from the quiet ache for the version of motherhood I had imagined. The one where I’d be active, energetic, always on the floor or on the go. The kind I had grown up picturing and hoped to embody.
But chronic illness reshaped that vision. It changed what I could do—and what my days looked like. And on that day, I let myself feel it. I let myself mourn the loss of what I thought motherhood would be. And in that space, something softened.
Because alongside the grief, I also held space for the truth: this version of motherhood, while different, is no less honest, no less worthy, and no less full of love.
My kids don’t need the mom I once imagined to be. They need me to be present, safe, attuned, and honest.
That’s when I began redefining what it means to show up.
With gentleness. With grace. With a deep understanding that love doesn’t require perfection—it requires presence.
Redefining Strength, Together
Now, strength looks like:
Resting when my body whispers, not when it screams.
Modeling self-kindness, so my kids learn to give it to themselves, too.
Letting go of perfect, and choosing connection instead.
Teaching them—and myself—that calm is a kind of power.
We take things one day at a time in our house.
We practice flexibility—not just in joints, but in expectations.
We learn what it means to listen deeply—to our bodies, and to each other.
This is What It Means to Bend Better
I’m not the mom who does obstacle courses at the park or goes nonstop. But I am the mom who shows up, even when it looks different from what I imagined. I am the mom who teaches patience, resilience, and the radical skill of listening to your body.
And that? That’s a kind of legacy I’m deeply proud of.
Want More Support Like This?
If this resonates—if you're holding grief, redefining motherhood, or learning how to show up in a body that doesn’t follow the rules—you're not alone.
This is exactly the kind of work we do inside the Bending Better Masterclass.
You'll find:
Honest conversations about parenting with pain
Nervous system tools for daily life
Support for letting go of shame and rebuilding self-trust
It’s not about fixing yourself. It’s about finding a way forward that’s true to who you are—and who you want to be.
