A stranger at the store or the doctor’s office squealing, “Oh twins! I’ve always wanted twins” as I fail to muster up similar enthusiasm. The feeling of exhausted dismay, as I remembered the admonition to “sleep when the baby sleeps”, but what do you do when there are two of them and one of them is always awake?

My kids have shown me how the right outlook and a little encouragement can achieve all manner of things someone more closed off might deem impossible.

Now that I am a mother, I sometimes think back to that time in my life when things were carefree and easy — when my spunky side was front and center.

2 of my 3 children are extroverts. They love being social, they love being around other people, and my son could talk the ears off a field of corn. Don’t get me wrong, I love them with every fiber of my being. I just don’t want to be around them sometimes.

Anytime a friend or family member told me, “Oh, she’ll talk when she’s ready,” I simultaneously felt relief and concern. Sure, there were plenty of children who were late bloomers and once they started talking, they never stopped. But my daughter, Charlotte, wasn’t talking at all.

At some point I imagine every new mother must have a sense of feeling trapped; leaving the house with a newborn is akin to training for an Olympic sport, however, not having a choice to leave, or the only choice being to potentially expose your vulnerable baby to a serious virus leaves little room for the freedom of choice.

Sweet moments shared between my kids, encouragement given to me even at times from complete strangers, all seemed so minor at the time. I’m beginning to realize they aren’t small.

I’ve always been the kind of mother who has encouraged my daughter to “stop and smell the roses.” Together we take in, admire, and enjoy the beauty we see in the world around us. This comes naturally to me. What doesn’t is encouraging my daughter to take in, admire, and enjoy the beauty of her own appearance.

I admittedly have spent most of our time at home telling my children “it isn’t a big deal,” “we’ll do that another time,” or “this is not worth being upset about.” Except for one thing: it is all worth being upset about to them. My kids are grieving.

I don’t let my negative thoughts about my body leave the confines of my mind. I have two girls and a son, and I don’t want toxic words seeping into their fragile minds.

I don’t know why I imagined that tantrums would end by the time my children turned five, but for both girls, five has been an inflexible and explosive age.

I felt a renewed sense of hope that I could embrace autism, I could learn to manage his world better, so we could be the family we always wanted to be.

Sitting down at the table, warm mug in hand, I touch the keyboard. The screen of my computer comes to life, a blank page ready and waiting to be filled. It’s only taken five years of motherhood, but I feel like myself here.

I am more than a wife. More than a mother. There are pieces of me that have been sitting dormant in my mind for years, itching to work their way out and become part of me. Now that they are emerging, the hard work of figuring out who I am and how to make the pieces of me fit together is just beginning.

Despite spending the past three years in regular therapy and trying my hardest to give my daughter every ounce of support she needs, she has continued on a path that is both upsetting and frightening.

My children didn’t ask for this. They didn’t ask for life or for a mother who is unhappy. I don’t want my depression to be the part of the story they remember or long to change.

I didn’t know how to communicate it, and I guess nobody in my world knew the right questions to ask. I guess I thought the constant hum of worry over everything and nothing in the back of my mind was just...motherhood.

Being a mom comes with so many mixed emotions. Uncertainty, fear, hope, love, joy, and everything else in between. Some days feel like they’ll never end and other days fly by so fast. But one thing we want you to know - you’re doing your best, Mama.

I love my son. I am enamored with my son and I cannot think of a greater blessing and honor than to be his mommy. But do I love motherhood? No. Not really.