Mothering, moving, and building a business in a world that doesn’t always value presence ... and why I keep showing up anyway.

There are mornings when the smell of my children’s hair as they crawl into my lap feels like the center of the universe.

And there are afternoons when my fingers ache to type—when I long to shape a thought into something that lives beyond me.

Both are true.

Both are sacred.

This is a reflection for the mothers holding both:

The desire to be present, grounded, loving…

And the desire to contribute, express, become.

A woman smiles softly against a backdrop of intricate green mandala patterns, exuding a sense of calm and positivity.

I’m writing this from the messy middle.

A new house, in a land that’s ours but doesn’t quite feel like home yet ... a return to America, and the start of something new.

A kitchen half-organized.

A to-do list that keeps regenerating.

Two children navigating new everything.

A business that gently tugs at my sleeve.

A heart pulled in more directions than I ever imagined.

Since we moved again, my days have been filled with what never makes it onto a resume: forms, grocery runs, unpacking, finding new doctors, figuring out which cereal aisle is which. Helping my children reorient.

Helping myself reorient.

My nervous system has been working double-time to make all this chaos feel rhythmic.

And under it all, a quiet question pulses:

Which part of me gets to lead today?

The part that mothers?

The part that builds?

Can they both belong here?

Mothering ...

I’ve chosen to stay home with my children. And I know, deep in my body, that this is a privilege.

It’s one I hold with reverence and responsibility. Because my husband’s work makes it possible, and because I believe in my bones that my presence during these years of growing and shifting is what my children need. I’ve studied it. I’ve felt it. And I believe in its power.

And still ... I know that not every mother has this choice.

Some are juggling full-time jobs and full-time caregiving, often from the same room, without enough support or sleep.

Some want to build something of their own, but can’t—because frequent relocations make it nearly impossible.

Others would give anything to stay home longer, but the weight of financial necessity is simply too heavy.

If that’s your reality—I want you to know: I see you.

This story is written from my corner of experience, but I hope its heartbeat meets you somewhere familiar.

Because whether your rhythm leans more toward presence, productivity, or a bit of both—the desire to show up fully is something so many of us share.

Purpose in building my business ...

There’s a part of me that longs to give back.

To create something meaningful.

To offer what I’ve learned.

To walk with parents as they soften into love, heal what hurts, and rise into their wholeness.

I walk this path because it brings me dignity, and in that light, applause and income are only echoes.

It gifts me purpose.

Because it reminds me also of who I am becoming.

And this part doesn’t erase the mother in me.

She isn’t in conflict with the one who folds the tiny socks and listens for school-day stories.

She was born from the same place.

From love. From longing. From a deep, inner knowing that I was meant to both nurture and create.

Still, here’s what I keep learning:

I can’t hold both without honoring the seasons.

Without tending to my nervous system.

Without releasing the fantasy of balance and beginning instead the practice of listening in.

Some days, that means letting my business rest.

Setting it down like a sourdough starter that will rise when the time is right.

Because my children need me more.

Because I need quiet.

Other days, I find myself writing after they go to bed. Or coaching while they’re at school. Or responding to a whisper from my creative life that says, “It’s time again.” And when I do, there’s often a flicker of guilt ... like I’m betraying one part of me to honor another.

But maybe they’re not in competition.

Maybe the longing to stay close and the longing to reach out… are both acts of love.

Maybe I don’t have to choose between them.

Maybe there’s a rhythm underneath all of this.

A Different Rhythm Elsewhere

In some parts of the world, this tension is softened; mothering is not easier there, but it’s more supported.

In Finland, parents receive paid leave until their child turns three, and many are supported to work part-time until their child starts school.

In Denmark, families have access to up to 52 weeks of shared paid parental leave, and workplace flexibility is baked into the culture.

Sweden offers 480 days of parental leave per child, to be used until the child turns twelve—with days that can even be transferred to grandparents. That’s not just policy—it’s a value system that honors caregiving as a contribution to society.

In Germany, families are entitled to up to three years of parental leave, often with financial support, and the option to return part-time as their child grows.

In the Netherlands, part-time workers receive the same protections and benefits as full-time employees, making it easier for mothers to stay present and professionally engaged.

These policies don’t just benefit parents, they profoundly support the healthy development of children.

Because children don’t just need food and education.

They need relationship.

They need presence.

And in these countries, the system recognizes what so many of us feel in our bones:

That caregiving work is valuable.

That mothering shouldn’t mean sacrificing our well-being or erasing our contributions.

That raising emotionally resilient humans is a societal investment.

The Rhythm Beneath It All

Lately, I’ve been noticing how this holding of both, mothering and becoming, moves like breath.

There is contraction.

A pulling inward. A season of cocooning. A time to tend the inner fire.

When I protect my energy, when I say no, when I sit on the floor and just be with my children.

And then ... there is reaching.

A slow opening. A stretch toward contribution and creation.

When I speak, when I write, when I step into the work I love ... again.

Inhale. Exhale.

Hold. Release.

Mother. Become.

They are not in opposition.

They are the rhythm of this season.

So if you’re in a phase of pulling in ... let yourself.

Your nervous system might be doing exactly what it needs.

And if you feel a reaching emerging ... trust that too.

You don’t have to get it perfect. You just have to stay close to your truth.

A Somatic Invitation

Take a breath with me, if you’d like.

Place one hand on your heart, and one on your belly.

Let yourself inhale gently, allowing your ribcage to expand into your hands.

As you exhale, soften inward, just a little. Feel what it’s like to let yourself contract.

Now breathe in again .. and notice what it feels like to gently open. To reach.

To remember your why.

To remember you.

You can return. You can reach. And both are allowed.

This isn’t about doing it all.

It’s about doing what matters .. while staying in relationship with yourself.

My Why...

I do this work because I want parents to go to bed at night with their hearts at peace.

Even when the day was hard. Even when there were tears or raised voices.

Because they know the way back.

Because they remember how to reconnect.

Because they didn’t sink into shame, they reached for repair.

And their children felt it.

I do this work because I believe in raising children who are emotionally resilient,

who can ask for help when they need it,

who trust themselves and others,

who know how to set boundaries and walk away from what harms them,

who can step toward what heals.

I believe in the power of homes where children are seen, felt, and respected...

because those children grow up to carry that blueprint into the world.

Into boardrooms. Into classrooms. Into relationships. Into systems.

They bring kindness into conflict.

Compassion into leadership.

Peace where there was once pain.

This is how the world changes.

Not only through laws or policies, but through the everyday work of presence.

Through modeling respect.

Through returning to connection, again and again.

I do this work because I believe in a future shaped by empathy.

And that future begins at home.

So yes, I’m a coach. A mother. A human living somewhere between rootedness and reaching.

But more than that, I’m a witness.

To what’s possible when we choose connection over control.

When we trust our bodies, our wisdom, our children.

When we stop chasing perfection and start practicing return.

This is the work I do .. in my home, in my sessions, in myself.

And if you’re here, reading this…

Maybe it’s your work too.