This Time In My Words

Spinning the Chaos Into Something Good

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve stood in the middle of my kitchen, holding back tears, while the kettle boils and my toddler asks me for the fifth snack she won’t eat.

The washing’s in the machine, but I’ve forgotten it three cycles in a row.

Dinner’s half-prepped, the fridge is open, and I’m trying to remember what I came into the kitchen for.

My body feels heavy. My brain feels full.

There’s noise everywhere…my child’s voice, the sound of toys, Elsa singing “let it go” for the fifteenth time and the mental list I never finish.

And underneath it all, a whisper: Why can’t I keep up?

The Quiet Guilt We Carry

I love my daughter more than life.

But some days I crave silence so badly it makes me feel ashamed.

I’ve caught myself saying, “Just give me a minute” more times than I’d like to admit.

I’ve sat on the couch after bedtime, frozen, with bluey still blasting the picture perfect family idea on the tv…knowing I should clean… but I can’t move.

I’ve cancelled plans because getting dressed, making my toddler wear a jumper and finding socks feels like too much.

I’ve smiled through playtime, even when my mind is elsewhere. I’ve let paint go all over the walls just for a minute to pee.

And still—I show up.

I wipe tears. I make lunch. I read bedtime stories with a tired voice.

That used to feel like surviving.

But I’m starting to see it differently…

The Signs You’re Giving Everything:

• The overstimulation? It means you’ve been present.
• The brain fog? That’s a symptom of carrying too much alone.
• The mess? It means your child feels free in their own home.
• The tears? They mean you’re still feeling, even after all this time & you are showing your children that is okay too.
• You forget what day it is because every day looks the same, and somehow completely different.
• You haven’t eaten a hot dinner in what feels like months and your waterbottle has backwash and crayons mixed in
• You love so hard it burns you out, but you keep loving anyway.

That’s not failing. That’s devotion.

Let’s Rewrite What “Enough” Looks Like

I used to believe that being a “good mum” meant being calm, in control, organised, endlessly patient.

Now I believe it means staying, even when you feel like running.

It means loving your child through the noise, and yourself through the mess.

I’m not the gentle, quiet, present mum every hour of the day.

But I’m the one who knows how my daughter likes her toast.

I’m the one she runs to in the night.

I’m the one who shows her discipline through the tantrums, but also holds her in moments of big feelings.

I’m the one who stays.

And maybe, that’s what “enough” actually looks like.

For the Mum Who’s Tired but Still Loving

If you’ve ever stood at the sink and forgotten why…

If you’ve ever whispered “I’m fine” while holding back tears…

If you’ve ever felt like you were everything for everyone and still not doing enough…

I see you.

You’re not lazy.

You’re not broken.

You’re just maxed out.

And still, you’re loving. You’re showing up. You’re doing it.

That is more than enough.

You don’t need to be perfect.

You don’t need to be the version of motherhood they show in ads or on bluey.

You just need to be you, exactly as you are, right now.

You’re not just surviving this—you’re spinning it into something beautiful.

And that matters. Trust me. They love this version of you so you can love yourself too.

—Liv 🤍