To All the Moms I Was Before

A Mother's Day Manifesto

Hi friend! I'm Vanessa - writer, certified life coach, and midlife menopausal maven. I share honest reflections on creativity, energy, and finding flow during midlife and menopausal transitions. If my words resonate, consider joining my Flourish & Flow membership community for deeper support through audio/video reflections and creative workshops, and special events.

Mother’s Day is this weekend.

I’ve been seeing hilarious Reels on Instagram about what mothers really want. My sister and I have been sending these back and forth to each other for the last two weeks.

Side note: You can send us a huge dumpster to unload other people’s crap into it then send us to a spa then out for margs.

Or, maybe just naps and nobody asking us to do anything for an entire 24 hours.

Many of my close mama friends have various thoughts and feelings about Mother’s Day—whether related to their mothers or their motherhood journeys.

Hallmark, florists, and advertisers have a sneaky way of flooding our systems with saccharin-sweet images and jingles and $87 bouquets.

Maybe it’s the age and stage of life I’m in, but I know this “holiday” isn’t so cut and dry.

My heart is sending love to friends who are navigating loss, strained relationships, and every shade of pain.

Be the mom you need for you, today.

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Thank you to all my versions of “Mom”

Thank you, little Vanessa, for your imagination, love of dolls, always being the “mom” when playing dress-ups, and for your nurturing spirit.

Thank you, trying-to-become-a-mom-Vanessa, for navigating the grueling process of infertility, being told you might never be a mom, and saying, “Hold my hot tea,” while putting your body through the ringer. You’re a badass.

Thank you, first-time-mom-Vanessa, for fully embracing a high-energy baby, postpartum depression, breast-feeding like a boss, co-sleeping, rocking, walking, and chasing your first-born. Your devotion mixed with fear that he would be your only baby can be released. You did your best, the only way you knew how.

Thank you, carrying-and-birthing-twins-Vanessa. Your body never recovered from these two little miracles. You don’t really remember the first year of their life because postpartum depression mixed with hormone havoc sent you to some scary places. You learned how to move through your days with schedules for peace and clinging to little joys. The C-section scar that still becomes raw will be a constant reminder of what your body can do. Be gentle with yourself.

Thank you, eager-homeschooling-mama-Vanessa. You never, ever anticipated going down this path, but something inside you said to go for it. You spent hours, days, and years laying out an educational buffet for your three vastly different children. The projects, the books, field trips, lesson plans, conferences, Dollar Tree hauls, laughter, tears, and many (many) moments of feeling defeated, you stuck with it. You fought through health issues for all three kids, becoming an information sleuth and a walking encyclopedia. What a goddess.

Thank you, navigating-perimenopause-and-#thepuberties-Vanessa. Girl, what the hell was that? Best not to discuss. It was a whole lot. Bless.

Thank you, 45-year-old-Vanessa, for saying YES to becoming a life coach, and YES to becoming a published writer, and YES to reclaiming space and energy for creative practices that nourish your soul, and (hopefully) support others.

Thank you, post-menopause-mom-of-almost-three-legal-adults-Vanessa. The last few years have felt long and challenging, a mix of high-highs and low-lows. You’re learning to say, “No.” You’re learning to let go of what’s not yours to hold anymore. You’re not going to overexplain yourself anymore (okay?). You’re stepping into a new version of yourself. It feels wobbly, but you can do it. Comfy pants, journals, and stickers always help. And 90s music.

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A poem + an offering

I had my final spring writing class with Victoria Erickson the other night. 10 weeks. 20, three-hour classes. I showed up for all of them.

The ritual of writing was pure joy.

Here’s the final piece I wrote.

I am someone who
never gives up
always shows up
fills my cup
I am my own best friend
I am someone who
curses and cries
and scans the night sky
for the moon and planets 
and for miracles
I am someone who
belly laughs
might pee my pants
my sensitivity is paired with a sarcastic streak a mile wide
I am someone 
who looks for the best
prepares for the worst
I am trying to surrender over and over again
I am someone
who goes with the flow
chases the glow of
sunsets and moonrises
I am someone
on the brink
must stop, don't overthink
my joy, don't let me sink
I've only just begun

Can you spend ten minutes today writing a list or a poem about who you are? It’s a simple reflection practice that just might shift some things for you. I hope you’ll give it a go.

Last weekend, I pulled together some of my favorite quotes that I’ve turned to multiple times over the last few years. I packaged them up in this little PDF. It’s a public link, nothing to sign up for. I also shared a few on an Instagram post here.

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Wishing you a wonderful weekend, friend. However you do (or don’t) celebrate it.

I hope you’ll take some time for yourself to belly laugh, nap, knit, skip, walk, sip—anything that brings you joy.

Vanessa 🦋