Identity, Intuition & the Inner Life of Parenting
Parenting with Intention, Part 2: A Conversation with Mary Kate Shepard
For more than a decade, I’ve carried an imaginary dinner party in my mind—a table where I could gather the people who’ve shaped me, challenged me, or drawn out the best version of who I am simply by being themselves. People who lead with warmth, insight, and depth. Who ask real questions and tell the truth with kindness.
When I first learned about Mary Kate, I wondered if she might someday find a seat at my legendary table. Today, I have no doubt—she’d be seated right next to me, and would show up an hour early to help me prepare.
In Part 1, she described her own family table as sacred—a place layered with meaning and memory. It’s where babies were fed, marriages were mended, lessons were learned in real time. It wasn’t just a lovely image—it pointed to something more profound: the quiet, consistent ways we hold space for each other in everyday life. The ways we try to love well—not once, but over and over again.
This second part of our conversation looks inward. It’s less about what happens around the table and more about what we carry to it—our hopes and fears, the unfinished parts of our stories, the slow work of becoming ourselves.
Mary Kate shares about what she’s learning to trust, what she’s still making peace with, and how she keeps finding her way back to what matters. She names things with unusual honesty: the tension between being sturdy and soft. The pull to do everything right, and the courage to step away from that. The kind of clarity that doesn’t come from controlling every outcome—but from staying grounded in who we are.
There’s nothing pretentious or elusive about how she moves through motherhood. It’s thoughtful. Spacious. Deeply real and tangible.
And for those of us still figuring out how to hold what’s unresolved, or how to stay steady when life stretches us—this part of the conversation offers something rare: not answers, but alignment.
What are you learning to trust in yourself right now—not just as a mom, but as Mary Kate?
That I’m not going to regret slowing down. It’s easy to see difficult moments as interruptions or minor annoyances. But what if we reframe them as a sign to slow the spin on our axis? What if I take that internet outage as a sign to stop mindlessly scrolling or put my Amazon orders on hold and pick up that crochet project? What if, rather than zipping around to tidy up for the fifteenth time that day and listening halfheartedly to my husband vent about a coworker, I pour us a drink and be the sounding board he needs to help work that out? What if my baby isn’t settling down when I am trying to plan homeschool lessons is an invitation to dance her to sleep and take a much-needed contact nap? This practice has helped me turn away from the external and toward relationships. Ironically, when you slow down and connect, the rewards are always immediate.
You wrote so beautifully about repair in Part 1. What is repair teaching you about your own emotional needs right now—either in the moment, or as you reflect later?
Such a good question, and something I’ve been healing within myself for some time now. I have always had a complicated relationship with repair. Throughout my life, I didn’t do well when someone didn’t repair with me. I think explicitly about “the silent treatment.” While I don’t know many who do well with this, it has always left me feeling really aimless in relationships —familial, friendships, and romantic ones. I’m a bit of a people pleaser at my core. I’ve always been the first to apologize, even going so far as to accept responsibility unnecessarily to end the argument. Probably because of the discomfort I felt from being on the receiving end of the silent treatment.
That’s not to say I don’t believe in taking a beat. I do. I think it’s imperative to manage your emotions before addressing a tense situation. But I’ll never go days without speaking to my kids, husband, friends, or family. Or hours, for that matter. In fact, I even preface when I need to step away with: “Mommy is feeling frustrated/angry/upset. I need some space, so I’m going to step right outside. You guys are safe, and I love you. I’m stepping out to take some deep breaths, and I’ll be back in a moment when I’m calm enough to talk about this.” I think repair is showing me that I expect that of others. And I should. I deserve to know when someone is angry with something I said or did. I deserve to know they need a little space, but that they’re coming back to discuss it with me when they’ve managed their feelings about it. And then I deserve for them to come back in a timely manner to do so.
What’s keeping you tender lately?
Faith. My faith has always been deeply personal to me. I would say I have always had a relationship with God, but this season of my life is calling for a closeness beyond anything I’ve experienced before. The past few years have really put me face-to-face with the fragility of life and the lack of control I actually have. I find the more often I throw things up to God, the easier my life becomes. Faith has given me peace about life in that I don’t expect to no longer have difficulties, but rather that I’m capable of pressing on without breaking or pulling down those around me. I’m seeking to lean further into that. I’m not sure what that looks like for me yet, but I’m trusting God will reveal that to me.
What’s filling you up—mentally, spiritually, physically, or emotionally—beyond your role as a mom?
Man, Erin. That’s tough. Admittedly, I get really wrapped up in my role of mom right now. Again, something I absolutely love about your writing is that I often feel uncomfortable and defensive when I first read them because they needle those parts with which I’m struggling. This is one of those areas. Making “Mom” my whole personality can easily turn to martyrdom if I don’t keep it in check.
I do, however, have a very recent thing I’ve started doing. I’m, by my very nature, a night owl. I am most creative when the rest of the world is asleep, and I can sit in the glow of a lamp as the day disappears into darkness. But my cherished late nights can make for difficult mornings and low energy. So I have been trying to get to bed earlier and wake up before the sun. I’m starting to find a rhythm in it that fuels me for the day ahead. I make a hot cup of coffee, put on my shoes, pop the baby in the stroller, and go for a leisurely morning walk. I put on a podcast or some uplifting music and take a solid hour to just be outside as the sun rises. Moving my body, setting my intentions for the day, and breathing in the stillness of nature before I even have to talk to anyone: I’m discovering there’s soul in early mornings too.
Shoutout to my husband, who gets up with the other kids and gets things moving while I’m out there feeding my soul. That joyful support and refusal to let me fall into that martyrdom is major.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how we define ‘strength’ for ourselves. What does ‘strength’ look like for you right now?
Strength comes in the moments I’m going to sleep at night and reflecting on the day. What did I do well? Where were my misses? Do I need to check in with one of my kids? Follow up on a repair I made? Does Kyle feel supported right now? What do I need more of in this moment? Can I carve out some time to talk to Kyle about achieving that? Mental strength facilitates the ability to show up. Asking yourself the right questions can provide orientation for where your effort is needed. I think true strength is being honest with yourself tonight so you can show up better tomorrow. Growth mindset and constant self-improvement are strengths.
What part of you feels unseen right now? Not necessarily in a sad way—just something quietly present, under the surface.
I work really hard to develop systems in our home to make it functional. Systems for toys, clothing, organization. I try to keep everyone updated on those systems. The purpose is twofold: to make home maintenance easier and to give me more time to spend with my family, rather than picking up after everyone in addition to myself. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who follows the system. We have a lot of “stuff,” and I feel like we just continue to accumulate until I look around and say, “Enough!” I want to raise my kids to be grateful for the gifts they receive and good stewards of the items they own. When I request that others follow this system when it comes to my kids, and that’s not honored, I definitely feel unseen.
I think we all have those places or people or practices that help us find our way back to ourselves. Where do you go—inwardly or outwardly—when you feel overwhelmed or alone in motherhood?
I’ve actually talked to Kyle about this recently, and naturally, he spits back a Marcus Aurelius quote. I told him, “Sometimes when I’m overwhelmed, I feel like I need to physically separate myself from my current environment. I need to get from a smaller space to an open space, breathe, pray, and latch on to those maxims I use as anchors.” He told me the Stoics believe in retreating into self. I don’t know that I’ll ever achieve that fully, but that’s very aspirational. If I don’t get there, maybe my kids will be able to one day.
My usual routine when I do need to step outside is to first make sure everyone is safe: the baby is safely out of reach from the other kids, no one is in danger. Then I pull out my script (because I’m not accessing my higher level brain at this point) of “Hey, you guys are safe and I love you. I need to step outside for some space. I’ll be back in when I’m ready to talk.” When I step outside, I need to return to homeostasis in the physical, emotional, and spiritual before I go back in. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I need to put my bare feet in grass and walk through the garden. Sometimes I pray and ask for patience and wisdom. Sometimes I tell myself, “My kids aren’t giving me a hard time, they’re having a hard time.” Before I open the door, I tell myself I’m going to be the parent I’ll be proud of before I go to sleep tonight.
Just to be clear, sometimes I do this five times a day. But I’m always proud of myself for it. Because every time I take that space, I’m not a mom who is yelling at her kids.
Is there something you’re holding that doesn’t have a clean or clear answer—and maybe isn’t meant to?
I guess I’m constantly trying to strike balance. Do I do too much for my kids, or am I pushing independence too hard? Am I giving them enough space to be kids while still instilling discipline and good habits? Are we giving them enough quiet, independent time while still socializing them enough? What’s the balance between preserving my kids’ innocence by shielding them from certain themes and adequately preparing them to respond if someone talks to them about it outside of my earshot? Am I filling myself up enough so I can pour into others? I think maintaining balance is something so dynamic that constantly needs to be monitored.
Is there something you’re grieving in this season—even if it’s small or hard to name? A version of yourself, a stage that’s ending, a shift you didn’t expect?
Lucy is probably our last baby. I’m mourning coming away from the pregnancy and newborn stage a lot. I’ve had a complicated relationship with pregnancy. I’ve always had difficult morning sickness that just took me out. We’ve also experienced heartbreaking losses and difficulty conceiving in the last few years. But the moment I go into labor and delivery, I know I get to enter my favorite phase for a while: the newborn phase! I’m mourning the idea that I won’t ever see that faint second line on a pregnancy test again. I won’t feel baby kicks from the inside or have a brand new, warm newborn placed on my chest. This is the last I’ll get to watch that look of relief in my baby’s eyes while I nourish her and listen to her little gulps. Outgrown baby clothes are going in a donation bin rather than storage. Heck, her newborn—three-month-sized outfits are still sitting in a bag in the corner of my room because I can’t quite let them go yet. Every one of her firsts will be my lasts. This season of pregnancy, bringing home babies, and building our family has been one I feel I’ve truly thrived in, despite its challenges. I’ve learned so much about myself, and it has left me feeling so empowered in my femininity. It deeply hurts to close the door on this part of my life. So many women I have talked to about it knew when they were done having babies. I wish I could say I had that assured conviction.
Is there something that’s bringing you joy right now—the kind of thing that reminds you you’re still fully alive in all of this?
Yes. We millennials love reviving a good lost art! I’m no exception. I’ve definitely joined the sourdough revolution. Sure, I love bread as much as the next girl, but I really love the quiet, drawn-out process of it. I love the simplicity of three ingredients coming together to create something that truly engages all the senses and serves as nourishment. There’s a holiness to it. Food and cooking have always been a love language for me, and this has been a new application of my creativity.
Has motherhood changed your relationship to time, or to your own ambition and creativity?
I want to suck up all of their littleness like a sponge. I want to brand my brain with every funny way they say a certain word or phrase. I want to memorize their little crooked smiles or the way they look when they’re proud of themselves. I want someone to figure out the Time Machine thing so I can go back to the moments they bring me dandelions or their snuggles when they slowly come down the stairs in the mornings, wiping their sleepy dust away. I really fully enjoy this time. No qualifiers. No need to mention how trying motherhood can be. I just love existing in this moment and being this person for these kids. It’s a purposeful, beautiful life. Nothing fulfilling comes without fully filling your capacity. Your capacity for challenges and love. My creativity and ambition extend as far as the kids right now, and I’m personally wholly satisfied with that during this season. My creative passions include cooking for my family. Handicrafts like crocheting or embroidery. Planning excursions and lessons that bring learning to life and make it exciting. Exploring their interests and encouraging them to try.
I know time will pass. I know life will shift as they grow and need me less. I know I can’t make motherhood my whole personality forever. But as long as I’m not falling prey to martyrdom, I’m ok making it my whole personality for now. But being fully present means truly living in this moment. And being intentional means putting energy and reflection into all of it. That’s just where I’m very joyfully existing right now. I trust that future Mary Kate will find something ambitious and fulfilling outside of raising children.
That way, one day when we look at our kids, we can truly say: “Your childhood flew by so quickly, but we were there for all of it.”
Erin, this was a treat to read this morning. As I settled in to Mary Kate’s thoughtful, wise, and deep answers, I began to be struck by the depth, thoughtfulness, and beauty of your questions.
Such a contribution. So much to ponder. Thank you 🙏
First of all, Erin, this is another beautiful part of your interview with Mary Kate. I loved everything you both discussed. I really resonated with what she said about repair and people pleasing. Her reflection on expecting repair from others and knowing when to pause really made me think. Thank you for sharing such honest insights.