This is incredibly insightful Erin. Differentiating between hardship and regret is crucial. Hardship is tied to circumstances, while regret becomes a part of one's identity. This concept often doesn't receive the attention it deserves. When something is repeated, it becomes ordinary, and what becomes ordinary shapes our identity.
Children don't define themselves by our mistakes but by the atmosphere we create, the tone we set, and what seems casual enough to go unquestioned. It's true that this category of language isn't scrutinized as it should be. We focus on fixing issues after major conflicts, on apologies, and on improving in the future. Yet, we rarely address the words and phrases that sneak by without prompting repair because they seem insignificant; the sigh, the joke, the martyr narrative.
These moments, though subtle, gain significance through repetition. What seems like adult comprehension can subtly evolve into a child’s self-image, which is profoundly important. Identity isn't formed through grand gestures; it's developed through what feels ordinary.
This is beautifully said, and you captured something that’s easy to miss—identity is rarely shaped by the dramatic moments we vividly remember. It’s shaped by what settles into the background and starts to feel normal.
That matters more than we realize, and you captured that perfectly.
Oh, Erin, I feel this, especially the first section about what kids hear when we say something like, "If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't have kids." I have tried my best to be clear in my own language about the ambivalence I feel about motherhood--that it isn't my children I regret. I simply wasn't fully educated about the intensity and responsibility and bodily trauma and societal expectations upon women when it came to motherhood. I wasn't prepared, so I struggled through those early years.
I think that's why it's been hard for me to know if my memoir is okay. I have imagined my kids growing up and reading it, then blaming themselves or feeling like I didn't love or want them when that's not true at all.
I also want to point out that sometimes people "choose" parenting without being fully informed on what they are saying yes to. I was one of those parents. I had zero exposure to infants, was not raised around any conversations about pregnancy, childbirth, postpartum sleep deprivation. I only babysat once. So the image I formed in my mind about motherhood was one I constructed from snippets of conversations I overheard my mother's friends talking about.
And my mom told me from a young age, "Have as many kids as God gives you, because children are always a blessing." That was the extent of my education.
What I've come to understand in my situation is that all I can do is show up every day and be the best human I can. Sometimes I will falter and fail. When I do, I can repair and reconnect. I've learned to give myself grace while also leaning into the ways I can grow as a person and as a mom.
There is always so much honesty in what you write, Jeannie.
Wanting to tell the truth about your experience while also protecting your kids’ sense of being wanted says everything about your heart.
I’m hopeful that what our kids will remember most isn’t whether we struggled, but whether we showed up, gave and received grace, and kept choosing them.
Thank you for trusting your readers with your story. Truly. 🧡
Oh my Erin. Your wisdom and insights, not to mention your writing, shine through in this piece.
“We chose to become parents. They did not choose to be born.”
When I read these two sentences it occurred to me that the ‘kind’ of parent we choose to become takes place ‘after’ they’re born.
And the kind of parent we become is developed through our intentions and awareness, through victories and royal screw-ups, through forgiving and being forgiven. And so on. And so on.
All the way to the end.
Thank you for showing me what I just wrote by what you wrote. 🙏🙏🙏
I love this extension so much. Choosing to become a parent is one decision. Choosing what kind of parent we become happens over and over again. Through the wins. Through the screw-ups. Through the repair.
That’s the work. And honestly, the gift in it.
I’m really grateful you put words to this, James. Thank you! 🧡
I am guilty of saying something that my youngest overheard--it was not directed to her and I thought all 3 girls were out of earshot. Years later she brought it up in conversation--not in an accusatory way. She expressed how she felt--I validated her position, but also shared that what she heard was out of context with the rest of the conversation between two adults. I apologized and told her that I was thrilled that she entered our lives--she was just what the family needed and wanted.
I feel fortunate that my two living daughters are able to bring up anything from their childhood with me.
The fact that she felt safe bringing it up years later—and that you met her with openness instead of defensiveness—is such a gift. Not every child gets that. I’m always struck by how steady and safe the home you’ve built feels.
I’m so grateful for the way you show up here. Thank you for your contribution to the conversation—and encouragement. 🧡
This is incredibly insightful Erin. Differentiating between hardship and regret is crucial. Hardship is tied to circumstances, while regret becomes a part of one's identity. This concept often doesn't receive the attention it deserves. When something is repeated, it becomes ordinary, and what becomes ordinary shapes our identity.
Children don't define themselves by our mistakes but by the atmosphere we create, the tone we set, and what seems casual enough to go unquestioned. It's true that this category of language isn't scrutinized as it should be. We focus on fixing issues after major conflicts, on apologies, and on improving in the future. Yet, we rarely address the words and phrases that sneak by without prompting repair because they seem insignificant; the sigh, the joke, the martyr narrative.
These moments, though subtle, gain significance through repetition. What seems like adult comprehension can subtly evolve into a child’s self-image, which is profoundly important. Identity isn't formed through grand gestures; it's developed through what feels ordinary.
This is beautifully said, and you captured something that’s easy to miss—identity is rarely shaped by the dramatic moments we vividly remember. It’s shaped by what settles into the background and starts to feel normal.
That matters more than we realize, and you captured that perfectly.
Oh, Erin, I feel this, especially the first section about what kids hear when we say something like, "If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't have kids." I have tried my best to be clear in my own language about the ambivalence I feel about motherhood--that it isn't my children I regret. I simply wasn't fully educated about the intensity and responsibility and bodily trauma and societal expectations upon women when it came to motherhood. I wasn't prepared, so I struggled through those early years.
I think that's why it's been hard for me to know if my memoir is okay. I have imagined my kids growing up and reading it, then blaming themselves or feeling like I didn't love or want them when that's not true at all.
I also want to point out that sometimes people "choose" parenting without being fully informed on what they are saying yes to. I was one of those parents. I had zero exposure to infants, was not raised around any conversations about pregnancy, childbirth, postpartum sleep deprivation. I only babysat once. So the image I formed in my mind about motherhood was one I constructed from snippets of conversations I overheard my mother's friends talking about.
And my mom told me from a young age, "Have as many kids as God gives you, because children are always a blessing." That was the extent of my education.
What I've come to understand in my situation is that all I can do is show up every day and be the best human I can. Sometimes I will falter and fail. When I do, I can repair and reconnect. I've learned to give myself grace while also leaning into the ways I can grow as a person and as a mom.
There is always so much honesty in what you write, Jeannie.
Wanting to tell the truth about your experience while also protecting your kids’ sense of being wanted says everything about your heart.
I’m hopeful that what our kids will remember most isn’t whether we struggled, but whether we showed up, gave and received grace, and kept choosing them.
Thank you for trusting your readers with your story. Truly. 🧡
Oh my Erin. Your wisdom and insights, not to mention your writing, shine through in this piece.
“We chose to become parents. They did not choose to be born.”
When I read these two sentences it occurred to me that the ‘kind’ of parent we choose to become takes place ‘after’ they’re born.
And the kind of parent we become is developed through our intentions and awareness, through victories and royal screw-ups, through forgiving and being forgiven. And so on. And so on.
All the way to the end.
Thank you for showing me what I just wrote by what you wrote. 🙏🙏🙏
I love this extension so much. Choosing to become a parent is one decision. Choosing what kind of parent we become happens over and over again. Through the wins. Through the screw-ups. Through the repair.
That’s the work. And honestly, the gift in it.
I’m really grateful you put words to this, James. Thank you! 🧡
I am guilty of saying something that my youngest overheard--it was not directed to her and I thought all 3 girls were out of earshot. Years later she brought it up in conversation--not in an accusatory way. She expressed how she felt--I validated her position, but also shared that what she heard was out of context with the rest of the conversation between two adults. I apologized and told her that I was thrilled that she entered our lives--she was just what the family needed and wanted.
I feel fortunate that my two living daughters are able to bring up anything from their childhood with me.
As usual, Erin, this essay is parenting gold.
This says so much about you, Nancy.
The fact that she felt safe bringing it up years later—and that you met her with openness instead of defensiveness—is such a gift. Not every child gets that. I’m always struck by how steady and safe the home you’ve built feels.
I’m so grateful for the way you show up here. Thank you for your contribution to the conversation—and encouragement. 🧡