Becoming Mom: Part One

Everything, Everywhere, All At Once: On Fortune Cookies, Unexpected Beginnings, and Mom Culture

Back in August 2024, my husband and I spent some extended time in the North Carolina mountains. The weather was warm, the breeze cool, and life felt… paused, in the best way. I remember writing a blog post during that time about how much I love being up there — especially in late summer, when everything feels like it's shifting but still soft around the edges.

In that post, I wrote:
“For me, this is a time of life-changing transition, love, and new beginnings. Oh how I love this time.”
And then:
“Even when I don’t know what’s ahead, I trust that what’s meant for me will find me. I choose to meet this day open and ready to receive.”

Two months later — almost to the day — I found out I was pregnant.
Completely unplanned. Completely unexpected. But not totally unannounced.

About five days before the positive test, I opened a fortune cookie and found four fortunes inside (because of course I did). They read:

“In dreams and in life, nothing is impossible.”

“This coming Friday will be an exciting time for you.”

“Be prepared to modify your plans.”

“An important email will be arriving shortly. Check your inbox.”

That Friday? I found out I was pregnant. (Still waiting on that important email, though.)

Here’s the truth: I was caught off guard — in every direction. Shock, joy, fear, excitement, gratitude, and a whole host of other feelings I can’t quite name moved through me like a storm. Honestly, it felt like I was experiencing every emotion possible, all at the same time. And that sensation hasn’t gone away. I’m starting to wonder if this is what parenthood feels like — beautiful and terrifying, constant and changing, grounding and disorienting all at once.

Since then, life has felt larger in every way. Things that used to matter now seem to matter more and not at all, and things I never noticed suddenly feel huge. Conversations are deeper. Boundaries feel clearer. Saying “no” doesn’t feel scary — it feels necessary. And I’ve been reflecting a lot on how we, especially in Western culture, talk (or don’t talk) about pregnancy, motherhood, and the experience of being mothered ourselves.

This three part post is my attempt to make space for that reflection. To be honest about what’s coming up for me — the messy, existential, and often contradictory thoughts that come with growing a life and becoming someone new in the process. If you’ve been here before — physically, emotionally, spiritually — maybe you’ll see yourself somewhere in these words. If you haven’t, maybe they’ll help you hold space for someone who is.

To be clear, what you will not find in these posts is unsolicited advice, my professional insights on pregnancy and development, medical advice, and most importantly judgment. There are as many experiences of pregnancy as there are people in the world. My experience is just one. Take what serves you and leave the rest. 

I am glad you are here. 

So you’re expecting, you just wait

One of the most surprising — and honestly, most frustrating — parts of pregnancy for me hasn’t just been the physical nausea. It’s been the emotional nausea of hearing the phrase:
“Oh, just you wait…”

It comes in many forms, but the pattern is weirdly consistent. If I share something positive about pregnancy, someone will chime in with: “Just wait until ___,” (usually something challenging or discouraging). If I share something hard, I get: “Oh, just wait until it gets even harder.”

It’s like no matter where I am — excited, tired, proud, overwhelmed — there’s always a follow-up warning about how it’s going to get worse. And it’s often said by people who, from the outside, seem to have fully embraced parenthood, even made it a core part of their identity. That contradiction confused me at first. I found myself wondering: If this is something you chose, even cherish… why talk about it like it’s only a burden?

And to be clear — I get that pregnancy and parenting can be hard. I’m nine months in. I know discomfort. I also know that parents absolutely need space to vent, be honest, and talk about the hard stuff without being judged. But what I’m talking about here isn’t honesty — it’s projection. It’s when someone takes their hardest moments and puts them on you as a guarantee. It’s when support sounds more like a warning than an offering.

The truth is, the most helpful, grounding conversations I’ve had during this time have come from people who share from their experience without assuming it will be mine. They leave room for the fact that everyone’s story is different. There’s a big difference between someone saying,
“Ugh, those first few months are brutal,”
vs.
“The early days were tough for us, but we found our rhythm. I’m happy to share anything that helped if you ever want to talk.”

One shuts the door. The other opens it.

I don’t think people mean to be dismissive — I think this kind of commentary is just how a lot of us have been taught to talk about parenthood. Through warning, through survival stories, through sarcasm. But what if we made more space for nuance? For joy and struggle, for truth without gloom, for support without projection?

That’s the kind of conversation I want to be part of — and the kind I hope to offer in return.

I have a dear friend who’s been like a fairy godmother to me during this pregnancy. She’s about six months ahead of me in the parenting journey, and in those early, foggy weeks, our conversations were a lifeline. We talked a lot about the strange things people say, the stories we’re told, and the ones we tell ourselves. I always walked away from those chats feeling seen — and more committed to approaching this experience in a different, more grounded way.

And because I tend to overthink everything (in the best way?), I also found myself wondering: Why do these projecting, fear-based narratives feel so common — even automatic?

What I’ve come to realize is that I’m swimming in a bigger cultural current — one that so many women and parents are navigating, often silently. It’s the paradox of motherhood and womanhood in modern-day America.

We’re told to be the “best” at everything.
The best parent.
The best partner.
The best friend.
The best employee, or business owner, or creative.

We’re supposed to follow all the “right” research, build secure attachments, feed the perfect diet, and stimulate our kids with toys that are ethical, educational, and aesthetically pleasing. Oh — and also work out, maintain a peaceful home, keep a relationship alive, and somehow still have time to meditate, exfoliate, and respond to texts.

It’s overwhelming at best. Crippling at worst.

And if you do try to meet all those standards, you risk losing yourself in the process. Because “mom culture” — as it’s often marketed to us — can be so all-consuming that your identity quietly gets wrapped around being in constant service to everyone else. And when that happens, the guilt and shame creep in. There’s always something you should be doing better, differently, or more of.

It’s a setup. And it’s exhausting.

I see the effects of all this in my therapy work all the time. Adult children will come in and say they feel emotionally stuck, or like they grew up carrying the weight of their parents’ feelings. They learned, early on, that their job was to make sure everyone else — especially mom — was okay.

That’s one of the ripple effects of modern “mom culture.” When motherhood becomes your entire identity, it can unintentionally blur the emotional boundaries between parent and child. Kids grow up feeling responsible not just for their own emotions, but for their parents’, too. And that makes it really hard for them to figure out who they are.

I also see this pattern show up when parents become empty nesters. While it can be exciting, a lot of people really struggle with it — not just because the house is quieter, but because they don’t know who they are outside of parenting. After years of constantly pushing to be the “best” mom, there’s this moment of stillness that can feel terrifying. The question becomes: Who am I if I’m not swimming upstream to keep everything running?

Talking with my friend reminded me that it doesn’t have to be that way — that we can choose a different path. One where we stay connected to ourselves, support each other with honesty and grace, and resist the idea that we have to be “the best” at anything to be deeply good at this…

Tune in next Monday, June 16th, at 8am EST for Part Two.