Whispering Shadows

A few days ago, I sat down to write, ready to let my thoughts spill onto the page. But a small, dark shadow in the back of my mind whispered, "But nobody will read it." I let that little shadow shimmy around, planting seeds of doubt until, inevitably, I got up and found something else to do.

Last night, I tried again. I sat down with determination, pen in hand, and there it was again—the shadow. This time, it peeked up and whispered, "But nobody will care." I let it linger too long, let it stretch its arms and take up space. Before I knew it, I was up, walking away, letting its whispers win.

Today, though? Today, I flipped every light switch in my room, lit my favorite candle, and declared, "I don’t care if nobody reads it." I banished the shadow with stubborn defiance, and now here I am—writing.

I’ll probably show up here with my usual clever, wit-filled posts in the future, but tonight, I feel compelled to write the truth.

I love my job. I love my people. I love being alive. But sometimes, when the nights are still and quiet, and it’s just me, alone with my words, I cry. Sometimes I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s healing—staring down the emotions I try so hard to bury. Maybe it’s just the weight of life catching up with me.

Tonight, I cried because I didn’t feel like a good enough mom. And for the first time, I let my daughter see it. I told her, through tears, that I felt like I was failing her. Her little five-year-old voice—full of wisdom far beyond her years—replied, “But everyone thinks you’re a great mom.” I told her the only opinion I cared about was hers. She looked me square in the eyes and said, “You’re the best mom.”

And just like that, the floodgates opened. My heart cracked wide, and I sobbed.

Parenting is hard. Scratch that—parenting is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

When they’re born, you’re terrified something will happen to them.
When they’re growing, you’re terrified something will happen to them.
When they’re grown, you’re terrified something will happen to you—because who else will be there if something happens to them?

It’s a constant loop of fear and love, joy and anxiety, hope and uncertainty.

This week, my daughter told me she has a crush on a boy in her class. It’s innocent, of course—just a sweet little thing—but it sent my mind racing to a not-so-distant future where she might get her heart broken. The thought of her pain makes me want to wrap her in an emotional and physical bubble, protecting her from every storm.

But I know I can’t. Life has to be lived, lessons have to be learned.

Even today, while walking through the mall, she mentioned wanting to get her ears pierced. “What does it feel like?” she asked, and I told her the truth: “It’ll hurt for a minute, but then it’s over, and you’ll have pretty earrings.”

As we talked, a little girl climbed into the chair nearby to get hers done. We stood and watched. My daughter saw her nervousness, her fear, and yes—her tears when it was done. And afterward, she turned to me and said, “I think I still want to do it.”

I felt so proud of her courage, but we’re waiting a few weeks to see if she still feels the same. (I mean, we’re brave, but we’re not impulsive. 😂)

Parenting is a whirlwind of emotions—love, pride, fear, doubt—all swirling together. It’s beautiful and messy, fulfilling and exhausting.

And let’s talk about that doubt for a second. Imposter syndrome? Oh, it’s real. Social media doesn’t help either. Everywhere you look, there’s someone with a shinier vacation, a more magical Christmas, a more Pinterest-perfect life.

Sometimes I catch myself comparing. Are we doing enough? Am I doing enough? Am I too much? Not enough? It’s endless. I don’t even remember when I started caring about those things, but here I am, questioning myself in the most important role I’ve ever had.

But here’s what I know:

When my daughter looks at me with her bright eyes and says, “You’re the best mom,” that’s the only validation I need. The shadow of doubt might creep in sometimes, but I’ll turn on every light, light every candle, and remind myself: I am enough.

And so are you.

So, if you’re reading this—if the shadows have been whispering to you too—know this: You’re not alone. We’re all just doing the best we can. And some days, just showing up is more than enough.

xoxo Kate 🦄✨