(Trauma Made Me Strong)

I didn’t know bravery until I became a mother.

When I held my firstborn — my Harry — I was twenty-four, terrified, exhausted, and cracked open in every direction a woman can break and still be breathing. Seventeen hours of labor. Two and a half hours of pushing. A nurse fresh out of rehab. An epidural that didn’t work. A hip that literally came out of place. And a man who slept through almost the entire birth only to wake up when it was time to push.

Harry came into the world tiny, fragile, and fierce — and the moment I saw him, something in me changed forever. I became convinced that if I didn’t stare at him every thirty seconds, he would stop breathing. I spiraled into postpartum depression. I was overwhelmed, under-supported, and scared out of my mind. But even in my fear, I saw the strength in his spirit — bright, awake, already full of love and light.

And that’s when motherhood made me brave.

I had to be brave enough to tell the doctors I wasn’t okay.
Brave enough to reach out to a lactation consultant.
Brave enough to admit I needed WIC to afford the formula he required.
Brave enough to figure out why he cried, what a tongue tie was, and why breastfeeding wasn’t working.
Brave enough to accept that I was his number-one advocate—and the support I assumed I’d get from his father simply wasn’t coming.

Bravery wasn’t loud back then.
It wasn’t Instagram-pretty.
It was survival.

2 Timothy 1:7

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and self-discipline.”

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As Harry grew, bravery grew with me.

I faced a public school system that wanted labels instead of answers.
I refused to blindly medicate him because a checklist said “ADHD.”
I worked on his diet, his character, his impulse control.
We turned the ADHD around naturally and realistically, step by step.

I watched him slip through academic cracks, undiagnosed for dyslexia until tenth grade.
I walked him through confirmation, soccer, orchestra.
I sat on PTOs and booster clubs.
I wrote him letters every single day during Boot Camp and visited him every time I could so he wouldn’t be lonely while serving.
And now I watch him navigate young adulthood with strength and struggle intertwined — and I still see that tiny newborn in my arms.

And here’s the truth no one tells young moms:

It takes courage to raise them.
It takes even more courage to let them go.

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Motherhood made me brave,
but trauma made me strong.

Trauma taught me to fight.
Trauma taught me to use my voice.
Trauma taught me to advocate until the world shakes.
Trauma taught me that no one — NO ONE — will fight for these children harder than their mother.

I could write entire books about Jay.
About Banana.
About Madame Princess.
About Super G and Tank — who each deserve their own saga.
Their stories shaped me, broke me, forced me to rebuild, and made me the mother I am today.

And if you’re here — maybe from the podcast, maybe from a friend, maybe from social media, maybe one of those infamous flying monkeys — then you know these aren’t just stories.

They’re battles.
They’re miracles.
They’re survival.

It is by the grace of Jesus that my children are alive.
It is by the grace of Jesus that I’m alive.
And it is by the grace of Jesus that I’m still fighting.

Proverbs 28:1

“The wicked flee though no one pursues, but the righteous are as bold as a lion.”

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But this blog isn’t just for mothers who carry extraordinary trauma.
This is for every mother who needs a reminder:

Bravery isn’t only for emergencies.
Bravery is for everyday motherhood.

It’s brave to advocate at school.
Brave to ask for help.
Brave to set boundaries.
Brave to admit you don’t know what you’re doing.
Brave to try again tomorrow.
Brave to enjoy your children instead of surviving them.
Brave to fix generational patterns you didn’t break.
Brave to choose connection over chaos.

And hear me clearly:

When a mother says, “I love my kids, but I don’t like them”?
That’s not honesty — that’s a warning.

It is the opposite of courage.
The opposite of connection.
And the opposite of what our children need in a world that is more dangerous, confusing, and hostile to childhood than any other generation before them.

If we want to take our motherhood back — really take it back — then we have to do better.
We have to be stronger.
We have to be braver.

And I am absolutely the woman who can help you do it.

Because in 2026, I’m launching my consultation and coaching business — a place where mothers learn how to reclaim their motherhood, their confidence, their voice, and their God-given authority to protect their children.

This is your moment, Mama.
This is your wake-up call.
This is your reminder that you are braver than you know.