Children make the mother

Children
I never really got kids—until I had my own.

The moment my son was born, my life changed completely. I, too, was born that day—born as a mother. And the woman I became in that moment has endured more than I ever thought possible... all in the name of love.

Spencer, my oldest, came into the world in a little off-grid cabin tucked deep in the woods. No running water. No electricity. Just me, my husband, two midwives, and a doula. It was the middle of winter—20 degrees outside—and I labored for 24 hours.

During transition, that wild phase just before birth, I remember going full primal. I sent the midwives out onto the crunchy, frozen porch to fend for themselves in the icy dark. I demanded that my husband climb into the horse trough we were using as a makeshift bathtub. The doula was boiling water on the propane stove and pouring it into the tub, bucket by bucket.

It was gritty and raw and real. And it changed me forever.

Becoming a mother cracked something open in me. Not just tenderness and fierce love—but also resilience, creativity, and clarity about what truly matters. Children do that. They show us who we are. They give us a reason to become better. They call us home.