You know those women who need to be needed, the ones who seem to be at their best when taking care of others? 

Yeah … that’s not me.

There are parts of who I am that do not fit with motherhood at all. I hate messes and filth and body fluids and whining. I don’t like interruptions or chaos or lack of personal space. I’m not a caretaker type person. I am scheduled and ordered. I have a temper. I’m maybe too businesslike when I should be more … motherly.

I’m maybe too harsh. But the world will be harsher.

Over time, those sharp edges have smoothed out and refined — but only because I allowed it to happen by first having a breakdown. It took a few stretches on anti-anxiety meds to straighten me out, but eventually I learned to stop fighting against the tide and roll with it instead.

When I threw up my hands and gave in, motherhood finally had the freedom to shape me. So while I continue to struggle with how best to maneuver through raising three small children, I am so, so grateful to them for teaching me how to be better.

How to better handle messes.

How to better handle mischief.

How to have patience when a boy must build an army men fortress before he can go to bed. It takes forever … just so you know.

How to better care for injuries.

How to enjoy fussy, slobbery, teething babies who won’t let me out of their sight.

Thank you, my three children, for being patient with me as I learn how to lead by example. And thank you to my husband who trusts me to be able figure it out — whatever “it” happens to be — while he is at work.

My role in life isn’t a burden, it’s a blessing. I forget that sometimes, but today I remembered, and I hope that you do too.