When I became pregnant with my first child in 2006, there was no doubt in my mind what I envisioned for my new family: I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. I’d grown up with a mother who was home with us, and I dreamed of giving my own children that same steady presence. I wanted to be with them as much as possible, even if it meant making sacrifices as a single-income household. My husband at the time agreed, and I was lucky enough to spend 13 and a half years as a stay-at-home parent.

It wasn’t easy—any stay-at-home parent can fill you in on the challenges—but we made it work. We scraped by and thrived in our own little bubble.

That bubble burst in 2019 when my marriage ended, and I suddenly found myself a single mom of three. Child support in our state is, frankly, laughable—try raising three kids on $1,200 a month in this economy—and I knew I needed to reenter the workforce, and fast.

Almost immediately, I landed a job here, at Latched Mama. And to my surprise, I loved it! I loved using my brain in ways I hadn’t since college. I loved connecting with new people. I discovered that I truly enjoyed working outside the home—and to this day, I’m grateful for the challenge, the growth, and the pride of earning my own income.

Still, even with all the positives, there’s grief.

I grieve the days I used to volunteer in my kids’ classrooms and attend PTA board meetings. There are days when I miss our quiet little cul-de-sac life and having the time at home to (somewhat) keep up with daily chores. When I see old photos from those early years, they stir something in me—a mixture of sadness, longing, and heartbreak. Don’t get me wrong: I LOVE my life now. But when I can’t take my kids to the park on a school holiday or attend a class party, the guilt is there–and it stings.

The truth is, the life I’m living now looks nothing like the one I envisioned when I saw those two pink lines slowly appear in 2006. Sometimes it feels like failure. Sometimes regret creeps in. But when the fog lifts—and it always does—I see the beauty in what we’ve built. Our life may not be the one I planned, but it’s full of strength, growth, and so much love.

I’m learning to release the shame of a dream that didn’t play out as I’d hoped. I’m learning to embrace the future—whatever it looks like—with an open heart. It’s not a perfect process, but those moments of grief are fewer now, and softer.

Because this version of my family—the one I have today—is just as beautiful.