You know that woman us moms hear about. She sleeps late on the weekends, has time to go to the gym and get her nails done.

I’m teaching my kids to ask and then listen. Make eye contact so that their eyes are embracing their friend in a comforting hug.

Be the person who calls her asking how her first therapy session went. And even if she wasn’t sure about it, encourages her to try again.

When you’re always on the move, and then FINALLY you have a moment to breathe, and all you can do is think of more things to do--and so you go back to doing until you decide to go into bed.

Every family has one parent who worries like a boss, so don’t be ashamed to admit you’re that parent.

The sweet spot of motherhood is found in the mess. It’s in that pile of laundry on the floor that keeps accumulating every couple of hours.

I'm exhausted, completely worn out, but I can't fall asleep. My brain is on 10% battery, but it stays awake, waiting for something—so I lay here waiting.

If we could brush away problems, imagine how neat life would be? No more messy and bad days. Sweep, and poof, the sun’s shining and the day’s good.

Highly sensitive people are human sponges, and it's hard always being sopping wet with everyone’s EVERYTHING.

Sometimes motherhood is lonely even when we have our kids around. It’s a different kind of lonely than actually being alone.

Your past doesn’t define the mom you are today. You are the hope that she can get better.

We’re the moms with social anxiety. You may not know who we are based on the way we come off.

I’d rather my daughter be screaming and crying, fists pounding on the floor, than for her to get her way by acting like that.

I want to hear more about the nice girls. The ones that will leave a crowded table to sit with you, so you don't have to be alone.

We’re all doing the best we can. I’ve heard WAY too many moms of kids of all ages say, “It’s my fault my child struggles with _____.” (Insert your child’s struggle).

Anxiety is… feeling like something terrible is about to happen, and feeling it in your bones.

To my child with anxiety… I will always fight your monsters. The ones under your bed and the ones in your head.

Mommy has a squishy tummy with excess skin that hangs over her pants. She can take a fist full of it and hold it in her hands.

Size doesn’t matter. It means absolutely nada, zero, zip, zilch. If you have a smaller waistline, you won’t be happier. I can guarantee it.

One of the hardest parts about motherhood is the anxiety. The anxiety to make sure everything is going to be okay.