If I could go back, I wouldn’t try to be a perfect mom—I’d try to be a more aware one. That’s the difference I understand now. Not perfection. Not control. Awareness.

Because the truth is, I didn’t always get it right.

Motherhood isn’t something you walk into fully prepared for, no matter how much you think you are. Add mental health into the mix—bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder—and it becomes something even more complex. It’s not just raising kids. It’s trying to regulate yourself while guiding someone else at the same time.

That’s a lot.

There were days I showed up exactly how I wanted to. Patient. Present. Loving in the way I imagined motherhood would look. Then there were days where I was overwhelmed, reactive, mentally exhausted before the day even really started.

Both versions existed.

And for a long time, I thought that made me inconsistent. Maybe even failing.

Looking back now, I see it differently.

I wasn’t failing—I was functioning with what I had at the time.

But if I could go back, I wouldn’t focus so much on getting everything right. I’d focus on understanding myself better in those moments. I’d pay more attention to my triggers, my reactions, my tone. Not to shame myself—but to catch things sooner.

Because awareness changes everything.

When my girls were younger, I thought being a good mom meant doing more. More patience, more structure, more control over the environment. I didn’t realize that what mattered just as much was how I handled myself when things didn’t go as planned.

And they don’t go as planned. Ever.

Kids don’t follow scripts. They test boundaries, emotions, patience. They mirror what they see more than what they’re told.

That part hits harder now.

Because I can see the moments where I reacted too quickly. Where my tone carried more weight than my words. Where I shut down instead of leaning in. Not constantly. Not all the time. But enough that I notice it now.

And noticing it now is where the growth is.

There’s a version of motherhood that looks perfect from the outside. Calm voice, structured days, consistent responses. That version exists—but it’s not the full picture. The real version includes moments of frustration, overwhelm, and learning as you go.

That was my reality.

What I didn’t understand back then was how much my internal world shaped what my kids experienced. When you’re dealing with intense emotions, your reactions can come faster than your awareness. You don’t always get a warning. It just happens.

That’s the part people don’t talk about enough.

It’s not about not loving your kids enough. It’s not about not trying hard enough. It’s about your nervous system reacting before your logical mind catches up.

If I could go back, I’d give myself more tools—not more pressure.

I’d learn how to pause sooner. Not perfectly. Not every time. Just sooner.

Because that pause? That’s where everything changes.

Now that my girls are older, I see things more clearly. Conversations are different. There’s more depth, more honesty. I can explain things I didn’t have the language for before. I can own moments without feeling like it defines me as a mother.

That shift matters.

Because they don’t need a perfect version of me. They need a real one. Someone who can take accountability, show growth, and be present in a way that feels safe and consistent.

And consistency doesn’t mean never messing up.

It means showing up again after you do.

That’s something I wish I understood sooner.

I used to think mistakes meant I was getting it wrong. Now I understand they’re part of the process. What matters is what happens after. Do you ignore it? Or do you repair it?

Repair builds more trust than perfection ever could.

That’s something I’m still learning.

There’s also a level of grief that comes with this kind of awareness. Realizing things later than you wish you had. Seeing moments differently with the perspective you have now. Wishing you could go back and handle something with the tools you’ve developed since.

That feeling is real.

But staying stuck in that doesn’t help anyone.

What matters now is what I do with what I know.

I can’t go back and redo those years. I can show up differently now. I can build stronger communication. I can create a space where my daughters feel safe being open, even when things aren’t perfect.

And that’s what I’m doing.

Motherhood didn’t get easier—I just got more aware.

I understand my reactions more. I catch things faster. I know when I need to step back instead of pushing through. That awareness doesn’t eliminate hard moments, but it changes how I move through them.

That’s growth.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just consistent shifts over time.

If I could say anything to the version of me raising younger kids, it would be this: you don’t need to be perfect to be a good mom. You need to be present, honest, and willing to grow.

Because your kids aren’t keeping score of your perfect moments.

They remember how you made them feel.

They remember if you came back after things got hard.

They remember if they felt safe with you.

That’s what matters.

And that’s what I hold onto now.

~Tj 🩷