Mother’s Day was quiet this year, followed by my birthday the next day. No huge celebrations or extravagant plans—just thoughtful gifts, long walks, emotional reflection, puppies, therapy, and the realization that motherhood feels very different once your children start becoming adults.

Mother’s Day felt different this year. Not in a bad way, but in one of those subtle emotional ways that quietly reminds you life keeps changing while you’re still trying to catch up to it. I woke up early to take Kale to work, and before she got out of the car, she handed me a little crochet plant. About a month ago we had seen them somewhere, and I casually mentioned wanting a pink one. I had completely forgotten about it, but she didn’t. She remembered.

That tiny moment stayed with me for the rest of the day. Not because it was extravagant or expensive, but because thoughtful things hit differently once your kids get older. There’s something emotional about realizing your children are now old enough to notice you as a person too. Not just “mom.” Not just the person making dinner, answering questions, cleaning up messes, or keeping life moving. They start paying attention to the small details about you. The things you like. The random comments you make in passing. The things that quietly matter to you.

I don’t think people talk enough about how much motherhood changes once your children grow up. When they’re little, motherhood is loud. Constant. Physical. Someone always needs something. You spend years being touched, interrupted, depended on every second of the day. Then slowly, almost without realizing it’s happening, they start building lives of their own. Jobs. Schedules. Friends. Independence. Responsibilities. Motherhood becomes quieter.

Not less meaningful. Just quieter.

Honestly, that transition feels strange sometimes. You spend years wishing for five minutes alone, then suddenly the house gets quieter and part of your heart misses the chaos you once desperately needed a break from. It’s a weird emotional contradiction that probably only parents fully understand.

The whole day itself stayed simple. No giant plans. No huge family events. No pressure to create some perfect social media version of Mother’s Day. Honestly, I think I appreciate simple more as I get older anyway. I spent part of the morning cleaning because apparently I still don’t fully know how to relax, even on holidays. Then came the little comfort routines that help me feel somewhat human when life feels mentally loud. Shower. Hair things. Skincare. Tiny rituals that make me feel more grounded.

Later I went for two walks. One ended up being a little over five miles, and the second was just over three. Somewhere during those walks, I started thinking about how much walking I’ve done throughout my lifetime. An unbelievable amount, honestly. There were periods of my life where I walked fifteen to twenty miles a day. Not every single day, but often enough that movement became tied deeply to control instead of health.

That realization connects directly back to anorexia. Walking became a way to burn every calorie I consumed. A way to earn food. A way to quiet guilt and anxiety around eating. What started as movement eventually became obsession. That’s the uncomfortable side of eating disorders people don’t always understand. Even when you’re doing better, certain thought patterns don’t completely disappear overnight. Some stay quiet in the background. Some habits still carry emotional weight years later.

People romanticize walking constantly online now. Wellness culture packages movement into neat little aesthetic routines. Fresh air. Mental clarity. Self-care. The “hot girl walk.” What people don’t always realize is that movement doesn’t come from healthy places for everyone. Sometimes it comes from fear. Sometimes it comes from punishment. Sometimes it comes from feeling like your body has to earn rest.

Do I enjoy walking now? Sometimes I genuinely do. I love nature. I love trails. I love catching up with people on the phone while I walk. I love music in my headphones while my thoughts slowly untangle themselves. Still, if all the distractions disappear—if I’m fully caught up on calls, messages, thoughts, notifications—part of me still dreads walking purely for “health.” Old associations linger longer than people realize.

At the same time, growth doesn’t always look like suddenly loving every healthy habit. Sometimes growth looks like continuing to choose healthier intentions behind those habits than you once had. That feels more honest to me.

After my first walk, Hayden came up behind me carrying two gift bags with a Mother’s Day balloon attached. One bag was full of chocolate, honey buns, and little treats she knew I’d love. The second bag had socks because apparently every sock I own somehow becomes hers eventually. At this point I’m convinced I’ve spent hundreds of dollars replacing socks over the last six years.

Then there was the card.

I’ve always loved cards. There’s something personal about them that gifts can’t fully replace. Someone standing in a store reading through different messages trying to choose words that sound closest to how they feel about you—that matters to me. Her card had me crying quietly in the kitchen because you suddenly realize your children understand you differently now. They’re growing old enough to express love in more thoughtful, intentional ways.

That part of motherhood feels beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. Part of you constantly grieves old versions of your children while simultaneously falling in love with who they’re becoming.

Then somehow Mother’s Day ended and my birthday started. Some years the two fall on the same day. Other years they’re separate. Honestly, I prefer when they’re separate because it makes them feel like two distinct moments instead of one combined celebration. Although if your birthday lands right after Mother’s Day, everyone in your life definitely benefits from discounted flowers. That’s just smart budgeting.

Just like Mother’s Day, Hayden texted me shortly after midnight. She’s always the first one. That consistency means more to me than she probably realizes.

My birthday itself wasn’t glamorous either. I had IOP that day, which honestly isn’t exactly how most people picture spending their birthday, but healing doesn’t pause simply because the calendar says it’s your day. That’s another thing I’m learning lately. Real growth rarely looks aesthetic. Sometimes it looks like therapy on your birthday because your mental health still needs attention regardless of the occasion.

After IOP, I came home to puppies. Messy, chaotic, exhausting puppies. Nineteen more days until they leave for their forever homes. Part of me is going to miss them more than I expected because they’ve completely taken over daily life at this point. Another part of me is definitely ready for my house to feel a little more normal again. Right now it’s nonstop cleanup, tiny paws, puppy mush, fur everywhere, barking, movement, and chaos all day long.

Later Hayden picked Kale up from work and came back carrying more gifts—an orchid, which is my absolute favorite flower, pink roses, a necklace, Skittles, and somehow… more socks. Thoughtful gifts always matter more to me because they show someone genuinely knows you.

That evening I went to the gym with Erica. Her birthday was the 7th. Mine is the 11th. She understands the weird overlap of birthdays and Mother’s Day landing ridiculously close together. We spent an hour on the treadmill together, and afterward she surprised me with candy, roses, and a balloon.

Between my girls, my friends, and over 150 social media messages these last two days, I felt genuinely loved. Not performatively celebrated. Loved. There’s a difference between the two.

Dinner stayed simple too. Mother’s Day called for a hot dog. My birthday somehow called for grilled cheese, mashed potatoes, and corn. I’m honestly not someone who needs huge fancy dinners. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love a good restaurant. J.B. Dawson’s is heaven. Lately though, simple feels comforting. Maybe because life itself has already felt emotionally complicated enough.

I think this birthday hit differently because I’m realizing how much more I value thoughtfulness over extravagance now. The remembered conversations. The late-night texts. The cards. The flowers. The tiny details people hold onto because they care enough to pay attention. Those things stay with me far longer than expensive dinners or elaborate plans ever could.

Would I have loved having both girls together with me all day? Absolutely. Life just didn’t line up that way this year. Maybe next year.

Still, these last two days reminded me of something important. Even as my daughters grow older, even as life changes, even as motherhood becomes quieter than it once was, love still shows up.

It just arrives differently now.

And honestly, I think I’m finally learning how to appreciate those quieter versions of love more than ever before.

~Tj 🖤