Whispers of the Night: The Stories We Tell Ourselves as Mothers

Tonight, the house is hushed. The world outside is quiet. And here I am—still typing. Still working.Still pouring myself into all the tasks that call my name.

These late hours bring more than deadlines. They bring questions. How much time did I spend with my son today? Did I truly see him, hear him, feel him near?Or was I too lost in thought, buried in work, chained to this glowing screen?

These are the moments when guilt begins to seep in—soft at first, then louder, like a tide returning to shore.

Did he need me more today? Was I there?Will he remember a mother wrapped in warmth—or one always wrapped around a keyboard?

What if I’m not enough? Not equipped? What if I’m missing it—all of it? What if?

Oh, how many "what ifs" echo in a mother’s mind…

The Stories We Tell Ourselves

We mothers are storytellers. But sometimes, the stories we spin in the solitude of our minds aren’t kind. They poke at our softest parts. They find the cracks where insecurity hides and pour in self-doubt like rainwater through an open window.

I often wonder—how much of this is truly mine? And how much is what the world whispered into my ears: What a “good mother” looks like, how she should always be present, how she should never choose herself, how she should do it all—and do it perfectly.

A New Narrative

But tonight, I choose a different narrative. One that honors the courage that it takes to nurture another soul while also nurturing your own. One that sees the beauty in balancing physical, emotional, and mental worlds without letting any part of you completely disappear.

This narrative holds space for the complexity of being a mother and an artist, a provider and a dreamer. It allows me to question old beliefs and ask: Which stories belong to me—and which were handed down like hand-me-downs that never truly fit?

With this clarity, something beautiful has emerged. I began to see my son not only as my child but as a mirror—reflecting back my strength, my tenderness, and the places within me still seeking healing. He teaches me daily. Not through words, but through his presence, his needs, his laughter. Together, we journey—not just through physical landscapes but through emotional ones, too. And every step deepens my understanding of myself and what it means to being a mother.

Motherhood has gifted me new lenses. Lenses that shape how I see the world, how I create, and how I speak to myself. Through my son, I have discovered the kind of storyteller I wish to be—not one who performs, but one who whispers truths into her own ear: tales of joy, resilience, imperfection, and strength.

He showed me what kind of legacy I want to leave. Not one made of trophies or achievements, but of moments—raw, sacred, seen.

Sharing Stories That Matter

In a podcast by the ever-inspiring Dr. Sarah, I heard these words:

"The power of storytelling and the meaning that we make of our own narrative and the experiences of others is so important for helping us to feel seen, heard, validated, and understood."

Those words wrapped around my heart. It isn’t just the stories we tell ourselves about motherhood that matter—it’s the stories we choose to share with our children, too.

What do I want my son to know about this chapter of our life? How can I help him make sense of the changes—the move to a new country, the beginning of a new life, the moments of chaos?

I realized that telling these stories with truth, authenticity, and open vulnerability creates something sacred. It builds a bridge between hearts. It redefines motherhood as an evolving dialogue—one not bound by guilt or shame, not shaped by outdated expectations, but rooted in connection and truth.

The Sacred Pause

As I finish writing, I rise from my desk and tiptoe into my son's room. He’s asleep, his breath soft and steady. I lean in, press a kiss to his cheek.

Thank you for being my mirror. Thank you for expanding my heart, my art, and my understanding in ways I never imagined.

This is the motherhood I choose—a journey of stories, told in love, lit by truth, and shared with the ones who need them most.

References:

Bren, Sarah. Dr. Sarah Bren. The power of stories in parenthood: Representation, identity, social media, and the “rules” of parenthood with L’Oreal Thompson Payton [Accessed: April 16th, 2025]