About

Why I'm here... 

When I became pregnant, I had an image of the mother I would be...

I would continue with all the hobbies and interests that had shaped my young adult life.
I would find a way to be successful, contribute to my family’s income, and strive to give my children as many opportunities as possible.
I would model for them what it means to live healthily, to love, to be strong and ambitious, to practice kindness, and to become a successful adult.
I would also keep a clean house, pay the bills on time, be a good partner to my husband, and walk the dogs every day.

Because that’s what mothers do, right? Love unconditionally, make sacrifices, and practice selflessness—all while striving for success and good health.

This all came crashing down when my first was born. I became completely consumed with providing my daughter the best possible care and found it impossible to balance the life I’d been used to. Dancing was very difficult to incorporate as my daughter’s birth and postnatal care became a domino effect of health difficulties. I felt shame and guilt for not being able to breastfeed as I was encouraged to do by every educated health practitioner.

Almost immediately after her birth, I mourned the independent life I had before children. Don’t get me wrong—of course I love her with every particle of my being. But as soon as she arrived, I no longer knew myself.

I went from being certain of my goals and aspirations to embodying—literally—a new body, a new identity, new goals, new priorities. During the fourth trimester, I stopped focusing on myself… because that’s what mothers “should” do, right?

Then maternity leave ended. I had to juggle work and mothering, as quality childcare was difficult to find and not affordable on a part-time income. My boss at the time was more supportive than most employers. I was able to work partly from home and even bring my daughter to the office when I couldn’t arrange childcare with the Grandmas. But having a toddler in the office while sitting at a desk is nearly impossible. I couldn’t focus. Naturally, my employment came to an end, and I decided to open my own business and home as a childcare provider.

Within a year, I went from being a new mother to one wonderful baby girl—to a mother of six! I placed immense pressure on myself to be the perfect caregiver. I justified running a dayhome because I felt guilty leaving my child with someone else, and working while paying for childcare felt pointless.

The next few years were a blur—just trying to keep my head above water. I had a miscarriage that I never properly processed, and later the birth of my healthy, bouncing baby boy. I never took maternity leave the second time around, as I was self-employed. I didn’t want to risk losing my dayhome families, my income, or having to start over from scratch. So, two weeks after my second C-section, I was back to caring for three kids… then five… and eventually eight!

I could do it—I was a “supermom.” A term I once thought was something to strive for, I now understand to be quite unsupportive.

The chaos of non-stop meal planning, emotional regulation (both mine and eight tiny humans’), diaper blowouts, glue, paint, and markers everywhere, managing a household and business, trying to nurture my relationship, and striving to be a good mother was all-encompassing. I hadn’t realized it, but I was drowning.

In the fall of 2023, my son went to kindergarten, and for what felt like the first time, I had the house to myself. It was quiet.
I could finally do whatever I wanted with my time.
No one was asking anything of me.
And all I could do was pace the house back and forth—my brain racing with anxiety and fog. I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t think. Because for the first time in a long time, it was just me.
And I didn’t know me anymore.

Not only was I struggling mentally, but physically I was burnt out. I was getting sick all the time. I had terrible spasms in my gut, my hair was falling out, I wasn’t eating, and my anxiety was through the roof. I had a plan for the mother I wanted to be… and I was nowhere near it.

Scrolling through social media one day, I came across the term Matrescence.
My mind was blown.
I cried—like ugly cried.

All the feelings I had buried and never spoken aloud for fear of judgment—from others and from myself—were right there, written out. Someone had put my thoughts and emotions into words… in a published book. In fact, there were many books, podcasts, doctors, psychologists, coaches—a whole movement, for goodness’ sake!

I felt completely validated.

I asked myself… Why did no one tell me this?
Why isn’t this taught in schools, or birth prep classes, or passed down through generations?

I immersed myself in the education of Matrescence, and early on, I made it my goal to help other mothers feel as free as I did in that moment.

The Good Life Mom© became my persona—the motherhood I strive for. A slower pace. Letting go of perfection. Giving myself permission to take care of me. I use it daily as a mantra to remind myself not to give in to the external and internal pressures that so many mothers face.

My children can thrive with a not-so-perfect, happy mama who finally has room to hold space for them when they need me most.