I felt a renewed sense of hope that I could embrace autism, I could learn to manage his world better, so we could be the family we always wanted to be.

Sitting down at the table, warm mug in hand, I touch the keyboard. The screen of my computer comes to life, a blank page ready and waiting to be filled. It’s only taken five years of motherhood, but I feel like myself here.

Despite spending the past three years in regular therapy and trying my hardest to give my daughter every ounce of support she needs, she has continued on a path that is both upsetting and frightening.

For far too long, my mother has commanded too much of my attention. My mother has a narcissistic personality. If it doesn’t feed her ego, it doesn’t matter to her.

I waited until my mother-in-law left her kitchen to open the coveted junk drawer, the top one next to the sink, and stare at the five inch long twist ties all lined up on the right side. A multitude of colors: yellow, black, silver, green, red. Why would anyone save so many of those metal fasteners?

Being a mom comes with so many mixed emotions. Uncertainty, fear, hope, love, joy, and everything else in between. Some days feel like they’ll never end and other days fly by so fast. But one thing we want you to know - you’re doing your best, Mama.

A diagnosis. Just the word sounds alarming to me. An unexpected, totally unprepared for, and initially hated diagnosis. This is not how it was supposed to be. I cannot accept this. I will not accept this. I do not think this is okay.

I love my son. I am enamored with my son and I cannot think of a greater blessing and honor than to be his mommy. But do I love motherhood? No. Not really.

Last June, my parents decided to sell our family home in favor of a newer version in a town two hours away. It is often said that the memories we share about a space and the people who created them make the home, not the physical structure itself. But when it comes to bidding farewell to the place that holds our memories, it is bittersweet.

The women I see who display their love of motherhood say they want as many children as they can carry. They feel someone is missing. They see an empty chair at their table. I love my children. I love motherhood. But I know my limits. I don’t want one more.

My daughter is beautiful. She excels in her classes. She possesses an understanding of people that isn’t common in high schoolers. She is a fierce friend. Loyal. Trusting. Kind. She is a peacemaker, a bridge builder, a shining light in a sometimes dark world.

She tells me she feels invisible.

It was the day we were all going to find out if we were having a little boy or girl. Our excitement permeated the room as the technician’s lack of communication led us to prodding her for all the details. She measured and looked and measured and looked, not saying much. She finally revealed he was a boy and we cheered. She did not congratulate us. Her demeanor was odd and she instructed us to go back upstairs and speak with the midwife.

Motherhood carries a woman through the rest of her life; it knows no end, no timeline, no expiration. But daughterhood is more mysterious, more fragile, and more tangled. In part it is something we choose, but also something that is gifted to us. The mother-daughter relationship can often take many forms and finding a healthy balance is difficult.

“Hey, fatty.” Did she really just say that to me? What kind of mom calls her pregnant daughter "fatty"? I knew I wasn’t fat. So where was this coming from? It felt different than how she had treated me in the past. She never treated me well, but this was different. This felt like a direct attack on me.

I used to think that bravery was not for me. I’m not a risk taker. I don’t like the unknown. I need details. I like to work within boundaries and thrive in predictable situations. I love the idea of being brave, but I don’t want to find myself in a situation where I actually have to be.

If you are like me, you revolt with your entire being against judgement and unsolicited opinions. You believe that motherhood is hard enough without believing the lie that we can never quite measure up. You know that it becomes unbearable when we allow that lie to become the voice that drives our decisions and lives.

Losing a parent is never easy. When it happened to NJ, she became paralyzed with grief, thinking of the milestones that her mother would never see her accomplish. But she became determined to live up to and share her mother’s legacy with those she loves - especially her children.

Reflecting on my upbringing, education, and beginning of my career, there was no clear template for a woman in business. Similarly there was no recipe for motherhood as a working woman. I became a mother shortly after turning 30, blindsided by my love for my child. Balance was not a thing before motherhood. I had always poured all my energy into my career, but now there was this little person who also needed me. I had no idea what it looked like to be a working mother balancing the demands of my job with the needs of a child.

During one of our daily chats, Mom told me that the funniest thing had happened to her at Target. Finished with her shopping, she couldn’t find her keys in her purse. She retraced her steps, no keys. Mom then walked back to her car which was running, and the keys were in the ignition. This was two years before she died.