For a long time, motherhood didn’t look the way I expected it to.

When I was raising my oldest, I was still living under my parents’ roof. When she was 2 I left to pursue my bachelors degree. They supported me while I went off to college, stepping in so my daughter had stability while I worked toward a future I hoped would change both of our lives.

But when I graduated, something shifted. I was back home.

Suddenly, my parents felt like the parents and I wasn’t sure where I fit.

I was her mother, but I was also still their child. I had authority, but not always autonomy. I had responsibility, but not full control. And navigating that space between gratitude and discomfort was one of the hardest parts of my journey.

I went straight to work after graduating. Providing was ingrained in me. It had to be. Her father was little to no help, and I learned early that if I wanted stability, I had to create it myself. So I worked. I pushed. I showed up in the way I knew how financially, practically, relentlessly.

At the same time, I placed high expectations on my daughter. Unattainable? Maybe.

She was bright. Capable. Full of potential. And I was determined that she would not become a statistic or fall into the stereotypes so often placed on children of teen mothers. I wanted her life to be bigger than the labels the world was so ready to give her. I remember reading all of the parenting books and I mean all of them.

But looking back, I can see how much weight that carried for the both of us.

I was raising her while still navigating my own life. Learning how to be an adult while responsible for shaping another one. Trying to balance gratitude for my parents’ support with the quiet frustration of feeling overshadowed in my own role as a mother.

And when you’re under your parents’ roof, their influence doesn’t stop with you. It extends to your child, sometimes in beautiful ways, and sometimes in complicated ones.

I struggled with questions I didn’t have answers to yet.

Where does my voice begin when theirs is so loud?

How do I step fully into motherhood when I’m still being parented?

How do I honor their help without losing myself or my authority in the process?

The truth is, there was no clean balance.

I was grateful.

I was resentful.

I was confident some days and deeply unsure on others.

And still, we moved forward.

If you’re a mother raising your child while still living in someone else’s house especially your parents’ I want you to know this: your experience is valid. Needing help does not make you less of a mother. Wanting independence does not make you ungrateful. And learning where you fit takes time.

Motherhood isn’t just about raising children.

Sometimes it’s about reclaiming yourself in the process.

And that part, the part no one talks about, is just as real.