I didn’t plan to become a mother so young.

I was still a teenager when Ava entered my life. Tiny, dependent, and completely unaware that I was still growing up myself. There was no roadmap, no timeline, no version of motherhood that looked like the one I was living. I was learning who I was at the same time I was learning how to care for another human.

I became a mother before I became myself.

Back then, I didn’t have the language for what that felt like. I only knew that life sped up overnight. Expectations followed quickly, and there wasn’t much space to pause or process the shift that had happened. I learned how to show up, how to sacrifice, how to push through exhaustion and fear, sometimes before I fully understood what I needed.

Motherhood didn’t come with a script.

It came with late nights, quiet tears, and a strength I hadn’t yet learned how to name.

What people don’t always talk about is how teen motherhood forces you to grow up in some ways, while postponing growth in others. I learned responsibility early. I learned selflessness early. I learned sacrifice early. But I didn’t always have room to explore who I was outside of being “someone’s mom.” My identity and Ava’s childhood unfolded side by side, and for a long time, they felt inseparable.

Years later, motherhood met me again this time in a different season of my life.

When Lena was born, I was no longer a teenager. I was older, more aware, and still becoming. Her father was different from Ava’s, and by then I had learned that families don’t always form in straight lines. We tried for Lena for over a year which brought its own set of relationship challenges. What mattered most wasn’t how the story looked from the outside but how consistently love showed up on the inside.

Parenting an 11 year old now looks nothing like parenting did in my earliest years. It means guiding without controlling, protecting while slowly loosening my grip, and learning when to speak and especially when to listen.

Each daughter has met me in a different season of my life.

And each season has required a different version of me.

But motherhood didn’t only come to me through birth.

During my years working in child welfare, I met Marcus and Veronica, two young people who, over time, began calling me “mom.” Not because I replaced anyone, and not because it was expected, but because love has a way of forming where consistency, safety, and care live long enough.

They are adults now.

And still, the bond remains. However navigating those relationships have proven to be difficult as well.

That experience reshaped my understanding of motherhood. It taught me that sometimes being a mother means being the person who stays. The person who listens. The person who shows up again and again without obligation, but with intention.

Life stretched me once more when I became a stepparent(legally).

Jordan and Maya came into my world not through birth, but through love. Stepparenting taught me that family isn’t about replacing roles, it’s about respecting them while still making room.

Blended families aren’t about perfection.

They’re about patience.

I’ve learned that showing up doesn’t always mean being recognized. That loving consistently doesn’t always come with validation. And still love grows. Quietly. Steadily. Imperfectly.

This blog exists because I know I’m not alone.

There are parents who grew up while raising their children. Parents who have children with different fathers. Parents navigating biological motherhood, stepparenting, and chosen motherhood all at once. Parents holding pride and grief, confidence and doubt, gratitude and exhaustion sometimes in the same breath.

A Mother in Every Season is a space for those stories.

Here, I’ll talk about teen motherhood without shame. Parenting preteens with honesty. Stepparenting without pretending it’s easy. And the quiet, sacred kind of motherhood that grows out of care and consistency. Not because I have all the answers, but because I’ve lived the questions.

Motherhood has looked different in every season of my life.

It has stretched me, softened me, and shaped me.

And if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this:

We don’t need perfection to be present.

We don’t need certainty to love deeply.

And we’re allowed to grow right alongside the people who call us mom.

Welcome.