ILEDEJA

Motherhood is a journey no one can prepare you for.

People say the same about marriage – and even though I’m not married yet, I understand that truth in my bones. You can read every book, listen to every testimony, try to brace yourself… and still, you’ll never be fully ready.

Motherhood is the same way.

It’s not just the cute pictures of your belly or your baby. It’s not just the tiny outfits, the school accomplishments, the games, the recitals.

It’s deeper. It stretches you. It introduces you to a version of yourself you didn’t know existed.

It demands sacrifice – real sacrifice.

No child is “easy.” Every child comes with their own challenges, their own personality, their own battles you have to help them fight.

And sometimes, you find yourself becoming the very thing you used to laugh at.

Remember when your grandma or your mother walked around the house with blessed oil, praying and speaking in tongues? We’d roll our eyes or giggle at the memory. But now… you understand. You literally have to do that. You have to plead the blood of Jesus over yours every single day.

Plead the blood of Jesus over yourself too – over your strength, your mental health, your sanity, your ability to show up as a good mother and a good human being.

Because these kids grow up. They form their own mind, their own wants, their own needs. And you have to honor that, even when it scares you.

Parenting is a lot – especially when you’re doing it the right way.

I think of myself as blessed in a very specific way. When I was pregnant, and when A’ila was younger, people constantly told me she needed a sibling. “Give her someone to play with,” they said. But I’m going to be honest: I am grateful God didn’t see it fit that way. Multiple children is no joke. It’s not just the financial cost – it’s the emotional, mental, physical, and spiritual capacity required to be fully present. I know myself. I know my limits. And I know I would’ve broken myself trying to give more than I had.

And after all of that – all the growing, all the sacrificing, all the praying – imagine losing your child. God forbid. Your heart doesn’t just break; it shatters into pieces you can’t gather. To the parents who have had to bury their children… it’s not just the grief for the child. I would imagine the grief is also for who you were before them, who you became because of them, and everything you endured to be their mother. It’s grieving the future you imagined, the love you poured, the identity you built – all tied to someone you expected to have forever.

Motherhood is beautiful. Motherhood is holy. Motherhood is heavy.

And still… we carry it. We carry them. We carry ourselves.

By grace. By faith. By love.