Between The Year of Growth and Resilience in Motherhood.

A Season of Loss
I am still mourning my grandmother. It’s hard to believe how much life has changed over the past four Sundays. The first Sunday, I said hello and tested her new smartphone that would allow us to have FaceTime. I was told he was very happy about it. The next Sunday, she was gone. The Sunday after that, we were preparing for her burial. And now… we as the extended family are learning how to begin life without her. In the middle of all this, I’m realizing what a pillar she was in our family. She was so organized, so central to my 91-year-old grandfather, her children, her 100-plus-year-old mother, her children, other grandchildren, and also her great-grandchildren. Now I see family members struggling with “unfinished business,” and it’s painful. Yet even in this grief, I am deeply thankful for her life and the time we shared.

A Year Between Birthdays
As I walk through this season of grief, I’m also celebrating eight years of motherhood. My eldest daughter just turned a year older. But honestly, it feels like more than just a year has passed since her last birthday. Not just for me, but for those close to me who’ve watched the journey, this year has been something else. My ability to mother has been tested like never before. For the first time since I became a mother, I’ve had to live and work without a nanny. And it’s been hard, as I am doing it for the first time. I’ve come to deeply appreciate domestic managers (as we call them in Kenya). They are such a vital part of our lives as mothers. Just think of it: waking up to a clean house, finding breakfast ready, coming home to a tidy kitchen, folded clothes, clean baby bedding, and a warm dinner on the table. That’s not small; it’s a huge blessing. Even the ability to step out confidently right after dropping the kids off—that is a privilege. If you have family around, in the same city or even the same country, count it as a blessing.

What This Year Has Taught Me
This year, I’ve learned to recognize the blessings of the support I had before, support I didn’t always see as a blessing at the time. I’ve learned that life has seasons: enjoy the sunshine when it’s there. Store up when there’s a surplus. Appreciate the rain. And when the dark days come, be still. Don’t try to skip the hard seasons. Just ask God for grace to go through them. Because that’s what I’ve learned, I can’t skip a tough season but can only walk through it with grace. Lessons learned are valuable for character development, building resistance and faith. I now understand more deeply why Paul says, “Pray without ceasing.” It’s not always easy, but it’s necessary. Motherhood has taught me to pray, plead, and cry out to God for grace. I’ve asked Him to help me understand His guidance, to hear His voice in the chaos.

This year, I’ve tried to become more organized to create routines that help reduce the sense of being overwhelmed. And I’m learning that even organization takes time, so I’ve had to be patient with myself. I feel I (also their dad) know my children more due to increased contact, which is a blessing. I’ve also learned from other mothers going through similar seasons. I’ve learned to accept help. When someone offers to watch my kids or host a playdate, I no longer feel like a burden. I’ve learned to receive that love and to enjoy the space it gives me without guilt. When things got really hard, a mentor referred me to a therapist and that was the first time I admitted that motherhood was taking a mental toll on me. Seeking professional help was not a sign of failure; it was a step toward healing.

I’ve realized that the struggles I face in motherhood are not mine alone. I keep praying that God sends more mothers my way, those who can encourage and edify me. This year has reminded me that life and motherhood come in seasons, some joyful, some painful. Through it all, I’m learning to walk with grace, accept help, and trust God in every step. I don’t know what the next year will hold. But I know this: I am not alone. And neither are you.