“Resting as if the world outside has ceased to call—
As if there’s nothing to do but breathe, to simply be.
Who are we, then, if not this?
Not the endless striving, nor the restless wave of tasks.
We have, perhaps, become something more—
A peaceful being, drifting free from the human race,
Letting go of the doings that once tethered us.”

Am I a writer who mothers, or a mother who writes? Am I a sailor who mothers, or a mother who sails? These questions often swirl in my mind, like a boat unsure of which direction to go. We all try to define ourselves by the roles we play, but maybe the real answer isn’t in choosing one role over another—it’s in accepting that we can be many things at once. Life, like a backpack we carry, holds both light and heavy moments. As we grow and our children grow, we realize that we are constantly evolving. There’s beauty in the journey of motherhood and self-discovery, in all its messiness and wonder. The most beautiful part? We’re never truly finished. There’s always more to uncover, more to learn, and more to embrace. And in that constant unfolding, we find our true strength—not in being one thing, but in being all of who we are.

Failure isn’t the opposite of success—it’s part of it. Each misstep, each setback, is a step forward, even when it doesn’t feel like it. The tiny, invisible improvements you make with every attempt are building something extraordinary. So if you’re afraid to start because you might fail, do it anyway. Fail. Get back up. And trust the process, knowing that every stumble is bringing you closer to where you want to be.