Moms hold a special place in their hearts for their children. Our kids tug at our heartstrings in ways that soften us, making us gentler, kinder, more patient, and more accepting than we may have been before motherhood. We cater to their needs and do our best to be present for them whenever they need us. Yet ultimately, our greatest goal is to prepare them to face the world with confidence.
This past Mother’s Day, I was invited to lunch by my best mom friend. Casually, she asked if I’d be interested in a kid-free, husband-free lunch—and I said yes immediately, without hesitation. Opportunities like that are rare. I rarely get time to go out on my own, let alone focus completely on a single conversation without being pulled in a million directions.
We had a fabulous lunch followed by a stroll through the farmer’s market. We chatted with a ceramic artist/teacher from the local university, then finished by browsing our favorite grocery store in the city.
What I realized that day is that I’ve really embraced my identity as a mom—and moved quite far from my former identities as a nurse and yoga teacher. That said, I’ve recently discovered a new interest: ceramics. I’ve long been curious about learning the art form, and I’m particularly drawn to its ability to help me unplug completely from the digital world. Ceramics offers a refreshing challenge, yet it’s forgiving—whatever doesn’t work out can simply be reclaimed and reused.
Where do ceramics and motherhood meet? For me, they intersect in the simple joy of playing with my son. Whether it’s Play-Doh or kinetic sand, our time together becomes mindful and playful. It’s a return to presence—being fully in the moment with the material and with each other.
Sometimes, I stop thinking of myself as a mom, and simply exist—present, playful, and whole with our son.
It’s in those small, ordinary moments—rolling Play-Doh, shaping clay, walking through a market—that I begin to see myself again. Not as who I was before, and not only as who I am now, but as someone continuously forming. Maybe the real gift of motherhood isn’t in holding everything together, but in letting ourselves be reshaped too.
