Here in Orange County, where achievement often runs high and our calendars overflow with after-school commitments, it's easy for mothers to become the silent force behind the scenes—managing it all, sacrificing constantly, and rarely taking a moment to ask, “What do I want?”

We want to give our children every opportunity. But in the process, are we unintentionally teaching them that our needs come last? That joy, play, and passion belong only to them? That adulthood is where dreams go to die?

Every year, my family celebrates my birthday by running a Spartan race together in Big Bear. It’s not about being the strongest or fastest—it’s about being in it together. The kids run first while we support them from the sidelines. Then it's our turn, cheered on by the same little people we encourage daily. It’s messy, imperfect, and unforgettable. It reminds me that motherhood is not a seat on the sidelines. It’s an invitation to participate fully.

In winter, I decided to learn a snow sport so I could share that joy with my children. I tried snowboarding—over and over—but it never clicked. Instead of giving up, I switched to skiing in my early forties. It felt more natural and allowed me to finally keep up. That’s the power of trying again—on your terms.

I once found myself sitting in my kids’ parkour class, watching them jump, climb, and stretch themselves. I dreamed of a sport like that as a kid but never had the chance to participate. When I found out the only adult option was a teen-and-kids mixed class, I joined anyway. I was out of shape, self-conscious, and definitely not 16—but I was inspired. Three years later, not only do I still love the class, but more adults have joined, and I’ve built meaningful friendships while uncovering a stronger, more confident version of myself.

How many times do we live vicariously through our children—sending them to schools we didn’t attend, enrolling them in every sport or activity we never got to try? But what if, instead of pouring every ounce of energy into helping them live our unlived dreams, we focused on rekindling our own passions? What if we stopped asking our kids to carry the burden of our unmet desires, and instead showed them what it looks like to pursue life at every age?

I recently had a mom sign up for a marriage class and redirect the money from her two-year-old’s swim lessons. She told me, “My daughter has her whole life to learn to swim. I need this now.” And she was right.

Our kids have time. We don’t.
And when we claim our desires and invest in our own well-being, we’re teaching them a powerful lesson: that life doesn’t end when you become a parent. In fact, it can become richer than ever before.

So many moms tell me they don’t have time or money to do something for themselves. Yet they have three kids in four different after-school activities. Somewhere along the way, we’ve been taught that good parenting means giving everything. But the truth is, you can’t give what you don’t have.

 

When I started thinking about what I was modeling for my kids, I realized I had to challenge myself, too. I started my business as a marriage coach and became an international speaker. I began doing the hard things—not just for my own growth, but so my children could look at me and say, “If mom can do it, so can I.” I started my speaking career at 46. There is no expiration date on passion or purpose. And the earlier our kids see that, the more resilient they become.

When we say no to over-scheduling and yes to a dance class for ourselves, when we make space for joy, for connection, for a long walk, or a deep breath—we are raising children who value balance, boundaries, and inner peace.

Research tells us that the most important moments in childhood aren’t built in packed schedules. It’s the family dinners. Cooking together. The board games, the shared laughter, the quiet drives without rushing. These are the memories that shape our kids' sense of love, safety, and belonging.

So this Mother’s Day, let’s celebrate the mothers who choose to come alive. The ones who say, “I matter too.” Who make room for passion, who rest without guilt, and who understand that their happiness is not separate from their children’s—it’s foundational.

Because the greatest gift we can give our children isn’t endless service.
It’s showing them how to love themselves by watching us love ourselves, too.