What would you tell your younger self as you embarked on the journey of motherhood?

I asked myself this question and decided to write a letter to that scared, vulnerable first-time mom—who had no idea just how much her life was about to change.

From the first heartbeats to the dramatic delivery, every part of my mind, body, and soul was forever transformed. A journey? Absolutely. But more than that—an initiation into my purpose.

Knowing what you know now, how would you guide your new-to-mothering self?

Dear First-Time Mom,

I know you’re scared.

I know you’re holding your breath, staring at a blurry ultrasound screen, hearing the words, “It looks like there are two heartbeats,” and feeling your entire world shift and tilt. The words don’t quite sink in, hovering in the air like an enormous question mark. Twins? Are you sure?

I know you're leaving the doctor’s office gripping a pregnancy binder like it’s a life raft, your heart pounding as you realize you now have two more heartbeats to think of. You’re happy, yes—but also terrified. You’re wondering how to hold all of it. Those feelings will come and go, but they’ll also amplify at times.

What I want you to know is this: You’re stronger than you realize. While this wasn’t part of your vision, you’re going to be okay.

You won’t always feel worried and stressed but some days, you’ll be overwhelmed by doctor’s visits, new medical terms, endless tests, and a body that’s changing faster than your mind can catch up.

You’ll be told to rest often even when your instinct is to do. You’ll be told to surrender when all you desperately want is control. You’ll be told to prepare for twins, even though you have no idea how.

And then one day, on a routine Dr. visit—without warning—you’ll be rushed into the operating room for an unplanned c-section, tears streaming, heart racing, clinging to the sound of a nurse’s voice saying, “It’s going to be okay.” And somehow, in that moment, you’ll become both fierce and soft. Terrified and brave.

After the surgery, you’ll meet your twins, and everything—everything—will change again.

Because your twins are premies you’ll leave the hospital with empty arms, aching for your fragile babies you had to leave behind in the NICU. You’ll feel hollow and heavy, unsure how to put one foot in front of the other. Everything will ache and awaken all at the same time. A feeling you could never describe in words.

You’ll feel drained by all of it, unsure how to keep going but then, one morning, you’ll make your bed, a small victory. You’ll take a shower. You’ll eat a meal. All those seemingly insignificant moments will help you start finding your way back to yourself. It’s hard but it happens, even if it’s slowly.

You won’t be perfect. But you’ll be present.
You’ll be exhausted. But you’ll be devoted.

You’ll grow in tandem with your twins, and you’ll meet a side to yourself you never knew existed. You’ll discover strength you didn’t know you had.

And then weeks will turn into months, then years of raising your twins, and you’ll look back and realize: every twist, every tear, every heartache was a teacher. All of it, an initiation into mothering—yourself and your twins.

Motherhood isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about showing up for the questions, over and over again.

You’ll finally understand the term -what doesn’t break you, makes you stronger. And you’ll marvel at all you’ve endured—and all you’ve overcome.

This isn’t just the story of becoming a mother—it’s the story of becoming you.

Dear one, please remember this: Strength is not about having it all together—but about continuing, even in pieces.

You are stronger than you will ever know. And you’ll surprise yourself with just how much you do know.

With all my love,

P.S. You’re in for a wild and beautiful ride. Buckle up and soak it all in—it goes so fast.