When You Just Need Someone to Tell You You’re A Good Mom





Dear Mom:

I’ve had something on my heart. I’ve wanted you to know.

These words I’ve been desperate to share with you? They’re life giving.

So today, I wonder if anyone’s ever told you…

You are a good mom.

Yes, you.

You. are a good mom.

Remember when you were pregnant and everyone said you were going to be a great mom? You believed it, you really believed it.

Baby arrived.

You loved, and loved on that little one some more. It was awesome and it was fulfilling and it was almost everything you were expecting, but there were plenty of days when it was really hard, too.

At some point along the way, you woke up to the realities of motherhood, you realized important truth – ongoing verbal praise doesn’t come pre-packaged with motherhood. Sometimes, simple words of mom encouragement become near extinct after those hope-filled days of pregnancy.

All those people who rubbed your belly, said you were glowing and gushed on your every pregnant move? All those people who said you were going to be a great mom? Well, let’s just be honest. They still love you and all. Nothing’s changed. In fact, they’ve seen you in action, and if asked, they’d all say you’re a good mom.

But here’s the thing, mom. Life’s too busy. People take motherhood for granted. Because the truth is, none of us would be alive without a mom. Everyone just assumes – mom will be there. Everyone just assumes – mom’s going to take care of it. Everyone just assumes – mom’s doing fine. No one’s to blame, it’s just the way it is. It’s easy to take moms for granted when they’re everywhere, all the time.

So today, I want to acknowledge the void that’s longing to be filled in your heart.

I want to affirm and love on you, more than just a little.

Mom, I’m here to tell you once again.

You’re doing a great job.

You. are a good mom.


You were good from the start. You nurtured that babe way back when. You took vitamins, eliminated caffeine, made diet changes – all before you ever laid eyes on him. Your willingness to tolerate back aches, heartburn, and weight gain signified your greatness from the earliest days. You knew the gender, or maybe you decided to wait until birth – whichever way you chose, you did it for good reason – because that babe was one-of-a-kind and you wanted him to know he was treasured from the very start, whoever he was. You prepared your heart, you prepared your home, you made the place perfect for that babe.

You were a good mom.

You were amazing in delivery. Let me just tell you again. You were amazing. Whatever way you welcomed that little one – vaginally, via cesarean section, vaginal birth after cesarean, foster care, domestic adoption, international adoption, whatever – you were phenomenal, mom. Your heart spilled open wide for that child, loved in a way it had never known before. You promised yourself, now that she’s here, I’ll do anything. I’ll be the best mom I know how.

You were most definitely a good mom.

Boy oh boy, you sure paid your dues those early days. You sacrificed sleep, sanity, and just about everything else in-between. Remember when it really didn’t matter if it was light or dark outside? It was all the same to you. Day was night. Night was day. You needed to acclimate to this new child, and there was no getting around it. You rocked him, and he rocked your world. Nursing and bottle feeds, pacifiers and pumps, diapers and bibs, burp cloths and onesies – it was all new language and you managed to become fluent in days. How was that possible, mom?

Because you were a good mom.

Your baby changed to toddler, then preschooler right before your eyes. Sweet mom, you ran and chased after that little one like mad, didn’t you? She ran and ran and ran some more. You barely kept up. You picked up the toys? She dumped them out. You washed all the peanut butter off her face? She smeared it right back on. You put her back in her bed? She got right back out. Yes, those were beautifully busy and messy days, but you loved your babe to pieces despite her snotty little nose. Tonka trucks and Little People, princess dresses and peeing plastic baby dolls ruled your world. Yes, those were the glory days of color crayons on walls, daycare, preschool, ABCs and 123s. You kept on mom, you kept on. At night, you fell to the couch, pondering serious mothering questions in silence…I’m exhausted, am I doing this right?

I’m here to tell you mom, you were doing it right.

You were absolutely doing it right.

You were a good mom.


Then came the elementary years, the kid is growing like a weed years, the part baby, part grown-up years. Ya, these were the years you learned to do it all, mom. He changed wardrobes a million times and got holes in his pants the first day he wore them. Reading and math, ecosystem dioramas and homemade musical instruments, you named it, you helped him with it. Your days were filled with butt jokes and poop jokes and just about everything stupid is funny jokes. You transported like a maniac to ball practice and hockey practice, dance practice and gymnastics practice. When the principal called, you responded with as much grace as you could muster, and when he needed extra help with this and therapy for that, you agreed and obliged, all the while your heart pulling, resisting your babe’s humanness. All in all, you found relative predictability in the craziness of these in-between years…

Because you were an awesome mom.

Those teenage years crept up on you. One day she was 9, the next she was 13. One day she asked you to do her hair, the next she didn’t want you to step foot in the bathroom. One day she wanted you to tuck her in, the next she didn’t need you to help at bedtime anymore. These were the years you waited up late until she was safe back home. You didn’t pry, but when something seemed off, you weren’t afraid to follow your mama intuition and ask what’s up? You guided her well through those tumultuous years, mom, teaching her to do laundry, insisting she make her own appointments, and helping her navigate a world of peer pressure, even if she was outraged you didn’t let her go to that all-night party. And let’s not forget all the ways you got creative for the sake of your family, because you were wise enough to know that kids need boundaries and room to grow. As each year passed, you became more aware that your baby would be leaving the house, so you began teaching her about weighty matters like work, money, goal setting and faith.

Because you were a really, really great mom.

You thought your job as mom would end when they left the house, but you know better now. Because once a mom, always a mom! Maybe your daughter transitioned swiftly and seamlessly into adulthood. Even so, your support was critical, mom. You sent care packages to college, hosted the grandchildren for special weeks during school vacations, offered advice when she called for help, and gave special financial gifts that left a legacy. Even when your baby was 39-years-old, you carried her immunizations in your wallet, because hey, you carried them all those years, why not now?! But mom, I’m aware of you, too – your son’s transition into adulthood didn’t go as smoothly as you’d planned, did it? You lay awake at night with tear-stained pillows, prayed and pleaded to God – restore my baby, guide him to a life that has purpose, help him find direction, take away his struggles, his pain. Maybe you suffered in quiet, maybe the whole wide world knew every ounce of your pain. Whatever your battle was, let’s get real, it was dreadful, mom. But eventually, he overcame, you overcame. You finally breathed that sigh of relief, because even though he was all grown up, he was still your baby.

Yes, you. You. were an amazing mom.

These words, they’re for you, mom. Because you’re worthy. You’re one in a million.

And you need to know, wherever you are, whoever you are…that you are a good mom.


*This post is part of a month-long series titled Motherhood Unraveled. To read more from this series, click here and read to the bottom where all the posts are listed and linked!



  1. Jennifer Johnson says:

    Wow, so full of great realities in that a mother does. Makes me want to call or hug my Mom right now. Although I am not a “real” mom, I can relate to the Elementary stage with everything being butts, poop, and silly.

  2. Tiffany Femling says:

    I feel mom’s influence helped you to write this one! ; )

  3. Jessica Pederson says:

    This is beautiful Amy. Made my cry thinking about what was and what’s to come. Thanks for this.

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