There’s a moment in motherhood that no one warns you about (there seems to be a lot of those if I am being honest). It doesn’t happen in the delivery room or on the first day of school. It comes quietly, often when you’re folding laundry or looking into the rearview mirror at your child’s face. It’s the moment when you realize you’ve been carrying more than just a diaper bag or a completely hectic schedule.  

You’ve been carrying guilt. 

Not just the everyday kind—did I let them watch too much TV (probably), did I yell too loud (most likely), did I forget the permission slip (yup, sure did)? I’m talking about the deeper kind. The kind that sits in your chest like a stone. The mistakes you made perhaps even long before you ever became a mother. The patterns you promised to break but sometimes still fall into. The ways you’ve let yourself down and the fear that somehow, your children will inherit those pieces of you too. 

I’ve made mistakes. Unfortunately, some are big. Some are quiet and stretched out over years, like staying in relationships where I shrunk myself, ignoring red flags, or choosing numbing over healing. I didn’t always know how to love myself, or how to advocate for my worth. And for a long time, I let shame convince me I had to hide those parts of my story… from the world, and especially from my children. 

But motherhood has a way of creeping in and making you sit with yourself.  

Because at some point, your child will ask hard questions. They’ll stumble. They might even be faced with the same choices that once tripped you up. And you’ll realize that your job isn’t to give them a flawless role model. Your job is to give them a human one. 

So, I started talking about my mistakes. Carefully, age-appropriately, but honestly. I told Emerson when dealing with friend drama – that sometimes I didn’t speak up for myself when I should have. I told Ashton (my peacekeeper) that I used to think making everyone else happy was more important than listening to my own heart. One day will come when I have to tell Kameron that learning to make better choices starts with understanding where I went wrong—and having the courage to forgive myself. 

Forgiveness doesn’t mean erasing the past. It means refusing to let it define you or your future. It means showing my kids what growth looks like. It means saying, “I’ve been there. And here’s what I learned.” 

I want my children to be better decision-makers than I was (Lord, I pray!). I want them to know how to listen to their instincts, to walk away from what hurts, to love themselves deeply and without apology. But more than that, I want them to know this: mistakes are not the end of the story. What you do after – the choosing better, the owning it (my downfall), the starting again—that’s what matters. 

And maybe, just maybe, the most powerful thing I can teach them isn’t how perfect I am, but how bravely I’ve learned to begin again (and again, and again….).

(Paige Gurgainers is a mom of three girls, digital journalist for Webster Parish Journal.)