I was the mom who couldn't give her kids a hug.
Not because I didn't love them. Because I had given every last piece of myself to everyone else, and there was nothing left. Not even that.
- Late-realized AuDHD mom
- Mom of three, plus two stepkids, in a blended family of seven
- Also: one dog, one cat, zero quiet
- Living in the Netherlands
- Runs Cozy Cadence in twenty hours a week, on purpose
Running on emptyand calling it normal.
For a long time, I went most of the week without a shower. Not because I didn't care about myself. Because by the time everyone else's needs were met, there was nothing left. Not ten minutes. Not some hot water. Nothing that belonged to me.
I was the one who remembered everything. Who needed what. What was running out. What was about to go wrong if nobody acted. I held the entire household in my head, every hour of every day, for so long that it had become completely unremarkable. To me. To everyone around me.
One night I cooked dinner for six people, in a kitchen that already felt too small, after a day that already felt too long. Dinner ended, and one by one, everyone disappeared outside to play. Plates on the table. Pans on the stove. I stood in that kitchen and I lost it. Not a little. A lot.
And then I did the dishes anyway. Because that's what you do.
I completely fell apart.Over a garbage app.
Here in the Netherlands, we have an app that tells you which bin goes out tomorrow. A very normal, very boring app. Every single time a notification came in, I was the one who saw it. I was the one who turned to my boyfriend and said “the green bin goes out tomorrow.” He'd nod, say thanks, take it out, and from the outside it all looked completely fine.
Except I was the one who knew. The one tracking, holding, remembering, and passing it on before anything could actually happen. Until the night I fell apart in my living room and couldn't even explain to him why.
“The bin didn't just go out. I made the bin go out.”
It was never about the bin. It was every invisible yes I'd ever said without anyone asking.
It wasn't just the load.It was also my brain.
There was no big moment. Just a quiet feeling that kept growing for years: something's off. Then the posts started showing up. You know the ones. AuDHD moms describing my exact life. So I went down the rabbit hole, and I came out the other side completely sure: I'm neurodivergent.
I'm still on the very long waitlist for my official assessment. But the biggest change didn't need a piece of paper.
I stopped beating myself up. For years, I'd called myself weird, lazy, too sensitive, bad at life. Now I could finally explain myself to myself. I'd look at something I did, take a step back, and think: ah. Well. That explains a lot.
I didn't become a different person. I just finally became nicer to the one I already was.
The things thatdidn't change.
You're not a bad mom.
The exhaustion, the snapping, the guilt. None of it means you're failing. It means you're carrying too much, in a world that was never built for you.Red is information.
Hitting empty isn't a moral failure. It's your battery telling you something. I'll help you listen to it, not judge it.Validation before advice.
You don't need someone to fix you. You need someone to see what you're actually dealing with first. Everything else comes after that.Real life only.
Nothing I make needs quiet, alone time, or a perfect morning routine. It's built for the two minutes between one person needing you and the next.Not perfect.Just lighter.
It's not a house where nobody fights, or a schedule that runs itself. It's just a Tuesday morning that belongs to me.
- I take a shower whenever I want. I know that sounds like the bare minimum. For a long time, it wasn't.
- I sit on the couch in the quiet, do absolutely nothing, and it's glorious.
- I'm learning to play the guitar. Badly. For no reason except that I wanted to.
- My boyfriend actually carries part of the invisible load now. Not because I demanded it, but because I could finally name it clearly enough for him to see it too.
- I can leave the dishes on the table and go to bed anyway.
That's what I want for you. In your real life, with your real kids and your real chaos still fully intact.
10,000 momswho know they're enough.
Before I die, I want to reach at least 10,000 moms who believe they're failing, and help them walk away knowing they're enough, human, and allowed to make mistakes. I want their kids to grow up in homes where emotions are safe, boundaries are normal, and Mom doesn't have to disappear to be a good mother.
And I want my own life to be the proof. Present for my kids, and full of energy and hobbies and things that make me feel alive. Without those two being at war.
I will never help you become a better mother by becoming less yourself.
You foundthe right place.
If any of this sounded like your life, start by finding out where your battery is right now. It's free.
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