Radical mother
There's nothing wrong with what I want
Mother's Day is the one day a year when we briefly sanction a subversive act:
Putting ourselves genuinely, unapologetically first.
It’s the only time we’re allowed to pause and ask: What do I want?
Not what my kids need. Not what work expects. Not what I should be doing to keep the household running. But what I actually want.
It’s a question that feels surprisingly radical. Because the rest of the year, we’re trained to ask something else entirely: What does my family need from me?
And that can be an all-consuming way to live.
Especially with two kids under four, whose needs feel infinite. They need to be fed, bathed, clothed, emotionally supported, educated, and somehow turned into decent human beings. That alone is a full-time job - before you factor in earning an income, managing a household, or squeezing in more than five hours of sleep.
Yes, I chose this. I worked hard for this. Motherhood is the biggest joy of my life, and I wouldn’t change a thing. But even the thing you love most can leave you completely depleted if you never stop to ask what you need, too.
It’s not just that the work is hard. It’s that the conditioning runs deep.
I can trace it back to pregnancy. That’s when I started putting someone else’s needs ahead of mine in a real, embodied way. I gave up alcohol, sushi, hot baths - anything that might remotely harm the baby. I exercised not for vanity, but to prepare for birth. I even briefly considered giving up a promotion at work. Every choice centered around someone else.
And that mindset carried straight into the fourth trimester, when my body wasn’t my own - it was a vessel for milk, for holding, for survival. Life revolved around feeding, soothing, and staying afloat.
Once I had two kids, the idea of rest felt laughable. Even if the baby napped, I was with the toddler. The breaks disappeared. The margin for recovery vanished. And even with the help of a supportive partner who shows up fully, time still felt painfully scarce.
That’s the part we don’t talk about enough. How self-sacrifice quietly becomes the default setting. How we get so used to being needed that we forget what it’s like to want.
This is how we’re conditioned to live on the backburner. And over time, it becomes a cycle of doing more, giving more, and never quite feeling like we’re enough.
Modern motherhood is unsustainable without support. But we’re still acting like we can do it all.
Moms often carry more of the mental load and do more of the housework, even when we’re also the primary breadwinners. We’re navigating daycare drop-offs, dinner plans, and work deadlines. And we’re doing it all in a shaky economic climate, where job security feels fragile and childcare costs more than rent.
And we do this largely without a village. Most of us don’t live near family. Help feels scarce. Asking for support (or, God forbid, outsourcing something) often feels taboo.
So the invisible load builds. And the question of what you want? It slips further and further from view… until it disappears entirely.
This is how we lose ourselves. Slowly. Quietly. Out of love.
This past month, I took a sabbatical, a rare window of time to step off the treadmill and finally hear myself think. For the first time in years, I had space to ask myself a question I’d long pushed aside: What do I want?
I closed the chapter on nine years at Pinterest, and with that came reflection, curiosity, and clarity.
And here’s what I realized:
I want to be present - for my kids, yes, but also for myself.
I want to feel healthy and strong, not depleted and drained.
I want to build something new, rooted in purpose and authenticity.
I want to slow down enough to enjoy my life, not just power through it.
I want to make a tiny dent in my corner of the universe, especially for my daughters.
None of that fits on a traditional Mother’s Day wishlist. Those aren’t things other people can give me. They’re things I have to fight for, choose daily, and build from the inside out.
As my sabbatical comes to a close, I can feel that old question creeping back in: What does my family need from me?
They need me to show up, day after day.
To pack the preschool lunches, make the bubble baths, and read the bedtime stories. To teach them how to be kind, and curious, and brave. To create the kind of steady, loving presence that makes them feel safe in the world. And to provide, to support the life we’re building together, both emotionally and financially.
But I also know: what they really need is for me to treat myself like a first-class citizen.
To be the example they see of someone who prioritizes her well-being and lives in alignment with her values. To ask myself what I want - not just on Mother’s Day, but the other 364 days of the year. And to go for it, even if it means asking for help along the way.
We can’t keep waiting for Mother’s Day to ask the question. We can’t keep waiting for someone else to hand us what we want.
We have to tune in, and then go out and claim it.
Because what you want? It matters. Not just once a year. But every damn day.
Namaste,
Tamara