The first time I looked into the eyes of each of my three boys, I fell in love. If I’m being honest, I fell in love with them before I ever met them. Years earlier, I’d been told I might never be able to have children. So to eventually find myself the mother of three boys seemed almost too good to be true. I felt like the luckiest woman on earth. At first, I wondered whether raising boys would be difficult. I didn’t know anything about being a boy mom. Turns out, they would teach me. I learned about army men and dinosaurs, superheroes and Star Wars, wrestling and, of course, football. I learned there was something pretty incredible about having a chubby little hand reach for mine whenever someone was scared, tired, hurt, or simply wanted to be close to Mom. Whatever my boys loved, I wanted to be part of. Some days seemed to last forever. The years didn’t. There were days when our house was so loud and chaotic that I thought I might lose my mind. Three boys being boys. Someone was hungry. Someone needed something washed. Someone couldn’t find his shoes. Someone wanted a friend to sleep over. And always, another request. One more story, Mommy? Can I have another drink of water? Will you make Shrek pancakes in the morning? Back then, sometimes I just wanted everyone to go to sleep. I’d give almost anything to hear one of those requests again. Those were the years when my life felt incredibly full. And purposeful. As the boys got older, the chaos changed, but it didn’t disappear. Our house became the house where everyone gathered, and I loved it. Their friends were always welcome. There were teenagers everywhere, food disappearing almost as quickly as I could buy it, and more noise than any reasonable person should enjoy. Apparently, I like chaos. Our lives revolved around homeschooling, gym workouts, wrestling shows, football practices and games, friends coming and going, meals, laundry, and whatever was happening next. I didn’t have much time to slow down. What I didn’t understand was that the busier they kept me, the faster time seemed to move.

When was the last time you felt like you — not the version of you that's holding everything together for everyone else, but the actual you? Not looking for "I'm fine." I want the real answer. Was it last week? Last year? Or has it been so long you had to stop and actually think about it? Drop it in the comments — one word, one sentence, whatever comes up. No judgment here, just women being honest about where they're at.

What's a breakthrough you've had lately? Doesn't matter how small. Maybe you finally said no to something. Maybe you looked in the mirror and actually liked what you saw. Maybe you just had one good day where you felt like yourself again. I want to hear it. Drop it below.

Welcome to our newest member of the community!! I'm so happy to have you here along side of me to build this community for women finding their way back to themselves no matter what season they are in! Please be sure to introduce yourself! @Renee Boisvert