04/22/2026
While my own mother was a shining example of caring for others, I wish she had also reserved some time for self care. 👩🏻⚕️ 🩺
There’s a certain kind of strength many women carry that rarely gets questioned. We push through. We power on. We ignore the signals—because someone always needs us more.
A few days ago, I was admitted to the hospital for an unexpected appendectomy.
For over a month, I had been dealing with pretty intense back pain. But as someone who has lived with chronic kidney stones my entire life, I didn’t think much of it. The pain felt familiar. Predictable. Something I knew how to handle. So I did what I’ve always done—I pushed through. I managed it quietly, showed up where I needed to, and told myself it would pass.
But it didn’t.
Four days ago, I finally went to the ER expecting confirmation of what I already believed—that I had another kidney stone and just needed to ride it out. Instead, the CT scan told a very different story. Yes, there was a kidney stone—but on the opposite side of where I was feeling pain. What I was actually dealing with was appendicitis, and I needed surgery immediately.
Within hours, I was transferred and in the operating room. And in an unexpected twist, the surgeon also repaired a large abdominal hernia I didn’t even know I had.
Here’s the part that sits a little heavier for me—this wasn’t just a misread of symptoms. This was a pattern. A pattern of minimizing, of rationalizing, of putting my own body at the bottom of the priority list.
And I know I’m not alone in this—especially among moms, and even more so among special needs moms.
When you spend years—decades—being the constant for someone else, you learn to override your own needs almost instinctively. You tell yourself you don’t have time, that it’s probably nothing, that you just need to get through the week. And somewhere along the way, “pushing through” starts to feel like strength.
But sometimes, it’s not strength. Sometimes, it’s neglect.
I’ve spent 23 years parenting Skyler—advocating, managing, anticipating, and showing up in ways that don’t allow for many pauses. And while I’ve learned so much about resilience and unconditional love, I’m realizing I still have work to do when it comes to extending that same care inward.
Because your body keeps score. And it will eventually demand your attention—whether it’s convenient or not.
We tend to treat the word “selfish” like it’s something to avoid, but maybe we’ve been defining it all wrong. Maybe being “selfish” sometimes looks like making the doctor’s appointment sooner, resting before you’re completely depleted, taking pain seriously instead of explaining it away, or saying “I need a minute” without guilt. Taking care of yourself isn’t in conflict with taking care of others—it’s what sustains it.
I wish I could wrap this up with a neat message about how I’ve learned my lesson and everything will be different moving forward, but that wouldn’t be honest. I’m still a work in progress. Still someone who defaults to pushing through. Still someone who needs reminders to slow down. Still someone learning that strength doesn’t always look like endurance.
Sometimes, it looks like stopping.
So if you’ve been ignoring something—physical or emotional—consider this your nudge. Pay attention. Check in. Don’t wait until your body forces you to. You don’t have to earn rest. You don’t have to justify care. And you don’t have to break before you’re allowed to slow down.
