Fall of ‘03. Middle of nowhere southern Indiana.

Before Walmart had cute clothes but after the local video store shuttered. 

A few months before, I tentatively approached my parents and asked them if I could have the mother of all niche birthday parties: Kim Possible-themed but also with a piñata. 

If you never saw the Disney Channel show, Kim Possible was about a redheaded teenage girl who saved the world on a regular basis with her clueless sidekick and her pet naked mole rat. 

Throw in some high school girl drama and an arch nemesis who wore black lipstick and every tween girl I knew was all about it. 

But wait… there’s more. 

Once all my unsuspecting guests arrived, after they’d been lulled into a sense of low-expectation fun with box mix cake and ice cream, we’d borrow my parents’ prehistoric video camera and actually film an episode of Kim Possible. 

I didn’t know it at the time, but this was shaping up to be one of the best, most memorable birthdays I would ever have. And I can say with 100% certainty that if it were happening today—not in the blissfully unaware early 2000s—I would be mortified.

Not because there is anything wrong with what we planned. It was silly and creative and so beautifully me. But stacked up against the birthday parties I see on social media now—mortgage-payment balloon arches, gluten-free charcuterie boards, personalized party favors, and build-a-bear stations—my (mostly) normal party would’ve felt hopelessly dopey and lame.

(No shade if you’ve done any of those things…we’re Catholic, after all. We love a good celebration—feast day, birthday party, or a whole YEAR of jubilee!) 

There’s an undercurrent of pressure in almost everything we do. 

On one side, we have the picture-perfect, hyper-curated yardstick of social media. Whatever we hold up next to it seems to fall short. It can feel like other moms have it more together—that they’re doing things the “right” way, serving and loving their families better because they’ve figured out X, Y, and Z. If we don’t give our kids certain things or choose certain things, we’re failing and less-than.

Which leads us to the other side, where we experience a kind of tribalized intensity—an unspoken demand to choose a lane and defend it with your life. There are a hundred hills we’re told to die on: how we school, how we discipline, how we eat, how we decorate, what kind of Mass we attend, how we catechize our kids.

There’s no room for growth, no space for nuance, no cultural category for grace.

So, in the midst of all this, how do you stay true to the woman God created you to be? How do you understand and cultivate, guilt-free, the motherhood path that leads to your (and your family’s!) sainthood?

I don’t think the answer is found in picking the perfect lane or proving ourselves online. It starts by remembering who we were before the pressure. Before we overthought every decision and allowed comparison to rob us of our joy.

If you had rolled up on our mustard-brick house that day in November, you would’ve seen pure chaos—a piñata dangling from the rusty basketball goal in the driveway. And, just below it, children, adults, and pets fleeing to avoid death at the hands of a blindfolded kid with an electric orange Easton baseball bat. 

Moments later, the bat would land its mark and gross pastel Tootsie Rolls and lollipops would skid across the driveway. 

Rumor has it, some of them are still there today fossilized under layers of sidewalk chalk dust. Strangely… incorruptible? (I’m not saying we should call the Vatican… but I’m also not not saying it.)

And then, finally after opening presents and playing that game where you put your forehead on the bat and spin until everyone is nauseous…. It was time. My Spielberg moment. 

I gathered my friends, we drafted a heist plot, and everyone took a roll. And you would think, as the birthday girl, that I would want to be Kim, right? Alas, no. I demanded to play Rufus, the naked mole rat. 

Just in case it wasn’t obvious, no one is asking me for the party details or begging me to save it to my highlights.

And that’s kind of the point. It wasn’t impressive. But it was me.

And sometimes, to understand our own authentic motherhood, we have to rewind—not to get nostalgic, but to remember who we are, what delights us, and what God has uniquely asked of us.

Not that we need to go out of our way to be different or niche or better than everyone else (if you can call “girl plays naked mole rat” a one-up). And not that we can’t share things in common with other moms—because community is good and holy and needed.

But we also need to tune into ourselves and how God made us. It’s getting quiet. It’s putting the phone down, sitting with your own thoughts, spending time with Jesus, and asking:

What kind of woman am I? What kind of mom or spiritual mother did God actually create me to be?

What delights your soul? What kind of beauty catches your eye? What topics do you light up about when someone brings them up at the park or after Mass?

Maybe you love reading, organizing, or hospitality. Maybe you have a knack for teaching, storytelling, baking, or creating beautiful spaces. Maybe you’re the mom who always has a Band-Aid and a backup snack. Maybe you’re the mom who notices when someone’s hurting. Or maybe you’re a godmother, a mentor, a catechist, or a friend who instinctively nurtures others.

The Catechism says all baptized Christians have charisms which are, “graces of the Holy Spirit which directly or indirectly benefit the Church” including your domestic church. (CCC 799)

They can be miraculous (like healing), relational (like encouragement), practical (like administration), or vocational (like teaching and evangelizing). They are mission-focused gifts and graces. 

And these are the things we should be considering. These are the pieces that help us discern what to say yes to in our motherhood—and what we can let go.

If you have the charism of hospitality, maybe big elaborate parties are your thing! Maybe opening your home playdates or feast day celebrations fills you up. But if it’s not, it’s okay to recognize that and put down the comparison. That might be her way of loving well. But you have yours.

If you have the charism of teaching, homeschooling might feel like a natural extension of your gifts—or maybe you bring that gift alive in your parish or with your own children after school. If not, put the comparison down.

If you’re gifted in encouragement, you might thrive in one-on-one conversations, showing up for other moms who need support. Amazing! Lean into that. 

You don’t need to do everything. But we do need to recognize the gifts God has placed in our lives specifically—and let those guide the shape of your motherhood.

That camcorder footage from my Kim Piñata party? Buried somewhere, hopefully never to be unearthed (I did ask, nay, begged Jesus to take it with Him when He descended to the dead).

But if you could watch it, you’d see flashes of grass and sneakers, plot holes galore, and kids bursting with joy. I mean, MOVIE STAR DEBUTING at a birthday party areyoukiddingme?!

After we filmed, all my friends piled into our living room in front of the TV and giggled as we rewatched the footage. And that is such a core memory for me. 

Looking back, I can see my gifts and skills coming through in ways during that party. I love to organize a gathering. I love to pull people together and help everyone find a role that suits their gifts and allows them to really contribute meaningfully. I will be the naked mole rat so no one else has to. And all of those are things God has given me specifically to help me mother—not just my kids, but the people He places in my path.

And I like to think about this: Mary never struggled with comparison.

I have no idea what kind of birthday parties were happening in 10 AD, but I know Mary never measured her worth against the women around her. She didn’t look at Elizabeth or Martha and wonder if she was doing enough or being enough.

She knew who she was because she knew whose she was. And she recognized, with humility, that God gives us gifts. It’s our work to be receptive and follow His will in using them.

Mary received her gifts without downplaying them or using them for her own glory. She didn’t ask for more or less. She simply lived her vocation faithfully. And in doing so, she gave us a pattern for our own motherhood, whatever it looks like.

So, what I want to know is… what does that look like for you?

If you totally step away from social media and group identities…

If you stop measuring your motherhood against what everyone else is doing…

What’s left? What do you love? What do you make time for, even when time is short?  What lights you up when you’re not worried about doing it the “right” way?

Because that’s where your gifts are. 

That’s where the Holy Spirit has already begun His work. And that’s where your motherhood—your spiritual motherhood, your sainthood—starts to take shape.