The Season In Between

There are seasons in life that don't have a clear name. They aren't beginnings anymore, but they aren't endings either. They're the seasons where everything familiar has changed, yet nothing new has fully grown. I think that's where I am right now.

A few weeks ago, I left my full-time job to become a stay-at-home mom. Even writing those words feels strange because for years I imagined this day. Becoming a mom was never just something I wanted—it was something I knew I was meant for. Staying home with my children, teaching them, slowing our days down, being present for the little moments...that has lived in my heart long before it became our reality.

I have three little ones, all four years old and under, and another baby on the way. For a long time I felt like I was living two lives. One version of me belonged to work. The other belonged to my children. By the time I came home each day, the version they received was exhausted. Burnt out. Running on whatever little energy I had left. I knew something had to change, so I made what felt like the biggest decision of my adult life.

I walked away from the security of a steady paycheck. Not because I had everything figured out, but because I couldn't ignore the feeling that my children needed more of me than my job ever could.

The part people don't always talk about is that when one struggle ends, another often begins. Before, my family struggled because I wasn't home enough. Now we struggle with the uncertainty of finances. The weight didn't disappear—it simply shifted.

Before leaving my job, I had started creating content. A few digital products were selling well enough to make me believe this could become something real. Not wildly successful, but enough to give me hope. My plan was simple: leave my job, spend the time I used to give my employer creating, writing, designing, and building something of my own. Something that would allow me to be home with my children while still contributing financially.

It sounded possible. It still sounds possible. But possibility and certainty are two very different things.

Here I am in the middle of it all, where nothing has fully bloomed yet. I almost hesitate to use the word yet because even that little word requires faith. Will it bloom? Am I building something that will one day support my family, or am I chasing an idea that simply isn't meant to happen?

Those questions visit me almost every day.

Can I really have both? Can I be the mother I've always wanted to be while also building something creative that provides for my family? Can I homeschool my children and still create enough income to make this life sustainable? Some days it feels impossible. Other days it feels inevitable. Somehow those two feelings have learned to coexist.

As a Catholic, I spend a lot of my worries in prayer. I hand them to God—or at least I try to. But even then, I find myself wondering whether I'm listening to Him or simply listening to myself. Is this dream something He placed in my heart, or is it something I want so badly that I've convinced myself it's His will? Am I persevering because He is asking me to continue, or because I don't know when to let go?

I don't think I'm questioning my faith as much as I'm questioning myself.

How do you know when perseverance becomes stubbornness? When does wisdom mean continuing, and when does wisdom mean choosing stability instead? When do you trust that things are growing beneath the surface, and when do you accept that maybe the path is changing?

I wish I had those answers. I don't.

What I do know is that when I picture my life years from now, I don't imagine wishing I had spent more time at work. I imagine remembering slow mornings, reading books on the couch, teaching my children, hearing little feet run through the house, and simply being there. That vision has never changed. The question has always been how.

Maybe that's what this season is teaching me. Maybe I don't need to know exactly how today. Maybe my job isn't to predict the ending but simply to take the next faithful step. To create. To love my family. To work hard. To pray honestly. To stay open. To keep listening.

If you're reading this while you're in your own season in between, I hope you know you're not alone. I don't have the ending to this story yet. Maybe one day I'll come back and write about how everything worked out. Or maybe I'll write about how life took me somewhere I never expected. Either way, this chapter deserves to exist too, because not every story is meant to be written after we've figured it all out. Some stories are meant to be written while we're still becoming.