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Hi Friend of mine ♡

Let’s believe in the best about today. There is good IN you, and there is good here FOR you as well. And I’m convinced that your faith in this makes all the difference…

Taking breaks is human… but our society can’t help but to frown at the mother who permits herself to rest, especially for an extended time. And yes, I’m rolling my eyes as I consider my own unplanned hiatus here at the lifestyle publication that is my newsletter, Little Alchemies.

Here’s the thing about me: I am mostly incapable of pretending that the pause in my duties here did not happen by writing around it with a breezy “I’m back!” (as if we both don’t know that I was gone) and moving forward without acknowledging that gap between us. That kind of performance has never been what this space is about. And it would feel dishonest to do it now, in a newsletter that has always insisted on the honest version of things…

So. Here is the “Honest Version” of my break:

I stopped. It was unplanned and lasted far longer than I ever intended. I stopped in the way that things sometimes stop when the body, mind, and well of creative source have simply been exhausted (in more than one sense) and begin refusing to produce anything further, regardless of what the content calendar says. The words just wouldn’t come, in other words…

Since it was an unplanned event, I did not announce my hiatus. It arrived as a sudden collapse of my capacity that had been running on fumes for longer than I had admitted to myself. And then came the feelings of guilt following closely behind. Which, if you have ever tried to rest while simultaneously prosecuting yourself for resting, you know it is approximately as restorative as not resting at all.

And I sat with my guilt, which belongs to most of us, because sitting with uncomfortable primary feelings until they give up their real secondary meanings is the sort of thing that I do. The guilt that had pretended to extend from my having a rest and my untended responsibilities and commitments was actually covering for the voice underneath that has always told me that my worth is located in my productivity. That my right to take up space is contingent on my output… It says that if I stop, even briefly for excellent reasons, I will be found out as someone who was never worthy of the room that everyone else assumes.

Well, that voice is simply a liar. It has always been a liar, even if a convincing one. It is particularly effective on us mothers, especially the autism and special needs moms who already spend so much of our daily lives feeling like we are not doing enough for our child(ren) who needs everything.

I am choosing, this time, to put that voice down and pick up something truer instead:

Rest is not the opposite of devotion, even if our culture is quick to judge mothers who choose to do so. Especially us mothers of children with significant needs, where the needs are real and every pause carries the implication that someone is not getting what they require… The assumption is that a good mother is one who never stops.

But I have lived in that assumption and know where it leads: to the type of rest that isn’t chosen and the stop that is forced on us rather than permitted... In my case, it resulted in creativity that went completely silent, not because it had nothing to say, but because the vessel it lives in had been emptied past the point of production.

I do not want to build my life or this publication on that model. And I do not want that for you either.

So here, formally, I’d like to insist again that rest is a very human thing that even mothers are permitted to engage in. It requires no excuses at your return, and no confessions are due. You are free to choose rest when your content calendar doesn’t allow it and when your invisible jury hangs on ready to frown at you…

Roll your eyes at the jury (and at your own self if you must) and rest anyway…

I am glad to be back. Genuinely, in the non-performative way.

I missed this. I missed you: the still-becoming women who read these letters and occasionally reply to tell me that something I wrote finally translates what you have been living through. Finding out, in the quiet of my pause, that I genuinely missed this is the thing that now brings me back, not out of obligation, but out of actual desire.

It feels like enough of a reason to me.

See you in the next letter.

— Cheniece ♡

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I’ll admit that I’ve spent an embarassingly too-long time chasing a presence that was never meant to suit me as an individual, especially as a mother… I tried, inconsistently while riding along the waves of my nervous system, to force a fit that wasn’t sustainable or comfortable. I’ve chased big, fast platforms, fleeting algorithymic alignment, expensive tech, and the exhaustion of always staying “on” and everywhere.

I truly don’t want to live there anymore.

I am firmly turning away from a world full of loud timelines and the constant need for validation that my expression is worthy of vanity metrics. I’m passing up the path of branding and optimizing every aspect of myself to a maximum output tracked on a Notion dashboard. I’m letting go of seeking popular relevance and proof that I am doing something worth noticing.

Instead, I’m rebranding my publication and building Little Alchemies right here.

According to my new About page, this emerging project is my personal outlet and sacred landing space for slow living and writing... For ideas and reflection that don’t need a takeaway. For the kind of real inner life that can’t thrive in constant motion.

My goal was to establish my corner of the Internet to feel like a curated living room with closed doors you open by intentional choice instead of a performance on a busy stage. And I want this room this room to have weight to it. I wanted it to be somewhere that you enjoy visiting because there’s no need to Follow or Like yourself into approval. And I wanted here to be somewhere that doesn’t demand that I perform my healing or package my humanity for an audience.

Here, you can now expect:

• Personal essays about caregiving, identity, and staying human

• Gentle rituals and grounding practices you can actually use

• Writing that values presence over productivity

• A slower rhythm — letters sent when they’re ready, not when they’re demanded

The belief behind my publication and it’s name is that your life can be, and should be, inhabitable itself. I believe and KNOW that all of our inner lives deserve a measure of care, attention, and meaning.

This is becoming more and more important today.

There is currently an active mass return to what is authentic and personable… People are seeking to answer to their need for tangible rituals again. Quiet routines. We’re all flocking to spaces that can hold without developing leaks: spaces that fulfill instead of drain from us.

The solution I offer in answer to this is Little Alchemies.

If this sounds like your kind of space, subscribe and join me.

The door is open. You’re welcome to come in, sit down, and stay awhile.

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Little Alchemies is more than an email newsletter about parenting special needs and neurodivergent children; it’s a mom’s real life personal journal and a sanctuary for other mothers and women inhabiting their lives again after Survival Mode. Through honest essays, gentle prompts, and an intentional community, you’ll rediscover your creativity, identity, and inner calm.

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If you’re a mother or caregiver raising a neurodivergent child and feeling overwhelmed, stretched thin, or unseen, UnCommon Momma was created specifically for you. This private membership community focuses on supporting your healing, growth, and wellbeing in a world that often overlooks your needs.

What you’ll find inside:

• Peer support from others who truly understand your experience

• Guided self-care practices and wellness resources

• Access to a private podcast and live community gatherings

• A safe space where your identity and needs matter

There’s a Forever Free tier to dip your toe into at absolutely no risk because everyone deserves to belong. Click here to join us ↓

Join Our Community

Want to sponsor Little Alchemies?
I collaborate with partners aligned with: motherhood, mental health, wellness, self-care, self-growth, mindfulness, creativity, calm productivity, authentic living, and life design.
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Here on the eve of the New Year, I’m seated at my workstation with quiet dedication, scanning my whole body over for any and all bleak little pulses of serotonin that might be still left over from the day, the week previous... It’s honestly not looking so good I think as I absent-mindedly hand my daughter her millionth-and-first pasteurized fruit punch inside of a box within this same hour.

The cats are being spooked by an abundance of fireworks popping and crackling too closely outside of our window, and I pause briefly to consider the collection of my own traumas that I would like to leave behind and not carry into this upcoming year.

When there are so many things, such as I have, that threaten to take over any semblance of stability or tranquility that your day may assume, there must be a very intentional effort made towards instilling the life-giving and healing effects that we all desire to feel into our experience. It is not a false appearance. This is the very real result of our own efforts directed towards augmenting what benefits us, instead of passively “going with the flow” or drowning underneath the killing currents.

I consider it a shame that more people do not take the opportunity to indulge in the act of visualization… It’s as pleasant as daydreaming and it’s fueled by the infinite charms that our delights might manifest themselves as. And it certainly feels a lot better than ruminating on our suffering and misery, even if not based in reality.

Establishing your life as the artist’s canvas on which you either consciously or unconsciously direct your focus, your intentions, and your efforts is perhaps some of the most important work that we can do for ourselves while taking control of how we perceive and experience our lives… Nothing can substantially change for us until this is firmly set as a foundation.

And once you have felt the very first tendrils of magick, freedom, and possibility infuse your human ecosystem, you’ll never fully lose the ability to activate this again within yourself. Once you’ve danced with your Universe in an aware state of receiving and giving in the flow of pursuing your desires, you’ll notice a clarity that abounds to keep you “in tune” to the symphony playing in your ears, to the steps of your own authentic life.

This is truly your one “job” to do. And it is alchemy.

The magic of alchemy lies in its power of transmutation. This means that there will be nights full of fireworks to spook our cats in the future, and that we will again fight to find any signs of serotonin that might exist inside. But, we as Masters of our authentic lives have the ability to show up with presence rather than with denial or resignation.

This work does not ask you to deny your grief, your fatigue, your anger, or the very real constraints of your life. It asks you to refuse to let them become the only authors of your inner world. It asks you to remember that even here, especially here, you retain authorship over where you place your attention, what you nourish, and what you allow to take root.

You become a magician when you choose to assume softness instead of hardening with the day’s blows and when you opt to find meaning amidst a life of clinical routines. You take up your magic staff or wand the same moment that your honestly decide that your current life, just as it is currently, is still worthy of all of life’s beauty, joy, and care.

I hope that you also choose this path of quiet rebellion and continue to travel with me.

As I close my laptop at the start of this New Year, I now carry with me the intentions of continuing this work, this ritual, of keeping myself well.

The cats and I wish you a year filled with all of the best magick that you can tolerate.

Happy New Year,

Little Alchemies is more than an email newsletter about parenting special needs and neurodivergent children; it’s a mom’s real life personal journal and a sanctuary for other mothers and women inhabiting their lives again after Survival Mode. Through honest essays, gentle prompts, and an intentional community, you’ll rediscover your creativity, identity, and inner calm.

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Want to sponsor Little Alchemies?
I collaborate with partners aligned with: motherhood, mental health, wellness, self-care, self-growth, mindfulness, creativity, calm productivity, authentic living, and life design.
🤝Sponsorship Info

Be a happier autism mom. 🪄 Radically alchemizing motherhood reshaped by autism into a joyful life that feels deeply mine. Bi-weekly submissions full of authentic self-discovery & personal growth 🌱 along a grounded venture of life design beyond caregiving. About

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I remember lying down on the exam table while I excitedly (almost manic) told my OBGYN of the future plans that I and my now-Husband were attempting to pull off together as a couple mad in our love for each other...

“We’re going to sign the Lease together this week, and I already have furniture from before, and it’ll be his first time living with a woman outside of his parents’ house, and the cats are going to have a blast with all of the extra space, and, and, AND...

The Doctor patiently waited and listened to the full euphoric dialogue sustained by my pressured speech. She politely smiled at me in a warm way, as if very pleased, and replied, “Why, it sounds to me like you’re... building a life.“

And I absolutely WAS doing so right then, still fresh in my early twenties... My ideal constantly played and re-played itself out in my mind all day while I would adaptively daydream myself away from any looming troubles. I was well-protected by a heavy shield of all wonderful possibilities and hope.

...SO, what happened to all of that?..

Where did the good-feeling anticipation of my biggest dreams delivered run off to? Or perhaps like some scientific law, it might not have just disappeared... but actually been conserved, and only altered in its form? Then I’d be able to rely on an equation or some formula to sum up the solution to this for me.

Truly, I can confirm that the dreams I once had for my life on that exam table (and elsewhere) have not all ended... I know so because of the very simplest fact that I can ever prove to anyone. It’s only because my life is NOT over yet that I am able to place one hopeful foot in front of the other to greet the reality that meets me.

Yes, I can admit that the appearance of the life that I now live holds very little resemblance to the perfect visions that would play out in the daydream states of my younger years. I’ve since been shaped by a trillion brute and beautiful touches. But each new day brings with it all the opportunity there is for real magick to be worked for me, by me.

You can only come to the table and use the cards that you’re dealt... But when you, for possibly the first time, see yourself as playing a game just like all the rest of us, ease and flow can then enter in.

Suddenly, you can smile again and enjoy the moment for what it is. And you can hope for a better hand during the next round that plays. Really read your cards for the messages that they hold inside for only you and only at this time. They have faces like you and I do afterall.

This is such a beautiful game to play when you learn the secret that no one can actually be a Winner! This might not be the lesson you were looking to learn.

Designing a life that looks like you and that fits around all of your edges just right is an artistic and a creative venture to enjoy, not get right. There’s no trick involved in the pursuit of what naturally pleases you, although it will at times feel like real magick. My best and last point of guidance to you is to never let yourself cease to daydream. This is the substance of the most important building material you will need in designing the masterful work that is your life.

Many Thanks,

Your Life Design Prompt:

Right now, feel free to give yourself permission to daydream again—but with a twist… Instead of ruminating over a different ideal life, daydream about the real life you currently have, right where you are:

What is a small, tangible thing that you could add, modify, or remove that would make your current reality feel more deeply yours?..

Maybe it’s finally hanging that art piece you’ve been meaning to frame for ages. Maybe it’s saying ‘No’ to something that’s found its way onto your calendar that drains you. Maybe it’s texting someone special that you’ve been meaning to reach out to for some reason.

And know this: You are not starting over. You are not behind. You’re in a heady state of mid-build, and the scaffolding is still up... And that’s exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Keep daydreaming. Keep building. The magick is in the doing, not the done.

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I have now built the space I SO desperately needed at my lowest points, and it’s for moms and female caregivers of neurodivergent special needs children to experience an authentically joyful life of their own in a life-giving, nourishing environment.

Take a peek inside of my membership community, UnCommon Momma:

UnCommon Design is a publication exploring identity, joy, and personal growth through honest storytelling. Subscribe to receive regular posts in your inbox or share a community where your whole story belongs.

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Be a happier autism mom. 🪄 Radically alchemizing motherhood reshaped by autism into a joyful life that feels deeply mine. Bi-weekly submissions full of authentic self-discovery & personal growth 🌱 along a grounded venture of life design beyond caregiving. About

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I’ll confess something to you right now: I’ve never been a very popular person in any of my social circles growing up… And it’s never bothered me enough along my journey to truly make an effort towards changing that fact. I’ve always been quite content with only being “popular enough” for the people whom I actually cared about to know who I was. And it was definitely a smaller collection of individuals who were in my corner compared to most others, but I have rarely experienced feelings of lack or want for more. I felt like I was surrounded by just the right number of My People.

I was invited out to a church service by a family member just recently. I was originally amused by their invitation, being how the both of us were well aware of the nature of my spiritual leanings and what my practice of it makes me look like to outsiders (it rhymes with “itch”). But the relative insisted, even making the case for how it would be a benefit to my children who “need prayer”.

Having navigated such conversations before, I calmly explained to her how I wasn’t declining the prayers, but instead I was choosing to avoid the overwhelm attached to the required level of hypervigilance for such public outings, not to mention the whole additional person I would need to accompany me for practical assistance and support of many kinds, the uninformed public opinion of my children behaving badly due to my lack of parenting them properly, and then the questions from that same uninformed public that I didn’t want to answer or clarify with education, the cascade of rude and blatant stares, the awkward silence following me and my kids around wherever we go…. I could easily go on and on.

My relative ended up only disagreeing with my reasoning (and strongly so), thus not even understanding a little bit about the experience of what happens to be my daily reality. All of that on top of their short notice given and also their entitled stance of me somehow owing them my approval and presence for the Friends and Family Day observance at their place of worship.

Plus, their church was absolutely NOT attended by a community of My People.

And I’ve been ruminating over just that theme lately: community… How it shows up in our lives, how we come to discover it for ourselves, and how often we forget that we actually do require it in some certain capacity.

I used to carry so much stuff around on my on for many, many years during an all-too common and perpetual juggle of my marriage, my two children, their diagnosis, my work and craft… Back in those days I’d quickly remind myself that I was strong enough to bear it all AND retain my sanity in the end… And maybe I was, but having so much strength without support can very quickly develop into a case of classic survival mode.

After some time and a much-needed shift in my mindset, I realized that having a community of My People was not the luxury that had I framed it as, it was actually a lifeline.

It’s the life-giving text message from another special needs mom reassuring me from experience that I am indeed strong enough to survive another day of this life. It’s the hope of seeing another mom with a big, genuine grin out authentically enjoying the time she is spending with her neurodivergent child because she has found a pace and place in life that regularly imparts joy. It’s the release in being able to admit that: no, you’re really not doing okay these days, and then not having to explain every reason why because your company already intimately understands millions of reasons themselves.

Community doesn’t erase the hard things that we are faced with, but it definitely can make them seem lighter by comparison. It also opens up a space for joy, laughter, perspective, and even rest to enter in.

I truly don’t believe that we, as people, were meant to go up against our lives all alone… Instead, we’re called to acknowledge each other as we all face our own truth, to be present to hold another up at the needed times, to remind each other of our inner strength during trials, and to witness each other’s personal growth. And that belief lives at the very center of every effort I make towards building out the special space that I am currently tasked with. This is true whether it’s through the writing of this email publication, the recording of its companion podcast, the different resources that I routinely create, or the membership experience that I am carefully curating.

If you’re craving the connection to be found within a community full of Your People, let this be your reminder: You don’t have to idly wait by for what looks like the ideal people at the ideal timing… Be active and start small. Reach out. Share your story. Let yourself be seen.

And if you happen to need a community of your own right now… ..well, just know that you’re already a part of one, and it is here.

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With Gratitude,

UnCommon Design is a publication exploring identity, joy, and personal growth through honest storytelling. Subscribe to receive regular posts in your inbox or share a community where your whole story belongs.

💗 P.S. You don't have to navigate this journey alone.

If you're a mother or caregiver raising a neurodivergent child and feeling overwhelmed, stretched thin, or unseen, UnCommon Momma was created specifically for you. This private membership community focuses on supporting your healing, growth, and wellbeing in a world that often overlooks your needs.

What you'll find inside:

• Peer support from others who truly understand your experience

• Guided self-care practices and wellness resources

• Access to a private podcast and live community gatherings

• A safe space where your identity and needs matter

There’s a Forever Free tier to dip your toe into at absolutely no risk because everyone deserves to belong. Click here to join us ↓

Free Community

Be a happier autism mom. 🪄 Radically alchemizing motherhood reshaped by autism into a joyful life that feels deeply mine. Bi-weekly submissions full of authentic self-discovery & personal growth 🌱 along a grounded venture of life design beyond caregiving. About

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Hi there, my Lovelies.

Since you've last heard from me, I've been busy making some intentional and very deliberate moves towards nurturing more calmness... Even the word itself sounds so soothing departing my mouth in a breathy two syllables at this moment. And this is a far deviation from the quality of my granular, day-to-day activities that involve me showing up for my two extraordinary children in a capacity that they require.

On just yesterday, I found myself mildly threatening one of them with some absurd form of discipline when I could no longer continue to see and hear their stimming behavior continue to disturb the gathering of people that I was amidst as they all attempted to look past the ordeal. Bless them.

I used to frequently reason with myself that I'll surely "get the hang of" my parenting role and feel much better while performing it when things manage to calm down. And without any research being necessary, I certainly know that this thought is an all-too common one among mothers everywhere of typical and neurodivergent children alike.

But the glaring truth, which is so very difficult to face for all of us, is that our lives may never truly calm down to the degree that we're imagining or that we'd like for them to... But thankfully, that doesn't mean that knowing some measure of peace is necessarily forever out of reach for us.

I like to entertain the idea that chaos itself is not a true enemy to us... I instead reframe this uncomfortable state of the human condition as something to which our relationship with it matters more than the actual condition itself... The fact here is that there are several facets, or natures, to the element of peace: There is definitely an external sort of peace to appreciate that is heavily dependent on the outside factors in our environment, which are always fluctuating, transforming, and evolving. There is also a gentle type of internal peace to hold out hope for that I have come to discover intimately and experience in my own life.

The eye of the storm is still, after all...

And as for practically anchoring this quote strongly to your daily life, you can leverage the use of a few different tools and practices to imbue a low-effort "micro-peace" into those messier moments in life that we all must endure:

1. Energetic Grounding Rituals: Quick practices such as body scanning, grounding outside in nature through the feet, and the method of your hand placed on your heart can be employed within seconds of time. I personally choose to perform a mini-smudge with a small stick Palo Santo, or simply light incense.

2. Gentle Affirmations: Try focusing on the following statements as you repeat them compellingly to yourself: “I can be soft in a hard moment... Even now, I am worthy of ease.”

3. Peaceful Journal/Thought Prompts: Take some time to explore your inner thoughts in response to questions like “What part of this can I release control over?” and “What does peace look like for me right now? Not ideally, but honestly?..”

Too often there is a visceral guilt that we caregivers feel in our gut when it comes to our desire for rest or quiet in those moments when chaos comes calling for us. But be reassured, your own peace isn't selfish in the least. And pursuing such is actually a radical act of self-protection. It's necessary. Revolutionary. Always know that your peace is not the luxury that we frame it to be in our society today... It is your lifeline.

My guidance is for you to move away from a place of ideals and perfectionism, and to seek presence instead. This shift in perception may not be intuitive to arrive at for us, but it is my personal experience that it is life-giving... So, choose to move throughout your days with an air of grace, even when it's messy. Hold that intention close. And, if you’re reading this with dishes in the sink, toys on the floor, and a to-do list growing in your head, know that peace can still find you here and now.

Peace out ;)

UnCommon Design is a publication exploring identity, joy, and personal growth through honest storytelling. Subscribe to receive regular posts in your inbox or share a community where your whole story belongs.

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Be a happier autism mom. 🪄 Radically alchemizing motherhood reshaped by autism into romanticizing a life I love. Weekly submissions full of authentic self-discovery & personal growth 🌱 along a grounded venture of life design beyond caregiving. About

One of the very first of so many roles that I have assumed in this life was that of... cheerleading captain. And this was an obviously earned role that I had trained hard for all the previous middle school year. I had perfected the execution of each type of jump, every position of my arms, the splits (on my right side), and the base position of all of the stunts allowed at that level of the sport. Cheer WAS still an official sport back then, and as was said and still is repeated by me, "Some athletes lift weights; Cheerleaders lift athletes."

Not to re-live my youthful days of after-school practice, summer camps, performing at ball games, and competing at national competitions, but I very proudly took up every duty of my title and faced all of its implications head-on wearing fresh spankies and ribbons in my ponytail. As the leader of my peers on the squad, showing up halfway was never even an option for me. I remember even literally crying one morning in the car with my mother before cheer camp that day for some vague reason having to do with my heavy and all too human nerves (more on that topic to come), and then having to quickly put it all behind me only minutes later as I blew my whistle on the field to signal the beginning of our warm-up routine. My mother had to all but forcibly kick me out of the vehicle before she drove off frowning, and it was lucky that there was hardly any makeup on my face to repair at that young age.

A brief while later on in my life, I assumed another role that I would take up with pride... As the layout editor and a journalist for my high school's cutting-edge magazine-style newspaper, I overly enjoyed writing articles that brushed up against every single boundary outlining the scope of allowance that the stakeholders and review board had established for us students. One of my more popular articles about school tolerance of sexism among its male students, for which I had painstakingly conducted an interview via telephone with an anonymous John Doe football star from my class, drew silence from the rest of the newspaper staff, hesitation from our instructor, and a loss for the next steps to take from the review board as it dangerously approached being vetoed. Thankfully, the story did end up running in the very next issue, and my byline that I had excitedly formatted using our publishing software earned me all of the due praises, smiles, attention, and adult concern that I had originally intended on for that particular piece.

Back then, I knew who I was: loud, joyful, and full of vision. I led cheers. I led revolutions... I got straight A’s and I stood tall under the spotlights and expectations. I felt loud, vibrant, and myself.

Next throughout young adult life, my mental health struggles became increasingly more difficult to manage with a smile underneath the heavier and much more important responsibilities quickly heaped onto me. There were jobs to perform while ill and well that paid me far too much money to spend for someone as young. Then, there was all of the educational ambition required of a honors double-major student with a full-ride scholarship to an enviable out-of-state University (Roll Tide!). I struggled with my burdens regularly and enjoyed forgetting all about them during the weekends at parties and bars with handsome young men that I would invite over to the apartment I shared with my best friend at the time; it was hardly ever the same boy for two consecutive weekends.

The admirable hustle of my role eventually became replaced by a steely survival mode as my untimely depression amped up aided by a foundational loneliness much deeper than a boyfriend or even many could soothe. I returned to a regimen of medication-assisted clinical treatment that I had first come to minimally experience in junior high school. Only now, the drug dosages were larger... Then the tablets and capsules themselves changed in their name, nature, and combination, and finally the multiples in their quantity would always go up and up each month under the care of my doctor and the attending physician.

After a long plateau and then decline, this slow erosion of my sense of self met its very bottom shortly into the beginning of my motherhood. Textbook postpartum depression mingled with the weight of back-to-back additional diagnoses... only this time it was the disorder within my own two children situated along two totally different places along the autism spectrum. Soon, the specialist clinic visits, the physical, speech/feeding, and occupational therapy sessions, and the necessary late-night self-education spirals that crushed my soul and tested my fraying sanity flawlessly consumed what was the remainder of who I had come to know as myself... My identity was not actively taken away from me in malicious intent by any one conscious force; I had instead freely decided to give it up myself in order to meet the demands swirling in the perfect maelstrom persisting around me. Motherhood did not steal my identity... I had handed it over one decision at a time because I thought that’s what a healthy love looked like.

I came to truly not recognize myself or the role I assumed in every sense of the phrase. That girl from the pep rally and from the byline in the paper?.. She was gone, and I wasn't even sure of when I had finally come to stop missing who she was. As a mother, there were the senses of grief, resentment, and numbness to accompany me all throughout that time for the sake of fulfilling my title of "parent" and I knew them all very well.

But the thing about motherhood is that it has the most magickal ability to inspire some of the most profound transformation possible in this life within an ordinary, unsuspecting woman... I eventually found my turning point in the chance reunion with an old, old love of mine that I sadly hadn't known for decades: writing. In my journaling and the sharing of the hidden parts of myself buried deep under layers and layers of caregiving misery, I experienced a nearly Spiritual rededication to the cause of myself. There was definitely a place for therapy there as well, and also the need for my wholeness in the efficient advocacy required of me for nurturing and raising both of my neurodivergent children. But in the initial ideation and formation of the very email inbox publication that you are skimming currently, I had managed to breathe new life into my previous existence of only surviving in the day-to-day. I didn't quite find myself anywhere along the way, rather I had managed to begin rebuilding myself on my own new terms into a brand-new and encouraging presence that remained ever-ready to reclaim and warmly welcome back any and all of my fragmented parts still left.

It was a slow and meaningful work towards my re-emergence as a whole and multi-faceted woman of substance. I started by asking myself the important questions that I had completely forgotten the answers to like, ‘What do I want?’ and ‘Who am I when I’m not caregiving?’ Slowly, I stopped looking backward before going forward, and I started designing my life going forward from where I was. The honesty and clarity I then experienced with myself manifested itself in my writing, my expression, and my experience. My life soon began resembling, and still remains as, an artful work of my sole intention.

I gratefully accept that my new identity is no one destination to arrive at, and gracefully allows for my continual evolution as a woman. Today, I don't have a desire to become more like the girl that I once was, as phenomenal as she was. I’m now becoming the woman I need who is many things with much to live for and share. And at this time, I have developed use of the tools that support my fullness and all of the unique parts of who I am today, even those beyond my role of mother and caregiver to my two exceptional children.

With heart and honesty,

Cheniece ♡

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P.S. Did something whisper to you as you read this? Perhaps it was recognition of the woman you were before, or maybe a gentle reminder that you still exist beyond your caregiving role. Whatever resonated, I want you to know: what you're feeling isn't wrong, and you aren't walking alone. Your journey back to yourself doesn't need grand gestures or perfect execution—it only requires your permission to begin. I'm right there beside you, finding my way back too. One small, brave step at a time.

UnCommon Design is a publication exploring identity, joy, and personal growth through honest storytelling. Subscribe to receive weekly essays in your inbox and join a community where your whole story belongs.

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