Part 2: What If I'm Not Failing?

Maybe motherhood isn't exposing my weaknesses, but rather exposing my needs

If you read part 1 of this series, you know there was a particular need that led to this tipping point of realizing my sensitive system’s requirements were going unmet, yet struggling to meet them in motherhood. What I didn’t realize was that this was just one of many needs I had yet to uncover. The more I paid attention to my areas of struggle, the more I realized that this wasn’t an isolated problem.

It was, instead, one piece of a much bigger picture: paying attention to what I needed wasn't exactly a skill I'd spent much time developing. And as it turns out, my needs are pretty specific.

Maybe I hadn’t paid attention because I had gotten very good at being adaptable. I was the good girl, the giver, the peacemaker—the one who could adjust, accommodate, and go along with what was needed. Let’s just say, I make a very good chameleon.

But instead of blending into my surroundings, I’m learning that I’m just a different “breed” of mom. Stay with me while I unpack this…

A Different “Breed” of Mom

You know how different dog breeds have differing needs for exercise, grooming, and affection. Some are bred to be watchdogs, some companion dogs, some guard dogs, some hunting, etc. We don't look at a border collie and a bulldog and say, "Why can't you two just need the same amount of exercise?"

I think humans are a little like dogs in that way: we have different needs, different temperaments, and different things we're naturally designed for. Intuitively, I’ve always known this; I mean, I’ve always found personality type extremely interesting.

Yet for some reason, I’ve found it extremely difficult to grasp and admit that I have different needs. Somewhere along the way, I had absorbed the idea that if other mothers (or really just other people) could handle something, I should be able to handle it too.

When I decided to stay home with my kids, I naively expected I would and could adapt to the full-time role of caregiver. But my particular temperament, sensitive nervous system, and set of needs had other plans.

I started out thinking stay-at-home motherhood felt hard mainly because of the loss of identity- going from working in the corporate world to staying home- and yes, that was part of it. Then I blamed the lack of sleep and nutrient depletion, which certainly didn’t help either. But as time went on, I couldn’t ignore the fact that there were parts of me that just had a hard time being home full-time with my kids, and there didn’t seem to be anything I could do to change that.

I found myself constantly overwhelmed, yet simultaneously underfulfilled. Busy, yet bored. I was chronically overstimulated and needing quiet, yet craving deep, adult conversation. I was doing the most meaningful work of my life, yet at times felt dull and empty. And all I could think was that I was not good at staying home. I was failing. I must not be cut out for this. And I wanted to run away.

Eventually, I started asking myself what I wanted and needed that wasn’t getting met in my current situation. Particularly, I started getting more specific about what I actually needed to function well. What I found wasn't necessarily surprising, but seeing it all laid out helped me understand why I'd been struggling so much.

I needed:

• meaningful mental stimulation

• periods of quiet

• autonomy

• adult conversation

• novelty/variety

• time alone to recharge

• something that’s mine

• enough margin that I don't feel constantly "on"

And those needs were clashing HARD with the reality of staying home with young kids.

But what is both freeing to realize and hard to internalize is that none of these needs make me a bad mother. They make me the person I am.

The part that’s still hard for me to wrap my head around is that maybe I’m not failing at motherhood after all. Maybe I just need a different way to do it that works for my particular operating system.

The thing is, unlike a computer or a new piece of equipment, no one hands you your exact operating manual that lays out how to best take care of yourself. Which means you’re left to learn what you need and how to function your best through trial and error. A lot of motherhood advice assumes everyone functions similarly; but that’s really not the case because we are all so unique.

So where does that leave us?

I’m not really sure yet.

But maybe the goal isn't to become the kind of mother who can tolerate anything. Maybe it's understanding what I need to show up well for myself and my family—and learning to be okay with needing it.

Wondering what you need in motherhood?

If you’re a sensitive mom and motherhood feels harder than it “should,” you might not need to try harder—you might need to understand what your particular system is asking for.

Take my free quiz to find out what’s actually draining you—and what you can start doing about it.

Part 1: The Need I Didn’t Realize I Had

How losing ALL my alone time caused me to lose myself in motherhood as a highly sensitive stay-at-home mom

I’ve always been a loner. It’s not that I don’t like people or have friends; in fact, I’ve mostly been able to fit in and make friends no matter where I am. It’s just that after a while, I much prefer to be by myself. I need that quiet time to recharge and exhale. 

I grew up in a large family, and I can vividly remember, even from a young age, always finding quiet moments to be alone. Lying under the Christmas tree watching the lights change colors. Walking through the woods behind our house and playing in the creek. Dancing alone to a song I played on repeat. Coming home from school and disappearing into my room to unwind. I didn’t even realize I was doing it, but I was intuitively meeting this need I’ve had all along

Then, as a young adult, I often found ways to be alone and be perfectly content while my peers were busy partying or going out in big groups. I enjoyed activities like sitting in a coffee shop and reading, going on solo shopping trips, taking long walks to contemplate life, and working jobs that offered a lot of autonomy. But I don’t think anyone, even myself, knew just how much I truly needed that time.

Once I became a mom and was on maternity leave, I noticed I started to feel a little off. But I returned to work and found those pockets of time alone again in things like the drive to work after daycare drop-off, sitting in my car eating alone during my lunch, and going for a solo walk around the building during a break. 

When my second son was born, and I decided that staying home was best for our family, I didn’t even think about the fact that my alone time would essentially disappear. Instead of finding quiet pockets of solitude, I was constantly "on." The full-time caregiving and exposure to relentless sensory input, with little to no breaks, felt overwhelming. And my mental, physical, and emotional health paid the price.

It wasn’t until I finally cracked and admitted that I needed this time and found myself sitting alone in a Panera booth that I realized just how depleted and overwhelmed I was. I had no space to process my life. No space to exist without worrying about meeting everyone else's needs or expectations. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my kids or my spouse; it’s that I felt like I was disappearing. I felt like a ghost of who I used to be.

In the months that followed, I very imperfectly asked or was forced to get away for a few hours. Oftentimes, it wasn’t until I realized how irritated I had become, or conversely, how checked out I was, that I realized I had pushed past my limit. I had gone too long without meeting my own needs. Because they felt like too much to ask for. I felt bad asking for time to myself…it felt selfish. And I was afraid of how that would look to my husband or other people who didn’t have the same needs. 

But what I know is that every single time I got away, I came back recharged. Not a different person, just a better version of myself. I would go somewhere quiet and sit, journal, pray, process, and feel…and then I could come home and be present again. I was able to think more clearly and had a sense of direction again.

And I wonder how many other highly sensitive moms, especially overwhelmed stay-at-home moms, are quietly carrying this guilt about having needs that look different. How many women are just surviving their lives and pushing through without coming up for air? 

Looking back now, it seems obvious. All of those quiet moments from childhood and young adulthood weren't random. They were how I regulated myself. I didn't know I was highly sensitive at the time, and I certainly didn't understand what happened to me when I went too long without time alone. I just knew that eventually I would become irritable, exhausted, overwhelmed, or numb.

It wasn't until motherhood that I started connecting the dots. The quiet moments and alone time I always gravitated toward weren't a luxury; they were a need. As a highly sensitive person, I absorb a lot. I notice a lot. I feel a lot. And without space to process all of that, it builds up until I no longer feel like myself.

But when you're a mom, especially a highly sensitive stay-at-home mom, you don't always have the luxury or the ability to get that alone time. You’re constantly needed, constantly mentally carrying things, planning, anticipating, and caring for others. And it can feel really awkward and strange to ask for something you maybe don’t even realize you need. 

Even if you know you need alone time, how do you ask for it? How do you explain it? Do you have to explain it? Will other people think you’re weird or too much? All of these thoughts make the asking even harder. So we wait, we push through, we don’t ask. And then we suffer, and we stop showing up as the person we truly are. 

I’m not perfect at asking for alone time or any other need for that matter. But I’m starting to realize just how essential that need for alone time is for me. And in the times that I ask and take that time for myself, my family, and my mental health benefit in ways I can’t always explain. All I know is that I come back feeling like I can breathe again. I can give again. I can be present. 

But the harder part is that this need isn’t just a one-time thing. And that’s the part I’m still working on. Learning how to make my own needs a priority without having to overexplain or feel bad for having needs that are different than those around me. Learning to keep my needs on the schedule while also helping meet the needs of my family. It’s a true balancing act. 

If you’re a highly sensitive mom who is struggling, I wonder… when was the last time you took time to meet your own needs? Especially the need for alone time. It can feel so counterintuitive and selfish, especially when motherhood burnout and sensory overload have become your normal. It can make you feel self-conscious to ask for it, particularly if you’re someone who struggles with boundaries and people-pleasing. 

If that’s you, I want you to know I completely get it. I also know that it’s because of your sensitivity that you have so much to offer this world, especially your family. But you can't continue giving from an empty place forever. This is the part that I'm still learning for myself, and it’s why I’m so passionate about bringing awareness and support for moms who resonate with what I’m sharing.

I hope you find solidarity in knowing you’re not alone. And if this is something you want support with, I would love to walk alongside you and help you start prioritizing yourself again. 

For years, I thought there was something wrong with me because I needed so much time alone. Now I'm beginning to wonder if God wasn't trying to tell me something all along. In Part 2, I'll share what happened when I realized that alone time wasn't my only unmet need.

My Story: Why I Help Sensitive SAHMs

I’ve always had intense feelings. Not in a loud, dramatic way…more in a “this feeling is SO strong in my mind and body that I don’t really know how to function right now” kind of way.

I’ve always noticed subtle changes in someone’s mood or tone of voice. I’ve always had lots of deep thoughts and spent hours pondering things that other people probably don’t give two licks about. As Dr. Becky Kennedy would say, I’m one of those “deeply feeling” kinds. Or as Elaine Aron coined it, a “highly sensitive person.”

Growing up, I didn’t have language for that. I didn’t even know what high sensitivity was or that it applied to me. I just knew I felt everything. I carried a lot internally. Because of that, I mostly preferred being alone or in one-on-one situations rather than in loud, large groups. There was less to process that way.

Deep feeling + introversion hasn’t been an easy combo to live with.

Cue the anxiety and depression from the constant swirl of thoughts with nowhere to go.

The “functional” digestive issues from the stress of living in a chronic state of hypervigilance simply because my nervous system picked up on everything.

The lack of confidence from not knowing how to be who I was or ask for what I needed to feel safe.

For most of my childhood and young adulthood, I felt like something was wrong with me. While my peers were thriving on socialization, I was the one falling asleep on the bus ride home, then escaping to my room to recoup after school. They were in sports, confidently trying new things, and I second-guessed every little decision.

As I came into young adulthood, I felt behind. Like I had missed the memo on what I was supposed to be doing in life to be “successful”. Everyone else seemed to have a plan, and I was floundering.

I eventually earned a degree because that’s what you were supposed to do. But it didn’t take long to become disillusioned with the corporate world. I would daydream of all the other things I’d rather be doing, wondering how I was supposed to sit at a desk and be productive for 8 straight hours M-F. I’d go to the bathroom and cry because I felt so bored and stuck.

After some soul-searching and prayer, I found Wellness Coaching and became certified. And suddenly, the very things that felt like liabilities my whole life became real strengths. I felt as if I had finally found my “thing”.

Being a quiet listener and observer? An asset.

Comfortable with complex emotions and people’s inner worlds? A gift.

Navigating health and confidence challenges myself? Experience.

From there, I built a hodgepodge career in HR and Corporate Wellness, health coaching, and group fitness, and, for the first time, I felt like I was thriving. I had meaningful work. A life outside my head. Novelty.

Then came motherhood.

With my oldest, I went back to work after the standard maternity leave. Yes, becoming a mom was a complete shock to my sensitive system — but I still had space. Space to think. To process. To grow. Space that was still mine outside of motherhood. 

When my second son was born, everything shifted. Staying home was best for our family — especially with a baby who refused a bottle and didn’t sleep for 13 months.

But I wasn’t prepared for the depth of identity change. Or the nervous system overload that came with it.

I was raised to know Jesus, and my faith has always been the glue holding my life together. And in this season — the one that feels like it demands more of me than I have to give — I’m being stretched to grow in new and hard ways.

In the past, whenever life got hard, I ran, froze, or fixed.

If I didn’t like a decision? I would change it.

If my body was acting up? I’d look for something to fix it.

If my job was draining me? I’d get a new one or add something on the side.

So when motherhood started to feel overwhelming—and I couldn't run away or make my kids less noisy—I decided it was time to go back to work. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I haven’t applied for hundreds of jobs in my moments of pure desperation.

But what I keep coming back to is that this time around, things feel different.

What if I’m not meant to run?

What if I’m being invited to stay?

To sit in discomfort and listen to what it’s trying to teach me.

To listen to my body and my sensitivity and learn how to care for myself.

To depend on God instead of working harder to control myself and how others see me.

So here I am.

A woman saved by grace.

A wellness coach.

An introvert.

A highly sensitive mom.

I'm in the messy middle, becoming the woman God is shaping me into through this season.

I don’t have all the answers. In fact, sharing this feels very vulnerable. But I’m not going to stop being who I am. Better yet, I’m determined that with God’s guidance, I’ll BECOME stronger, wiser, steadier, and learn to be OKAY with who I am and how He designed me.

If you're reading this and parts of my story feel strangely familiar, I hope you'll stick around. Over the next several posts, I'll share what I'm learning about sensitivity, motherhood, faith, boundaries, identity, and caring for the nervous system God gave us.

And if you ever reach a place where you'd like someone to walk alongside you in that journey, I'd be honored to do that. Until then, I just want you to know this…

If you’re an introverted, deeply feeling stay-at-home mom who feels like she disappeared somewhere between diapers and all-day duty — I see you.

If the noise, the needs, and the constant touching feel overwhelming to your system — I see you.

If you sometimes want to run, but you choose to stay and grow into the woman God created you to be — I see you.

And if you're wondering whether you can become stronger without becoming someone else, I think you're in the right place.

If parts of my story felt like your story, I'd love to invite you to take my free Sensitive Mom Quiz. It will help you identify what's contributing most to your overwhelm and where you may need support in this season.