I have yet to accomplish all my former goals. I have yet to change the world. I have yet to leave a…

I have yet to accomplish all my former goals. I have yet to change the world. I have yet to leave a lasting mark like I had dreamed, but I now have a little boy who looks at me like I hung the moon. He falls asleep some nights with his arm curled around my neck, because he just needs me for one more moment, and one more, and one more.

And if I have that? I can never fail. In fact, I've redefined failure. I've learned to let go of my checklists and self-imposed expectations on all the things I should have done or could have done, and I've realized love is enough. Seeing his eyes light up when they catch my gaze, being his safe place, being his whole world— that's enough.

Motherhood met me young. Some may see that as a failure. I don't. I have fully surrendered and succumbed to motherhood, letting it wash over me and smooth out all my jagged edges and shape my unruly parts. It's healed me in ways I never knew I needed healing, and it all started with those two pink lines.