Here’s to the Bad-Ass Mamas Who Carry It All

Growing up, I remember my mom selling Tupperware.
She didn’t just sell it—she owned it.

It was a big part of her life, and by extension, a big part of ours. She worked evenings after my dad got home from his 9–5 job, hosting parties across Cleveland with friends, family, and eventually friends-of-friends. That little side hustle paid for family trips to Disney World, a new minivan, and—still to this day—an endless supply of Tupperware.

In my parents’ home, it is sacrilegious to suggest using any storage product that isn’t Tupperware. And every Christmas, my sister-in-law and I are guaranteed to receive a new piece. No complaints—it’s always needed.

As a kid, I never thought much about why my mom sold Tupperware, or how much it actually contributed to our family. My dad, after all, was “the provider,” because he left for work every day in a suit and tie. My mom was the one who volunteered at school, taught me to sew (a skill I’ve shamefully forgotten), and handled every doctor’s appointment, orthodontic visit, and hair cut (some more traumatic then others). She carried the full mental load of managing our lives.

It wasn’t until I became a mother myself—forty-one years later—that I finally understood. My mom didn’t sell Tupperware just to pitch in financially. She did it to hold onto herself. It was her way of seeing herself outside the blur of motherhood. Her way of staying connected to who she was before kids—while building a life around them.

Today, I understand that tension all too well.

Motherhood is the greatest joy of my life. But it’s also the most exhausting, soul-stretching, inequitable role I’ve ever known. And I’m one of the lucky ones—I have a partner who shows up. When our boys were babies, he was up with me. He changed diapers then, and now makes breakfast, brushes teeth, and cleans up midnight vomit. He does the work with me.

But still...
I am the default.
When the nanny cancels, I cancel.
I manage the appointments, the permission slips, the late night registrations for swim lessons and camp.
I handle the laundry, the shoe sizes, the bed linens, the bills, the child care providers.
And on top of it all—I work.

Not because I have to. Because I want to.

I had a career before I had kids. And just because I now have another full-time job (called parenting) doesn’t mean I have to give up the version of me who builds, leads, and creates.

I love working. I love solving problems, mentoring teams, building visions from the ground up. My work isn’t just a paycheck—it’s a piece of who I am. It keeps me tethered to myself.

So yes—I carry the laptop, and the lunchboxes, and the guilt.
I show up to meetings with unwashed hair and sometimes a kid in my lap.
I text the pediatrician between Zoom calls.
I reschedule work to make the school concert, the field trip, the birthday party.

We, as mothers, live in this beautiful, exhausting in-between.
We juggle ambition and exhaustion. We give endlessly, and still try to hold on to something just for us.

And on this Mother’s Day, I want to honor all of that.

To the moms who meal prep and manage million-dollar budgets.
To the moms who nurse babies on conference calls.
To the moms who stepped away from careers—not because they lacked ambition, but because they made an equally bold choice to give their energy, intellect, and entire selves to raising their children full-time.
To the moms navigating grief, burnout, broken systems—and still showing up.
To the moms who say yes to their dreams, even when it means building while balancing.

You are not alone. You are not failing. You are a force.

And to my mom—thank you. Thank you for showing me that it’s okay to want more. That motherhood can be expansive, not limiting. That even in the chaos, it’s possible to hold on to a part of yourself.

So here’s to the bad-ass mamas.
The ones who carry the weight of the world—and still make magic.

Happy Mother’s Day.