On Motherhood Journal Entry #4

Food for Thought. Wine for Wonder.

On Motherhood

Such a simple word for something so enormous.

Soft, powerful, painful, nurturing, exhausting, beautiful, heartbreaking, selfless, instinctual, complicated.

For some women, motherhood arrives naturally.
For others, it arrives differently.
And for some, it never arrives in the way they once imagined.

When I was younger, I never really questioned whether I’d have children. I think I just assumed it would happen someday the way people assume college, marriage, careers, and growing older will happen. It felt like one of those expected chapters of life.

Until one day, it isn’t.

And then eventually comes the awkward silence at holidays or family gatherings. The uncomfortable question every woman without children eventually hears:
“So… when are you going to give your parents a grandchild?”

As if life is always that simple.

I found out pretty early in life that having children naturally probably wasn’t going to happen for me. I was athletic growing up — sports were a huge part of my life because my dad was a huge athlete too, raising two girls who were taught to compete hard, work hard, and keep going. I struggled with hormonal and menstrual issues very young and was put on birth control early. Then after college, I went through kidney failure from a severe drug allergy after repeated bladder infections. My body took a beating.

Then came marriage, fertility testing, doctors, conversations, numbers, procedures, and the overwhelming realization of how emotionally and financially devastating infertility can be.

Back then, I truly believed marriage was forever.
You figured it out together.
You built the family somehow.
You adopted if you had to.
You fought for it because love meant forever.

But life doesn’t always follow the blueprint we were handed growing up.

My first marriage ended, not because we couldn’t have children, but I’ll always believe it created a sadness and barrier between us that never fully disappeared. Seeing him now with two beautiful children genuinely makes me happy. It does.

Then came my second marriage, where I became a stepmom.

And honestly?
That may have been one of the most beautiful and painful experiences of my life.

Because being a stepmom is living in the space between belonging and not belonging.

You pour your heart into children you love deeply, while quietly knowing you may never fully fit into the story that already existed before you arrived.

I drove to school events.
Sat through sports and activities.
Helped with responsibilities.
Loved hard.
Tried hard.

Sometimes it felt like pure love between us.
Other times it felt like rejection, jealousy, resentment, loneliness, and misunderstanding all tangled together.

I always felt like I was trying to fit into a puzzle that had already been completed before I arrived. Wanting so badly to belong, while simultaneously knowing I never completely would.

It still hurts to think about.

But then I think about my own mom.

My hero.
My safest place.
The best person I know.

She made our childhood magical.
Warm.
Creative.
Comforting.
Fun.

She is the person I still call when life falls apart.
The voice I need when darkness creeps in.
The hug I search for when I’m overwhelmed.
The meal dropped off when I’ve forgotten to take care of myself.
The road trip companion.
The calm inside my chaos.
The angel in my head when life gets loud.

She has loved me through every version of myself.

And I don’t think she fully understands how much of who I am exists because of her.

Her kindness.
Her honesty.
Her ability to care for people deeply.
Her faith.
Her strength.
Her softness.

I carry those things now too.

I’ve spent so much of my life feeling like I somehow failed because I couldn’t become a mother in the traditional sense. Because when you have a mother like mine, motherhood feels sacred.

But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve started realizing something else.

Maybe motherhood isn’t always about giving birth.

Because when I look back over my life, I realize how many people I’ve helped raise in my own way.

The young employees I mentored.
The broken people I sat beside.
The tears I wiped away.
The graduations, funerals, celebrations, heartbreaks, interventions, and late-night conversations.
The people I picked up when life got messy.
The people I believed in before they believed in themselves.

I’ve spent years trying to teach people courage, accountability, work ethic, compassion, and resilience.

At Molly’s, people may see a chef-owner.
But what I really hope they feel is care.

Sometimes too much care.

And yes, sometimes that hurts too.

Motherhood, to me now, means nurturing.
Protecting.
Guiding.
Feeding.
Listening.
Creating safety.
Creating warmth.
Creating home.

And I think there are many women this Mother’s Day quietly carrying complicated feelings.

Women grieving children they never had.
Women grieving mothers they lost.
Stepmoms trying to find their place.
Women choosing careers.
Women raising children alone.
Women raising everyone else’s children.
Women exhausted.
Women healing.
Women longing.
Women loving in ways nobody fully sees.

So this weekend at Molly’s, I hope we remember that celebration can coexist with tenderness.

That holidays can feel beautiful and heavy at the same time.

And that every person sitting around our tables carries a story we may know nothing about.

To all the moms.
The grandmas.
The stepmoms.
The adoptive moms.
The work moms.
The bonus moms.
The women trying to become moms.
The women who wanted to be moms.
The women who mother simply by loving others well—

Happy Mother’s Day.

“Some women give birth to children.
Others give birth to comfort, courage, beauty, community, healing, art, or hope.
Motherhood has many forms.”

Chef Molly Krinhop