Maybe your teen is having a hard day, and even when you logically know it is not all about you, something inside still starts searching for what you might have done wrong. Or maybe someone you love seems upset or distant, and your mind immediately moves toward self-blame before you even know the full story. For many mothers, this happens so automatically that we barely notice we are doing it. It can feel natural to take responsibility for the emotional atmosphere around you. To try to smooth things over, fix tension quickly, or make sure everyone else is okay. And when someone you love is struggling emotionally, part of you may instinctively feel like it is your job to make it better.
Maybe someone asks how you’re doing and, almost automatically, you say, “I’m fine,” even when you’re overwhelmed inside. Or maybe something hurts your feelings, but instead of saying anything, you push it down and tell yourself it’s not a big deal. For many mothers, hiding emotions becomes so normal that we barely notice we’re doing it. It can feel safer to stay composed, stay quiet, or handle things privately rather than risk feeling vulnerable, misunderstood, or dismissed. And even when there is someone trustworthy in front of you, something inside may still hesitate before fully opening up.
Vanessa was the kind of mother who handled everything. She managed the schedules, kept track of appointments, made sure the house ran smoothly, and stayed on top of every detail that needed attention. If something needed to get done, she did it. If something went wrong, she stepped in and fixed it. From the outside, it looked like she had everything under control.
There are moments in childhood where being wrong doesn’t just feel uncomfortable — it feels costly. Something happens where you are questioned, corrected, or blamed. Maybe you didn’t do what you’re being accused of, or maybe you made a mistake and can feel the tension building around it. The air changes. The tone shifts. You can sense, even before words are fully spoken, that how this moment goes matters.
Before you ever had words for your emotions, your body was already expressing them. Something upsets you and the feeling moves through you quickly. Your chest tightens, your throat constricts, and tears begin to rise. You try to explain what is happening inside you, reaching for someone to help you make sense of it. But the response comes just as quickly. “Stop crying, you’re fine.”
There is a moment you might not remember clearly, but your body never forgot. You are young — maybe six — sitting on the living room floor. There are toys scattered around you, the quiet hum of the house in the background. Then something happens. Your sibling grabs something that’s yours, or says something that doesn’t feel fair, and suddenly it hits you — that sharp, overwhelming feeling you don’t yet have words for. Your chest tightens. Your face gets hot. Your voice rises before you even realize it’s happening.
It’s a quiet pressure many mothers carry, and most of the time no one says it out loud. It’s the pressure to be a good mom. Not just loving or devoted, but good in the way the world seems to define it: patient, attentive, emotionally available, organized, calm, involved, supportive, wise, and somehow never overwhelmed. You’re supposed to guide your child without controlling them, support them without hovering, discipline them without shaming them, and prepare them for the real world without damaging their confidence. And when things go well, you feel relieved. But when they don’t, something else creeps in. Maybe I’m not doing this right. Maybe I’m messing this up. Maybe I’m not the mother they deserve.
I watched it happen in the grocery store checkout line. A mom in yoga pants, phone in one hand, scanning her teenager with the kind of look that lands like a slap. The teen had earbuds in, shoulders hunched, doing that thing teens do when they’re trying to take up as little space as possible. The mom sighed loudly and said, “Seriously? You can’t even stand up straight. You look ridiculous.” The teen’s face tightened — just a flicker — then went blank. No argument. No tears. Just a quiet disappearance right there in front of the gum and the tabloids.
Last Tuesday, I was standing in my kitchen when it happened. My daughter was leaning against the counter, scrolling on her phone while I tried to talk to her about an upcoming school deadline. I could feel urgency rising in my chest, that familiar tightness that tells me, “This matters — please pay attention.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Mom, I know.” It was a small moment, but my body reacted like it wasn’t. My stomach dropped, heat climbed up my neck, and suddenly I wasn’t just a mother in a kitchen anymore — I was fourteen again, being told I was “too much,” “too intense,” “too controlling.”
It was one of those nights where everything in me was running on fumes. Dinner was finally cleaned up, the dishwasher was humming, and I was doing that invisible mother scan — mentally checking off what still needed to happen before I could sit down. My teen was fully reclined on the couch — feet up, phone in hand — scrolling like it was his full-time job with benefits. He looked so comfortable it made me wonder if I should start billing him for the premium lounge experience. So I said it in what I believed was a normal voice. “Hey, can you take out the trash before you get too settled?” Nothing. Not even a head tilt. Not even a grunt.
I remember a tense moment with my twelve-year-old daughter. I had asked her — again — to do something small and ordinary. Nothing major. After a bit of back-and-forth, she finally snapped, “Okay, I’ll do it!” Those were the words I had been waiting to hear. She was agreeing. She was doing what I asked. And yet, the second they came out of her mouth, I felt myself bristle. My chest tightened, my jaw clenched, and irritation rose fast. I remember thinking, Really? That tone? What surprised me later was how strong my reaction had been. It felt completely out of proportion to what actually happened. She hadn’t refused. She hadn’t been disrespectful in her words. And yet, something in me had gone on high alert.
One of the most important shifts we can make as parents is learning to see behavior not as something to correct, but as something to understand.So often, when a child acts out, shuts down, or becomes reactive, our attention goes straight to the behavior itself. We ask, Why are they doing this? or How do I make it stop?But behavior is rarely the problem. More often, it’s a signal. A signal that something inside the child doesn’t feel settled yet.
It’s May, and school is nearly out for the Summer. It seems like I just dropped my kids off for their first day of the school year! As the days tick by, we see our kids shoot up into their teens and suddenly we are facing those years we’ve always dreaded. The moodiness… the attitude… the drama… is it all inevitable?
My birth mother (Lindsay) discovers she is pregnant and her very next thought is that she wants to die. Death would be a lot easier than facing her grandfather who raised her. Instead of love and support, he was prone to rage and shouted loudly over the smallest things she did wrong. How would he take this news? How am I taking the news? I don’t understand thoughts from Lindsay as words, but I feel the energy of fear and rejection. I will get to know this energy a lot before I am born.
It’s late January and about the time when many people start to notice their New Year’s resolutions melt into the old year’s patterns. Will power cannot sustain change in lieu of in-depth exploration of the causes of unwanted habits. Listen as Kathi Sohn shares the surprising reason New Year’s resolutions often fail, insights from her own struggles with these deep issues, and wisdom for turning it all around once and for all.
The story in the little drummer boy Christmas song is fictional, but there is so much to learn from this beautiful tune and its message. People often search for the perfect gift, overlooking the fact that they themselves are the most perfect gift of love, family, and connection. Listen as Kathi Sohn shares insights from her childhood and wisdom for remembering the true meaning of this holiday season.
If you want to make a basket, focus on the empty space the basketball will fill. If you want to drive through a cone slalom, don’t look at the cones – look at the spaces between the cones. Where you put your focus is what you will achieve in your life. Listen as Kathi Sohn shares four ways to help you focus on the spaces in between the cones of limitation in your life so that you can drive your path to success.
It’s spooky season again! This is the time when many of us dress up in costumes on Halloween to show up as our favorite fictional character or maybe as a persona we would never otherwise show the world. But what about the skeletons in the closet of our own subconscious mind? The hidden beliefs, the fears, and the doubts that jump out and scare us when we are about to pursue our dreams? Listen as Kathi Sohn outlines a three-step process for learning from and not being haunted by your past.
Do you tend to procrastinate and then stress out over doing something at the last minute? Procrastination robs you of your excellence because the time crunch gives you less time and opportunity to access and prepare so much more you could have brought to a project, a paper or an event. People who learn to not procrastinate live a happier, healthier life. Listen for the surprising reason most of us procrastinate and what to do about it.
Chaos, defined as “complete disorder and confusion,” is a widely misunderstood concept. Many people will do anything to avoid it because they fear the change it can bring. But just as we can control our level of stress in response to uncontrollable external factors, we can accept chaos as a natural part of growth and as an opportunity to gain more clarity, not confusion. Listen to Kathi speak about the chaos that children bring and the opportunity chaos brings parents to deepen their emotional connection with their kids – especially their adolescent children.
April 17, 2024
April is child abuse prevention month. Our children are entrusted to us by the Divine and it is our sacred duty to protect and support them. Yet, according to childprotect.org, about 3.6 million cases of child abuse are reported every year in the U.S. and approximately 5 children die every day as the result of child abuse. There is a significant link between child abuse and neglect and negative outcomes in adulthood including poor physical and mental health, substance use, and risky behaviors. You might want to help prevent child abuse and don’t know how except by never abusing or neglecting your own children. There is something else you can do to help and Kathi Sohn discusses it in this month’s commentary.
May 27, 2024
It’s May, and school is nearly out for the Summer. As the days tick by, we see our kids shoot up into their teens and suddenly we are facing those years we’ve always dreaded. The moodiness… the attitude… the drama… is it all inevitable? As a parent to a teenager, you have a great opportunity to support your child’s mental health for life. You can leverage the strong emotional connection you’ve been building with your teen since birth and they will gain the strength and resilience they need to navigate the inevitable changes they will face within and around them. Listen as Kathi Sohn explains simple steps to helping your teen build emotional resilience for a happy, prosperous life.
JUN 25, 2024
If getting to know yourself is key to a successful, happy life, why do 85% of us prefer to entirely fill our days with noise instead of silence? Why do we scroll through social media, being pushed questionable content instead of turning within for answers to what we’re looking for? Is it really extremely hard to know yourself, or hard to make the shift to want to know yourself? Listen to hear Kathi Sohn discuss the need to resist the common urge to blame things in your environment and, instead, to turn within for answers. This will lead you to a fulfilling experience of life and you will leave scarcity and lack behind.
