Parenting – DEEP ROOTS

Q4 2024 Reflections: Purpose Through Presence

The final quarter of 2024 was about grounding myself in purpose and living with intention. These months challenged me to step into the present, balance my adaptability with authenticity, and embrace the magic I bring to the people who matter most. As the year came to a close, I was reminded that true progress starts with showing up—with all the vulnerability, effort, and love that requires.

October: Be who you needed.

By October, I had taken stock of my year and asked myself, “How can I bring what I’ve learned to others?” I decided to let go of self-doubt and comparisons and focus on living in the present—just the present. Not the past, not the future, but right here, right now. Choosing to stay in the moment requires thought and effort on my part. As someone who has always been a planner and naturally reflective, this hasn’t come easily. I’m still growing in this area, but I’ve asked my peers to hold me accountable, and it’s making a difference.

I started reflecting on the challenges I’ve faced as a trainer, leader, and working parent. Then, I began talking about it. I shared stories with peers during mentorship sessions, gave specific advice rooted in my experiences, and showed up as someone I needed during my own struggles. It’s not always easy to be vulnerable, but I’ve learned that the best way to grow yourself—and others—is to show up and share your truth.

November: Balancing Adaptability with Authenticity.

By November, I had gained a deeper understanding of the toll that balancing adaptability and conviction can take. My years of leadership development taught me to focus on what works best for the collective group, and I approached situations with flexibility to meet the team’s needs. However, my adaptable approach was sometimes perceived as indecision, which required me to reprioritize direct communication and be more intentional with every message. While this effort led to results, it often felt one-sided, as I didn’t always experience the same willingness to adapt from others.

In 2025, I plan to foster a culture of shared flexibility, where collaboration and progress come from mutual effort. Adapting takes work, but it’s most effective when all team members contribute equally to meeting in the middle. This year has shown me how much growth is possible when adaptability and respect are embraced collectively, and I’m committed to continuing this work with my team.

December: To my kids, I am magic.

As the year winds down, I’ve taken my usual week off to spend time with my family. Upstairs, my twins are loudly resisting bedtime, and my 4-year-old is happily glued to my side. We’ve just wrapped up a beautiful Christmas, and as I reflect, I’m struck by how different life feels from this time last year. The trials of this year pushed me to my limits, yet in my kids’ eyes, I am magic. They see me as their light, their safe place, their constant—and they don’t need me to prove it.

I don’t have to convince them of my worth or explain my value; they feel it in everything I do for them. Heading into 2025, I hope to carry that reminder with me: my worth isn’t defined by anyone else’s standards but by the love I bring to my home and family. As long as I’m keeping our home happy, safe, and wrapped in love, I am succeeding. My kids remind me that I am magic, and I hope to honor that gift every day in the year ahead.

Closing Thoughts: Ending the Year With Intention

The final quarter of 2024 reminded me of the power of showing up—with honesty, adaptability, and purpose. Whether it’s sharing your experiences to help others, adapting to meet challenges head-on, or simply being present for the people you love, progress begins when you’re willing to give your full self to the moment.

As I reflect on the year as a whole, I see how each quarter built upon the last. Transitions taught me resilience, self-awareness strengthened my purpose, discomfort led to growth, and presence helped me find clarity in what matters most. Each season of 2024 brought its own unique lessons, and together they shaped a year of transformation.

Heading into 2025, I’m carrying these lessons with me: to focus on what truly matters, to lead with authenticity, and to honor the magic I bring to the lives of those around me. Growth doesn’t stop at the end of a calendar year—it’s a continuous process, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to embrace it with intention and courage.

Q2 2024 Reflections: Strength Through Self-Awareness

The second quarter of 2024 taught me the power of self-awareness. From managing the chaos of parenting to making meaningful decisions and prioritizing my mental health, these months challenged me to dig deeper into who I am and what I value. It was a season of recognizing my own resilience, trusting my instincts, and seeking the clarity I needed to move forward.

April: Resilience and consistency keep working parents going.

By this point in the year, I’d been back at work for nearly three months, and my kids still weren’t sleeping through the night. Sleepless nights are part of parenting, but months of running on 2-4 hours of sleep had me questioning my sanity. After my birthday in March, I bragged to coworkers about the full night of sleep I finally got, thanks to Evan taking the babies downstairs. Some didn’t get why I was so excited, but it was life-changing—my first uninterrupted sleep since the third trimester.

Even though we’re getting better sleep now, we’ve learned that a strong routine is the key to keeping our family on track. We have to get up, get going, and keep going until the last kid is in bed and we’ve managed the basics for ourselves, like eating dinner and stealing a moment of time together. There’s no time to waste, and consistency makes it all possible. Looking back, I’m amazed at the stamina it took to function during those harder months, but I’m proud of the resilience and discipline that have carried us through.

May: Quick Doesn’t Mean Thoughtless

At the end of April, I surprised myself by getting a tattoo of the Tiffany lamp that sat in my grandparents’ home. Normally, I’m a planner who deliberates over every decision, but when I saw a similar design online, I knew instantly it was what I wanted. I booked the artist on the spot.

In May, as I reflected on that moment, I realized the decision wasn’t impulsive—it was deeply aligned. I’d been thinking about honoring my grandparents for years, and when the right design appeared, I acted. This experience taught me that acting quickly doesn’t mean acting thoughtlessly. It means trusting yourself when everything falls into place.

June: Therapy is cool.

This year, I found a therapist who I really connected with—someone who has been helping me process the birth trauma and anxiety I’ve been carrying. At one point, I took a step back and said to myself, “I’ve gone through an overwhelming amount of change in the last year, and I don’t think I’m handling it as well as I could be.” I knew I was doing the best I could, but it’s impossible to gain perspective when you’re in the deep end.

Therapy has been an immeasurably helpful tool for me. It’s given me space to untangle the emotions I’d been pushing aside and to better understand myself in this new phase of life. Sometimes, the hardest part is admitting that you need help—but when you find the right person to guide you through it, the relief and clarity are undeniable. Therapy really is cool.

Closing Thoughts: Embracing Self-Awareness

This quarter was a reminder that self-awareness isn’t just a nice-to-have—it’s essential. Whether it’s recognizing your resilience as a parent, trusting your instincts when a decision feels right, or seeking professional help to process life’s challenges, the ability to connect with yourself makes all the difference. These months taught me to trust myself more deeply and to prioritize clarity, even when the path forward isn’t easy.

Stay tuned for lessons learned in Q3, where discomfort and growth took center stage. Each quarter brought its own unique challenges, but with every step, I moved closer to becoming the best version of myself.

Developing the Negatives

Hanging on one of the walls in my home is a trilogy of photos. The first is of my sister holding her daughter, Anna, the day she was born. I’m in the photo, too—smiling over my sister’s shoulder, thrilled to be meeting my niece. The next is a photo of me holding my daughter, Rosalie, on her birthday. My husband, Evan, is gazing at our sweet, perfect new baby, while I’m giving the camera a tired but content smile. The final photo in that trio is of me holding my twin nephews, Alex and Max, on the day they were born. I love this photo wall, but it also makes me very, very sad.

Why?

Well, I had every intention of adding one more photo to that set. I imagined a photo of Evan and me, each holding one of our newborn twins. Teary, smiley, tired—another momentous and joyful moment for our family, right alongside the others. Seems like a simple enough goal, but it didn’t end up happening.

My birth story with my twins is a bit brutal. Despite signs of worsening pre-eclampsia, my medical team either missed or ignored the severity until a routine non-stress test became urgent. Even though my induction was scheduled for a few days later, I was told that wasn’t fast enough. It was no longer safe for me to be pregnant. At 37 weeks, Ivy and Owen were born with underdeveloped lungs, which landed them in the NICU immediately after delivery. While they were whisked away to receive medical attention, I was rolled into a recovery room to slowly make my way out of anesthesia.

Evan was told he could go see the twins “soon,” but nobody came back in the room for hours. When they did finally come to get us, they shared news that nobody wants to hear. The babies were struggling to breathe, and it was likely to be a very hard path ahead.

The two weeks that followed were among the scariest of my life. Ivy and Owen were hooked up to tubes, wires, and sensors that beeped relentlessly. I was separated from all of my kids. Rosalie wasn’t allowed to visit due to hospital visitation restrictions, and the babies were in the NICU instead of right next to my hospital bed. I remember touching my post-delivery stomach and bursting into tears dozens of times because I craved being with my babies. It didn’t make sense to my body that they were both out of my body and out of my room.

My severe pre-eclampsia only continued to get worse post-delivery, and it wasn’t responsive to any medications or treatments. My blood pressure got so high that they padded the rails of my bed and told me I had to stay on complete bedrest. I remember the sheer sensory hell of that 24-hour window. One arm had the blood pressure cuff, set to go off every 15 minutes. One arm had my IV. Both legs had those inflatable cuffs to help avoid blood clots. They moved me to the room closest to the nurse’s station and told me, “Don’t worry, honey! We have you here so we can run right in if something happens!” Somehow, that wasn’t very comforting.

When I was off bedrest, I would visit my babies in the NICU as often as I could, but I was unwell. My stamina was practically nonexistent. Recovering from major surgery and dealing with the chaos of postpartum hormones while my health remained unstable made everything harder. One day—maybe two or three days after giving birth—I was determined to spend the entire day with my babies in the NICU. On that day, I developed the worst headache of my life. The searing hot pain spread from my head to my neck and shoulders, and once again—nothing helped. I was crying so hard, devastated that I had to leave the NICU because something was clearly wrong with me.

That headache? It turned out to be caused by a hole in my spinal cord, caused by the spinal block I had received for my c-section. I had been leaking spinal fluid. The more fluid I lost, the lower my “headache” would travel. I had to get an unexpected and stressful procedure done to fix that.

I didn’t get to spend real time with my babies for several days after they were born. I wasn’t able to hold them for days. When I finally did, we were haggard and emotionally broken. There are very few photos from this time that convey positive emotions. Almost all of them are hard for me to look at because they reflect the reality of that fear and exhaustion. Wires, tubes, frail babies, and wrung-out parents.

We finally made it through that and welcomed our babies home in September. In December, we underwent another hospitalization for the babies when they both contracted RSV. One day, I’ll write another post about how my babies were whisked to Children’s Hospital in the back of an ambulance just three months after they first came home. Today is not that day, but trust me when I say it was a nightmare that compounded our trauma. We made it home just in time to celebrate the twins’ first Christmas as a family. That was a huge relief, but the experience left us shaken. We became shut-ins, doing everything we could to try and avoid more health scares.

Back in January of this year, I won a photo giveaway contest on Instagram. An old friend of mine has become a fantastic photographer since our days of doing community theatre together, and I was incredibly excited when my name was announced as the winner of a free family photo session she was offering. After a year of such intensely emotional experiences, it felt almost ridiculous to admit that one of my lasting painful memories was the fact that I didn’t have any photos of me with my newest little loves that made me feel happy, but it was true.

Last weekend, we finally cashed in on our photo shoot, and receiving those pictures has brought me more healing than I had expected. I was expecting to love them, of course… but I wasn’t expecting it to feel like the closing of a hard chapter.

_{^{All photos by Julienne Marie Photography.}}

In these photos, I don’t see frail, sick babies, and I don’t see scared, exhausted parents. There are no wires, tubes, blood pressure cuffs, or puffy, swollen eyes. I don’t feel the anxiety and trauma that have filled our home and our hearts since my pregnancy started getting scary. All I see is our sweet family—big smiles, loud laughs, and connection.

I will never have the hospital photos I had imagined. I will never complete that trilogy of photos. It’s simply not how things panned out, and accepting the fact that I wasn’t able to get something so simple was hard. I needed some help putting that vision in the past. Julie—if you’re reading this, thank you so much. You’ve given me such a gift that extends beyond the beautiful photos.

Next month, we’re going to recreate our picture wall. We’ll print some of these gorgeous new family photos, take down the trilogy, and dedicate that space to another part of our art collection. Our new gallery wall will include all those smiling faces I love to see—Anna, Alex, Max, Rosalie, Ivy, and Owen—and some classic family photos I inherited from my grandparents. It will be a beautiful way to move forward, putting the ache behind me and embracing the truth: hardship may lie in the past, but there’s comfort in the present. And my goodness, we are really good at getting through some tough shit together.

All photos by Julienne Marie Photography.

Your Village Needs You

When you have babies and children in your life, a phrase you get to know pretty quickly is, “It takes a village.” The thing that nobody ever really talks about, though, is that everyone seems to have a different definition of what it means to be a part of someone’s village, and trying to find yours can be pretty isolating. This topic has been rattling around in my brain for a few years, but I had an experience lately that showed me my own shortcomings when it comes to this concept.

I pride myself on my connections with other people. One of my largest driving forces is ensuring the people around me know that they are seen, valued, and appreciated. My friends are on my mind with great regularity, and I try my best to maintain my connections with them. In December of 2022, one of these lovely friends asked me to be her maid of honor, and I gladly accepted. (I mean, she technically asked me to be her matron of honor, but the word matron makes me feel like Madame Thénardier from Les Misérables, so I’m sticking with maid, hahaha.) We’re getting closer to the wedding now, and I had the fun task of planning her bachelorette party at the end of June. We had the best time – it was the perfect mix of both getting dolled up and staying cozy. (For a group of women in their 30s, this is the dream!) As is standard for an overnight gathering with friends, we all had an opportunity to catch up with one another and have some rare uninterrupted time together. One of the attendees was a former-coworker-turned-good-friend who became a mom for the first time last June. Her baby recently turned one, and while we don’t work together anymore, we try to get together and catch up. Key word here being “try.”

I realized that weekend that I have not been as capable of being a good friend to her lately, and that realization weighed on me.

Here’s my reality check: I am acclimating to my life as a working mom of three. There is a LOT going on in my life right now. Twin babies, energetic toddler, wonderful husband, rewarding career, home maintenance, family time, networking events, and the never-ending parade of illnesses that come home from daycare…I could go on and on. The calendar fills up quickly and stays filled. Even so, I know I am not being as mindful with my time as I could be.

I realized after spending some time with this mama friend that I was failing her as a member of her village. I hadn’t been there to offer the kind of support I want to provide to my people. It was easy to let it fall off my radar – your girl is OVERWHELMED by this season, y’all. What does that look like for me? After a busy day of fulfilling all my obligations, you can find me scrolling mindlessly on the couch while I ignore a television show. To be clear, I’m not beating myself up for this. I can identify that it’s a problem, but I’ve learned to be a bit kinder to myself, and I know I can fix it with some effort.

Here’s another reality check: because of social media, we maintain a false sense of closeness with the people we follow. We replace picking up the phone or coordinating time to spend together by scrolling, liking, and commenting. Those actions require so little effort, but give the false illusion of “keeping up” with someone. Of course, I’ve checked up on her! Didn’t you see what she posted on Facebook last week? Sounds like things are going well for her!

Am I actually keeping up with you if I don’t get to know about the struggles as WELL as the highlight reel you post online?

No. No, I’m not.

After the bachelorette party, I was deep in my head. That first year of motherhood is a doozy. (Well, so far, every year has been a doozy, but that first year rocks your world in a way that is hard to describe.) I think I can count on one hand the number of times I saw that friend in the first year of her daughter’s life. After preaching the importance of connection for so long, this realization made me stop in my tracks and reassess the way I’ve been spending my time.

A few weeks ago, I picked her up on a Sunday afternoon. We grabbed a coffee, walked down to the water, sat on a bench, and chatted. It was so freeing to sit outside with a friend without having to chase a toddler or get grass out of a baby’s mouth. I had initiated the time together because I wanted to be there for her, but my goodness, I realized quickly how much I needed it, too. Being in mom mode 24/7 is exhausting. Having an hour to ourselves to talk about what we’re going through that may not make the Instagram grid was a relief.

The next weekend, we went to a shopping plaza. We got some coffees and bought diapers at Target. She kept me company while I got my eyebrows waxed and tinted at Ulta. I went with her to search Home Goods for hazelnut syrup for her home coffee bar. We both ooh’d and ahh’d at the cute clothes at Carter’s, and maybe I spent money I didn’t need to spend on matching pajamas for my girls. (Oops.) It was so nice to have that relaxed connection time while crossing things off our to-do lists. I don’t get that very often these days! Errands are usually rushed or skipped entirely, if I’m being honest. A leisurely stroll around a shopping plaza? Laughing about the absurdities of baby and toddler parenthood with someone else who is deep in the trenches, too? Uh, okay. Sign me up.

What inspired me to do this was the desire to help create a stronger village for her, but in doing this, my own village has also been strengthened.

This weekend, I’m actually taking my oldest on a playdate with her bestie from daycare. For the first time since August 2020, we’re having a bit of a mama/baby playdate, and I’m really excited. I’m also about to pick up my phone to text the friend I mentioned above so we can get another date on the calendar. My community is expanding, both in reach and in depth, and that is bringing me comfort in this whirlwind of a season.

Parents aren’t the only people who need a village, of course. If any of this resonated with you, I encourage you to reach out to a friend to set up some intentional connection time soon. Getting out of the front door can be hard, but humans have a genuine NEED for community. Honor yourself enough to do the hard work of shaking yourself out of a routine that may not be serving you anymore, and take care: both of yourself and of your people.

An Introduction

Hi, I’m Haley. The optimist in me tells me that I’m coming out of the hardest year of my life. The pessimist adds “so far” to the end of that sentence.

Last September, after a complicated-turned-dangerous pregnancy, I welcomed my twins into the world. My family of three turned into a family of five and I nearly lost my life in the process. I have…so, so much to say about this experience, but now isn’t the time. (Stay tuned for that!)

The last year has brought me so much. The word ✨abundance✨ comes to mind. So does the word stress. The first year of a person’s life is a wild thing to experience. This wildness is amplified by the fact that in one moment, I tripled the amount of children I have! Three kids. Holy moly. The twins are almost one and I still think, “Oh my gosh, there’s three of them,” just about every single day. We’ve witnessed a lot of milestones in this last year! We’ve also spent an inordinate amount of time in the hospital and at the pediatrician’s office. By the time the babies were about three months old, they had spent 30% of their lives in the hospital. Those first months of twin motherhood made me feel so deeply connected to my children and so disconnected from my own self. From what I hear from other moms in my circle, that’s not particularly uncommon.

I’ve always considered myself a writer. I’ve journaled on and off throughout my life. I also consider myself a verbal processor. The act of writing out my thoughts or speaking things out loud helps me to identify how I’m feeling. Being able to put words to an experience or an emotion is helpful for me, so here we are. As is tradition, I know I may look back on this one day and cringe, but I also know I’ll look at this version of myself with more compassion. That’s one of my favorite things about writing. It helps us to grow and heal in the moment, and gives us a chance to reflect in the future.

Deep Roots | Full Bloom is centered on growth. Personal, professional, parental, you name it. I plan to use this space to write out my thoughts on my parenthood and motherhood journey. It will be a way for me to share my expertise in Learning & Development and grow as a leader and a thinker. We’ll laugh, we’ll cry, we’ll daydream, we’ll lament. I’m also here to foster a stronger sense of community. This is starting as a way for me to connect deeply with myself, but if you’re here, maybe our roots can intertwine, too. I look forward to it. 🌱

Haley