When Motherhood Feels Like Too Much | A Reflection on Netflix’s Straw

I don’t watch many movies from Hollywood. But something about Straw, a Netflix movie, drew me in. I didn’t know the actors’ names. I didn’t read the reviews. I simply watched it and empathized.

Taraji Henson, who played Janiyah Wilkinson, a single mother struggling to make ends meet and to care for her sick daughter Aria, gripped my heart from the first scene. I didn’t care what critics said. Who needs them when we can form our own opinions? Watching Janiyah in that moment, she was like many mothers I’ve known. Every mother facing the struggles of motherhood, every mother who has fought, broken, and somehow kept going. I had never heard of Taraji Henson before this film, but her portrayal will stay with me.

Straw brought me to a world that was unfamiliar to me in some ways: an almost all-Black cast, a peek into lives and difficulties shaped by a reality I don’t live but deeply empathize with. It was a story of survival, love, and the crushing weight of systems created with little regard for people at the bottom. And at its core was Janiyah, a single mother who awoke that day believing she could handle everything, only to find herself in one difficult circumstance after another.

I saw myself in her. I saw many of us. Though I admit that my problems may pale in contrast to hers. The moment she snapped? I made no judgments about her. How could I? I understood. The never-ending cycle of striving to earn enough, care enough, and keep it all together in a society that keeps asking for more and more and giving so little in return. The dysfunctional healthcare system (healthcare that costs so much more than most people can afford—pure evil), the lack of emotional support for moms, and the feeling of being invisible in a world that only sees what it wants to see.

Motherhood can be so isolating, impacting motherhood mental health and contributing to motherhood exhaustion. Even when we are surrounded by people, we may feel alone in our struggles. And when there is no one to support us through the most difficult times, the weight of it all can feel intolerable. That is what Straw conveyed so powerfully for me. That is what I wanted to honor in this reflection.

I’m not writing this to offer solutions. As a mother, I understand that no one can fix what we’re going through. We don’t expect anyone to. We don’t ask for handouts or miracles. But sometimes what we want most is to be seen. To hear someone say, “I see you. I see your effort. I see the fatigue. You aren’t invisible or forgotten.”

That is why I began making emotional support materials for mothers, such as printables for mothers, poems for struggling mothers, and art for overwhelmed moms. Whether you’re seeking a printable for mothers or a poem for struggling mothers, these small creations are here for you. Small gestures that provide comfort, silent reassurance that someone out there understands. No, they don’t fix the problems. But perhaps, in some small way, they might shine a light on a dark day.

Before I close, I want to leave you with a poem. It’s a piece I wrote after watching the movie. It’s raw and honest, dedicated to mothers who feel unseen and overwhelmed.

For the Mother

This is for the mother who kneels
on the bathroom tiles, her sobs
swallowed by the flush of the toilet,
who locks the door not for privacy
but to cage the animal of her grief.

For the mother who starves herself
down to bone, who offers her child
the last crust of bread like a sacrament,
her own mouth full of nothing
but the bitter taste of absence.

For the mother whose spine bends
under the weight of a thousand silent storms,
who still paints her lips red at dawn
and sings lullabies through her teeth.

You are not invisible.
I see you—
your hands, cracked and holy,
your ribs, a cathedral of sacrifice.

You think you are drowning,
but darling, you are the ocean itself,
fierce and unforgiving,
swallowing the moon whole
and still rocking the shore to sleep.

You are not failing.
You are a war fought in silence,
a wound that blooms into a mouth
that says yes when the world says no.

You are more than enough.
You are the goddess no one prays to,
the unlit match in the dark,
the silence, the tempest, the aftermath.

If you’re reading this, I want you to remember: your struggle is real, and so is your strength. You are seen. You are not alone. May we keep finding small ways to lift each other, and may you always know, you matter.

If this reflection resonates with you, I invite you to explore my creations at Olivia’s Atelier on Etsy, Teepublic, and Redbubble. Every piece is made with the intention to offer gentle support and inspiration.

This Is Not the Mother I Meant to Be

I could name only one, but that wouldn’t be honest.

A lot of times in my early years as a mother haunted me quietly like background static in an otherwise happy song. The yelling, harsh words, and unwarranted anger all fell directly on little shoulders. I wrote a poem about it once. It’s titled This Is Not the Mother I Was Meant to Be. It is now available in my Etsy shop, which can be found here.

The poem is more than just a piece of text. This is my confession. A gentle, timid apology. A mirror I held up to my own face on days when I thought I had failed in the most important duty.

I meant to be gentler. I wanted to listen more. But there were times when I snapped, yelled when I should have breathed deeply, spanked when I should have paused, gave them junk food and called it dinner and said things I wish I could take back. Things like, “Be quiet. Enough. Just stop.” When all I truly wanted to say was, “I am exhausted, honey. I am trying. I love you so much, it hurts.”

Even now, the guilt weighs heavy. But, with time, I’ve realized that remorse isn’t supposed to tie me to the past. It is meant to teach me, then let me go.

As the kids grew older, I began having open conversations with them. I apologized. Not in grand speeches, but in quiet moments together: during car rides, at bedtime, or while having a meal. To my astonishment, they forgiven me. Completely, freely. As children frequently do when love triumphs over regret.

Their forgiveness was a balm. But can I forgive myself? This is still a work in progress.

What comforts me now is the realization that motherhood is not a destination. It is a process of growing. Every mistake I made was the result of a version of myself doing my best with what I knew. And I understand better now. I pause longer. I listen more carefully. I still make mistakes, but I’m more aware of them. I grow together with them.

So, if you’re a parent who’s been lugging guilt about like a hidden stone, maybe it’s time to let it go. Perhaps you can let the softer part of yourself speak. The one who continues to show up, try, and love with each broken, beautiful step.

Because this is not the mother I meant to be. But I’m still evolving to be a better version of myself.

✨ Visit Olivia’s Atelier for printables, reel templates, and planners made to support overwhelmed moms with gentle, soulful tools.
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A Mother’s Day Reflection

I didn’t grow up imagining myself as a mother.

Not as other girls did, pretending to cradle dolls or writing baby names in the margins of their schoolbooks. I wasn’t opposed to becoming a parent; it simply didn’t feel urgent, like something I needed to pursue or prepare for. And yet, I am here. It’s been years. A mother. With gentle hands and a heart that is always rearranging itself around little lives.

Mother’s Day used to pass with little thought. A day spent playing cards and making phone calls. Of seeing my own mother from a distance, attempting to decipher the aspects of her that I could never fully grasp. I had no idea she felt so invisible at the time. When you’ve given everything to others and lost yourselves, silence may be deafening.

Now I do.

Mother’s Day is now a quiet occasion in our family. The kids sometimes remember and sometimes they don’t. My hubby asks what I want to eat. I fold the laundry and do the dishes anyway. Life does not stop simply because it’s May. However, a part of me always wishes for a pause, if only for a moment. A pause that says, “We see you. It is not simply what you do, but who you are underneath it all.”

This year, I didn’t request flowers or breakfast in bed.

What I desire cannot be purchased or arranged.

I want someone to acknowledge my effort. How I manage to show up even when I’m very exhausted. How I manage to kiss their foreheads at night despite carrying the weight of invisible things like schedules, fears, and guilt. I want someone to say, “I see the woman you are, not just the mother you have become.”

Because I’m both.

A woman who once had aspirations that did not involve diaper bags or parent-teacher meetings. A woman who still longs for quiet mornings and uninterrupted thoughts. Also, a mother who has dedicated her body, sleep, and time to love so profound that it has utterly transformed her.

So, on Mother’s Day, I gave myself what the world frequently forgets to give: grace.

Grace for the things that remain undone.

Grace for the yelling I regret doing.

Grace for the dreams I’ve placed on hold.

Grace for the ways I am still learning to parent myself.

And maybe that’s all it needed.

Happy Belated Mother’s Day to the quiet mothers, the tired ones, the fierce ones. The ones who feel like they’re failing but keep showing up anyway.

I see you.
And I’m learning to see me, too.

Mother

They see
lunchboxes prepares,
schoolwork signed,
clothing neatly arranged into piles.

But they don’t see
the woman who forgot who she was
before responding to “Mama.”

They don’t see
how she holds her breath
until the door closes,
and she can cry
without needing to explain.

They don’t see
how she forgives herself
in small rituals—
a hot cup of tea,
a song in the car,
a scrawled poem
at midnight.

They don’t see
her saving herself
a little at a time.

And still
she shows up.
Every day.
with love nestled
into every nook of her weariness.

Because this is what she does.
That is who she is.

✨ Looking for digital tools that support your everyday life with gentleness and intention?
At Olivia’s Atelier on Etsy, I offer more than just pretty printables—I create emotional support kits, Instagram reel templates, children’s meal planners, and other soul-nourishing resources for moms who give so much but rarely feel seen. Whether you need a moment to breathe, a tool to stay organized, or a way to connect with your audience—there’s something here for you.
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The Hour After Midnight | Why I Stayed Awake When I Should’ve Slept

For years, I stayed up too late.

It wasn’t because I was working or I had boundless energy or I was busy chasing my dreams. The main reason was that I needed to feel like a person.

It didn’t start as revenge bedtime procrastination. That phrase only found me later, when I stumbled across an article that put a name to my nightly rebellion. It felt like intense desperation. You could say it was a craving or a desperate fight for space.

When my children were small, the days blended together in a mist of needs. I remember those years vividly and if I’m honest, it makes me shudder, but not because I feel ashamed. My daily life was full of milk-stained shirts, sticky fingers, and toys scattered like confetti across every surface. I loved my kids fiercely. Still do. But in those days, I didn’t know where I ended and they began. I gave them my body, my attention, and everything. And somewhere in that giving, I began to disappear.

When the kids were finally asleep and when the house finally went quiet, and the dishes were done, I sat down. Just for a moment, just to breathe.

And that moment stretched beyond what I intended. I stayed up. Scrolling. Reading. Writing. Wandering through Facebook memories of the woman I used to be. Buying time I couldn’t afford, just to feel like I still existed.

I’d tell myself, “Just one more post. One more chapter. One more scroll.”

But truthfully? I was afraid that if I slept, I’d wake up and do it all over again. The endless giving, pouring out myself and forgetting.

So I kept stealing those hours after midnight.

And in the morning, of course, I paid the price.

I was more irritable. More short-tempered. More ashamed of the mother I was becoming.

The irony was painful: I stayed up to save myself, but it only made me more fragile the next day.

I never told anyone how much I resented the way my life had shrunk. How much I missed myself and how ashamed I felt for even feeling that way.

That was the case until I began writing about it.

That’s how The Hour After Midnight came to life. It began as fragments and eventually evolved into a complete poem. A piece of me, speaking directly to the woman I used to be. Perhaps I still am that woman, but these days I go to bed at 12 AM or earlier. As the kids grow, I enjoy my sleep more, and the resentment has disappeared.

This poem is about a mother who gives her all and suffers in silence. It’s about a woman who craves stillness to survive her crazy life of constant giving. She was just a tired soul who wanted to feel seen.

If that sounds like you, I hope this poem wraps around you like a quiet hug. It’s more than a printable; it’s a recognition and a mirror. A gentle piece of emotional support for any overstimulated mom who needs a reminder to be kind to your mind.

This digital poem makes a thoughtful and unique Mother’s Day gift, especially for the tired mom who needs to hear she’s still enough. It’s a beautiful affirmation of motherhood for those navigating revenge bedtime procrastination, mom life burnout, and those quiet moments where you whisper, “I am enough.”

Find The Hour After Midnight in my shop Olivia’s Atelier. You’ll receive a high-resolution poem print in multiple sizes, ready to frame or gift. I hope it brings you what it brought me—a pause, a breath, a beginning.

Note: Yes, I launched my Etsy shop recently to share my poems with the world. Right now, everything in the shop is 50% off until June 2, including our featured Mother’s Day Poem Printables. They are designed as heartfelt gifts or tender self-reminders to moms everywhere. Feel free to check it out.