Entry #8 • October 7th, 2025

When Time Starts to Fold

Maybe you noticed (or maybe you didn’t, ha!) that I didn’t send an email last week. The week before that I was in Seattle for a business conference; the kind of trip that turned out to be exactly the break I needed. More on that later, maybe.

This entry, though, is about a big milestone: when your child turns eighteen.

And yes…I mean years, not months. 😂

My second son, Joseph, just turned eighteen. In a weirdly satisfying math way, when he was born eighteen years ago, my oldest son was nineteen months old...and right now he’s nineteen (years old). Time is strange like that. It can feel fast or slow, but it’s honestly the most consistent and predictable thing we’ve got. It never changes. (Well, except for daylight savings time, but we don’t talk about that.)

When my first son, Ethan, turned eighteen last year, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn’t prepared for the emotional whiplash. This time with Joseph, it’s been different. Maybe because I’ve done it once before. Maybe because he still has nearly a full school year left with us. Or maybe because life has just been…a lot lately, and my brain is like, “We’re gonna compartmentalize this one for now.” Whatever the reason, it hasn’t felt quite as frantic this time around.

Still, it’s monumental.

I went back and reread what I wrote in my journal when Ethan turned eighteen, and I poured my heart out. At the time, I remember thinking, Maybe someday I’ll share this.

So here we are.

And then my entry a week later, the day before his birthday...

The Long Work of Motherhood

So here I am again. Another one has crossed that invisible threshold from boy to man...at least by legal standards, ha. Time feels like sand slipping through my fingers. I try to hold it, but I can’t. It just keeps falling. Maybe the better thing is to stop fighting it—to just sit in the beauty of it, to watch it fall, and to zoom in on a few grains when I can. Because honestly, what else is there to do?

It’s the weirdest thing, releasing them. You know it’s coming—it’s the natural progression—but when it happens, it still feels like a gut punch. How do you even process walking through so many seasons with the same person? Baby. Toddler. Child. Preteen. Teen. And now…young adult.

Those of you reading are a mixed bunch—mostly moms, but not all—and you’re scattered across every stage of motherhood. Some of you are grandmas, some are first-time expecting moms, and some are women still hoping to be moms someday. There are even some guys in here.

But if I could grab the ear of the moms with younger kids (let’s say zero to ten years old), here’s what I’d tell you:

I know it’s hard. I know. I’m right there with you. But don’t despair. The hard work you’re doing right now—the showing up, the teaching, the correcting, the loving—it can come back to you tenfold as they grow.

Don’t let the world’s discouraging view of children get into your head. And please don’t go to that same world for advice on how to raise them. They don’t know what they’re doing. There’s that saying: Don’t take advice from someone you wouldn’t want to trade lives with. It’s true.

And if you don’t want your kids to turn out like the status quo…then don’t do what the status quo does. You can’t keep doing what everyone else is doing and expect a different outcome. It won’t work. You still have time. It’s not too late. Your child is still young, still forming, still learning. You can course-correct.

And for those with kids older than ten...it’s still not too late. It just takes more intention. But it’s worth every ounce of effort.

Don’t lose sight of what you’re doing. You’re shaping a person. That’s heavy, yes, but also one of the most beautiful responsibilities there is. They’re their own person, sure, but you still hold sacred ground in how they grow.

And here’s the best part: you don’t have to do it perfectly. You can’t. Perfection doesn’t exist. God fills in all the cracks with grace. He never expected you to be perfect; that’s His role. You just bring your best, and He fills the rest.

But you do have to do your part. It’s easy to make excuses in any area—health, finances, relationships—but the cost is always the same. Don’t make excuses when it comes to shaping your child. Fix the behavior. Ask for help. Do the work.

Because every time your child is allowed to repeat a behavior (for better or for worse), they’re building a pattern—a default—that will follow them for life.

Get comfortable with being uncomfortable. This isn’t about your comfort—or theirs. Rest comes later, I promise. And when it does, it’s so good. I can’t tell you how much peace and literal rest my older boys bring me now.

I could go on and on about them, but it would just sound like a brag paragraph, and that’s not what I’m aiming for. I’m just genuinely grateful that young Megan—in her early twenties, unsure and exhausted—did the hard work. Even when she didn’t know what she was doing. Even when she questioned herself. Even when she wondered if she was screwing it all up. She kept showing up.

She asked questions. She looked for people ten years ahead of her and listened. She stayed teachable. She kept going even when it felt like nothing was taking root.

And I’m so glad she did.

I hope you will, too.

Reach out if you’re stuck. If you’re struggling. If you don’t know what to do next. It’s not too late. And it will be worth it—I promise.

I can’t believe I’m here. I remember reading about moms in this stage and wondering what it would feel like. And now I know: it feels both surreal and sacred.

I still have a long way to go, but it’s deeply rewarding to stand here and see the fruit. God is so good. And He is so kind.

The Sweetness of What's Ahead

I’ve mentioned before that I usually try to write these entries in one sitting. But sometimes, I come back to add more—either because I’ve had time to reflect or because something new has happened. This time, it’s because of an experience.

Last night, I ended up staying up talking with my oldest son for an hour and a half, from 10:30 p.m. to midnight. And as a quick aside…I used to think it was hard to find “me time” when the kids were little, but honestly, it’s still complicated as they’ve become teens and young adults…in a different way.

Those late-night hours used to be my sacred alone time. The exhale after a long day of noise and needs. You know the feeling: you can’t wait for them to go to sleep, and then the second they do, you miss them and start thinking about sneaking in to hold them in the dark.

Well, with teens (at least in my experience), their emotional needs don’t go away...they become weightier. And the conversations? They’re incredible. The things they trust us with, the questions they ask, the depth they want—it’s jaw-dropping. But it’s also heavy. It’s tiring. There’s not much “off duty” time as a parent, even now.

And that’s where, again, you’ve got to get comfortable with being uncomfortable. This is the reality...and it’s not a bad one. It’s a noble calling. The highest calling.

So, back to my conversation with my son. As tired as I may have been—as touched-out and peopled-out as I felt—these late-night moments with my boys remind me why it’s all worth it.

That night, my oldest and I talked about his job, managing finances (he works full time for a wealth management company), his YouTube channel and how much he loves creating, what he learned from his previous bookstore job, and his time working at Colorado Baby. We talked about shopping habits, learning styles, and the worldview differences between Millennials (me) and Gen Z (him).

At one point, he told me how much he appreciated the ways we’ve done things differently as parents for him and his siblings—the intentional choices we made, the values we've held to—and how those have impacted him as a young adult. And then, how he hopes to impact others through those same values.

That one stopped me.

It’s the kind of full-circle moment that reminds you why all those hard years mattered. Why all those nights you wondered if it was sticking…were worth it.

So don’t give up. I’m not going to tell you it gets easier—that’s a little too rose-colored for me—but it does get different. And there’s such sweetness in that difference.

The rest and reward might come later than you expect, but it comes.

And it’s beautiful.

And what would this entry be without a song that has spoken to me this week?

​Whole Heart by Jervis Campbell has been on repeat in my mind. It found me right when I needed it.

It starts off with:

You can have my heart,
You can have my whole heart,
You can have every part of me.

And that’s exactly what this season feels like—handing my heart over again and again. To God. To motherhood. To the unknowns of what’s next.

Because that’s what this journey is, really. It’s one long surrender. You give your heart piece by piece—first to the baby in your arms, then to the toddler learning independence, then to the pre-teen pushing back, then to the teen stretching their wings, and finally to the adult you have to let go of.

And through it all, God keeps reminding me: I’ve got them. And I’ve got you.

So, He can have my heart.

My whole heart.

Every part of me.

Thank you, always, for reading,

Just Me[gan]