The Sacred Tension of Parenthood: Embracing the “And” of Self-Care and Love

I think it's funny—beautifully ironic, even—how the very things that can annoy us the most about our children today are often the very things we'll ache for when they’re older. The loud footsteps, the endless “watch this!” exclamations, then way they somehow manage to all find you at once when you’re trying to sneak in five minutes of peace. One day, those sounds will be gone. The house will be quieter. And we’ll miss it—sometimes desperately.

And yet, in the midst of the chaos, we’re constantly told to “soak it all in” and “enjoy every moment.” Those phrases, while well-intentioned, can also become subtle weapons we use against ourselves. We turn them into silent mandates:

“Don’t take time for yourself.”

“Don’t set boundaries.”

“Be available 100% of the time—or you’re failing as a parent.”

This morning was one of those moments for me. I woke up early with the hope of getting in some devotional time before the kids woke up. I wanted quiet. Solitude. A few precious minutes with God before the day took off. But—of course—that didn’t happen.

They found me.

All three of them, crawling into my space, giggling, talking, crowding around me like I was the most interesting thing in the world. And at first, I felt that familiar twinge of frustration. This was supposed to be my time. But then I heard that gentle whisper in my spirit:

“These are the moments you’ll miss.”

So I leaned in. I loved on them. I engaged, even though part of me still longed for quiet. And I’m glad I did. But here’s the shift I’ve had to make over the past few years—one I want to encourage in you, too:

Loving your kids and caring for yourself don’t have to be in competition.

We don’t live in an “either/or” world. We live in the world of “and.”

I can love on my kids and still take care of my soul.

I can give them attention and still need solitude.

I can pour into their emotional tanks and still go refill mine.

After they played and laughed and cuddled, I noticed something powerful—because I had taken the time to connect, their cups were full. And because their cups were full, they were content. And that gave me the space I needed to go back and do my devotions, to stretch my body in a short workout, and to reconnect with God.

It didn’t look like I originally planned it.

It rarely does.

But it was holy. And real. And honest.

So often, we fall into extremes.

We’re either all-in on parenting and sacrifice everything for our kids, or we swing the other way and try to escape into self-preservation, feeling guilty the whole time. But parenting—and life, for that matter—isn’t meant to be lived in extremes. It’s meant to be lived in the tension.

The sacred tension.

Where love and limits coexist.

Where grace for them and grace for yourself walk hand in hand.

Where God meets you, not in the silence of a perfect quiet time, but in the middle of giggles and bed head and sticky fingers.

Here’s what I’m learning—what I hope encourages you today:

You can show up for your kids without disappearing.

You can prioritize their hearts without neglecting your own.

You can be fully present with them and still carve out moments to be present with God.

And when you embrace that truth, everything shifts.

You stop keeping score.

You stop shaming yourself.

You stop resenting the interruptions—and start seeing them as invitations.

Invitations to be human.

Invitations to be flexible.

Invitations to grow.

Invitations to receive love from the people you’re pouring into every day.

So to the tired parent who just wants five minutes of peace:

Yes, you’re going to miss these days.

But you’re also allowed to be overwhelmed by them.

You’re allowed to love deeply and still want space.

You’re allowed to feel annoyed and grateful in the same breath.

God’s not disappointed in your tension.

He’s present in it.

And He’s teaching you how to live fully in the “and.”

Reflection Questions:

1. When was the last time you felt guilty for taking care of yourself?

2. What would it look like to honor both your children’s needs and your own today?

3. Can you identify moments where “leaning into the discomfort” might open up space for mutual peace?

Personal Invitation:

Let God remind you that He delights in both your parental presence and your personal growth. You don’t have to choose between them. Invite Him into your “and.”

Practical Steps:

Identify one 10-minute window today where you can step away and reconnect with God.

Before reacting to an interruption, pause and ask: “Is this a moment I might miss someday?”

Start a simple rhythm of check-in: “Have I poured into them? Have I poured into me?”

At Mindful Faith Ministries, we’re here to walk with you in the messy, holy middle ground of life. Parenting is not a linear journey—it’s layered with grace, growth, and gentle reminders that you’re not alone. Let us keep reminding you of that truth—because we need it too.