The Whole Point

I went to Scotland on a work trip a few months ago to film with some families in their homes. I triple checked the name of the woman I would be interviewing before walking into her flat. We had connected through my friend and her sister-in-law, but I had never met her and had never even been on this side of the world before. When I stepped into her flat, I immediately saw familiar baby blankets hanging on her clothesline drying. She had just had her first baby a few months ago and was graciously allowing my team to come in and talk with her about her family.

She caught me staring curiously at the blankets and asked, “Do those look familiar? They were yours!”

I remembered then I had given all my most loved baby things to my best friend, her sister-in-law. My friend had passed them along to her.

Swallowing more emotion than was probably expected for a run in with forgotten hand me downs, I told her how happy I was my favorite things were getting loved again.

Then she said, “Chelsea (my friend, her sister-in-law) said you taught her everything she knows about being a mom, and now she’s teaching me.”

I told her Chelsea was far too generous in her claims and tried to pull it together enough to do the actual job I was there to do. She likely doesn’t even remember saying that to me, but it is the single most impactful moment from 2025 for me.

Chelsea and I became friends when both of us were living thousands of miles away from anyone we knew. Our husbands had jobs at the same company and forced us into going to the beach together for the fourth of July a few weeks after we had each relocated to the east coast. We both went begrudgingly but left fast friends. They didn’t have kids yet, and I was in the trenches of the chaos that comes with three small children.

Chelsea came along with me on so many outings after that day. We would take the kids berry picking, to the beach, hiking, and sometimes just to the chick-fil-a play place so we could chat. My youngest at the time was (and still is) quite spirited. The insane meltdowns never deterred Chelsea from spending time with us. In so many ways her friendship and companionship in that season saved me. Young motherhood was so hard. Doing it away from the home and network I knew made it even harder. But Chelsea was there.

We were so thrilled the day we found out Chelsea and her husband were expecting a baby. They had wanted to be parents for a long time and had endured a lot of loss along the way. Watching them become parents was so special. I felt so lucky to get to be there to witness it all. She was a natural, something I never felt about myself.

Motherhood was a really tough transition for me, to put it very lightly. I have dealt with a lot of shame and pain around that, and back then I definitely wasn’t over it. But somehow, helping a friend I loved so much make the transition was so healing for me. To try and help her have a better experience than I did helped me. Comforting her about her own insecurities and questions and struggles ushered in compassion for my past self. Teaching her little tricks and hacks I had learned over the years helped me realize just how far I had come.

I still don’t agree with the statement that I taught Chelsea everything she knows. She was born knowing and has done an incredible job rising to every challenge motherhood has served her. But I am so grateful that I got to be a part of it. I got to share what I learned. She has three kids now and we live on opposite sides of the world, and she is passing on all that she has learned to the next new mom.

Yesterday morning, on New Year’s Eve, I thought about the year that was ending. And it hit me. This is the whole point. We live life, and we take what we learn and give it away. All the pain and shame of early motherhood was worth it because I was able to learn and grow and give away something better. Pain is the price of sacrifice, and that sacrifice turns into a lifeline for someone else.

Tears started to flow as I thought about this same concept in the terms of grief. People ask “why” a lot when it comes to grief and tragedy. Sometimes it feels better to assign meaning. But in the last week alone I have heard of several terrible, awful, seemingly meaningless tragedies. Why!? I don’t know. But here’s what I do know.

We go through hell to help others endure their hell. That’s the whole point. That’s it! And strangely, for me, that’s enough.

Because standing in a flat across the world and hearing that something I shared is helping someone else in their transition to motherhood is worth enduring the pain.

Looking my dear friend in the eye and telling her with confidence she will be ok again after her dad’s death, not because it gets better but because she is capable, makes the cost of my own learning feel a little less meaningless. It was for something. It was to help someone else.

What if this is all that actually matters? We live life, we go through hell, but we take it all and use it to help someone else enduring their own life?

I don’t think it matters how we do it. Maybe it’s through writing a book, but maybe it’s just going to chick-fil-a with a new friend and their impossible toddler. Maybe it’s through starting a podcast, but maybe it’s through telling your newly grieving neighbor that nothing helps until something does, so keep trying things. Maybe it’s through a public platform, but maybe it’s through teaching a new mom how to wrap the perfect swaddle.

When we start chasing the stuff that matters the achievements we used to want more than anything might still happen, but they will become byproducts of living a meaningful life of service and sacrifice rather than the stars of the show.

It didn’t hit me for twenty-four hours after reflecting and crying in the shower that maybe writing a book and starting a podcast and getting a new job could be the banner moments of 2025. I genuinely didn’t even think about them. Not because I am so evolved (petty and vain forever, thank you), but because they didn’t mean nearly as much to me as seeing by baby blankets in that flat in Scotland. Physical evidence of things passed down.

Live! Love! Laugh!

Just kidding.

Live! Learn! Let yourself fall and fail. Feel it all. Take on the challenge.

Lose it all.

And then give it all away.

That’s the whole point.