Here’s something I’ve learned the hard way: finding support for moms is only half the battle. The other half? Letting that support actually support you.

And if you’re a maternal, nurturing kind of human like me, you know exactly what I mean.

Even with my EchoMom—a woman I hired, trained, and welcomed into my home with the clear intention of helping my family run more smoothly—I still find it hard to rest when she’s cooking or cleaning. I’ll literally hear her sweeping in the next room and feel like I should jump up and help… or at least offer her something. Anything. Because being still while someone else is moving feels, well, uncomfortable.

It’s not guilt exactly. It’s not shame either. It’s just this deeply ingrained part of me that equates value with doing. That confuses rest for mothers with laziness. That whispers, you should be doing more.

And I hear that whisper even louder when I ask her to do something nuanced—like pick up my boys from the bus stop if I’m running late. Or prep and wrap a small care package for a friend I want to surprise in the city. These aren’t big asks. In fact, they’re often part of the job description. But they feel big to me. Personal. Intrusive. Vulnerable.

Still, I ask.

Not because it’s always easy. But because I’ve learned that the only way to grow through this discomfort is to go through it.

And every single time, you know what happens?

Nothing bad.

The house doesn’t catch on fire.

She doesn’t curse me out or storm off in offense.

She simply does the thing. Checks it off the list. 

And then? We all live to fight another day.

Letting someone support you shouldn’t feel radical. But for many of us navigating motherhood support—it is.

Especially for those of us who have spent years being the support for everyone else. The one who anticipates needs. The one who holds it down. The one who doesn’t even ask for help unless it’s an emergency (and even then, it’s a stretch). Support might be what you crave, but receiving it? That’s the real work.

Because support means vulnerability.

Support means surrender.

Support means trusting someone else to care about the outcome.

And that’s hard when you’re used to being the one who cares the most.

I wish I could tell you that it gets super easy over time. But the truth? When you’re wired to nurture others, when you’re used to making things happen, accepting help isn’t second nature. It’s a learned skill. One that gets easier, yes—but it rarely comes without emotion.

Because if you’re like me, you’re also thoughtful. You care deeply. You notice the small things. You don’t want to overstep or seem entitled. Even when you’re not overstepping. Even when you’re paying someone fairly. Even when they’re amazing at what they do.

I’ve had to remind myself that asking for help at home doesn’t make me “too much.” It makes me human. And being supported doesn’t mean I’m dropping the ball. It means I’m letting someone else carry it with me.

There’s a huge difference between outsourcing your worth and allowing yourself to be poured into. I’m not handing my value over to someone else—I’m just giving myself permission to exhale.

And let me be honest: I’m not one of those people who scrambles to clean the house before the house cleaner comes (bless those who do—I see you). I’m just not. I’d rather be embarrassed than do the extra work. But I am the person who wrestles with a quiet hesitation when I ask for help that feels “extra.” Not because it is extra, but because I know how it feels to be stretched thin. And I never want to be the one doing the stretching.

That kind of compassion doesn’t disappear just because someone’s in a supportive role. It stays. It lives in your body. It shows up in the breath you take before asking for something. In the overthinking before a text. In the double-checking before you speak.

But here’s the beautiful part:

You can feel all that… and still ask.

You can carry that kindness… and still receive.

You can be thoughtful… and also be cared for.

Because letting someone support you doesn’t diminish your strength. It deepens it. It makes room for more of you to rise.

And EchoMom has taught me that. She’s taught me what motherhood support can look like when it’s steady, kind, and shame-free. To be supported in the small, tender, daily ways that remind you—you don’t have to hold everything alone. 

She’s a part of my rhythm now, not just because of what she does, but because of how she shows up. Quietly. Consistently. Lovingly.

To any mother, nurturer, giver, or get-it-done-no-matter-what kind of person reading this:

I see you. I know how hard it is. I know what it costs to hold so much.

But let this be your reminder:

You were never meant to do it all alone.

Your softness is not a liability.

Your rest is not a reward—it’s a right.

Your needs are not burdens—they’re beautiful, sacred truths.

So yes—find support.

But also? Let them support you.

And when the feelings rise, and they will, breathe through them. Let them come. Let them go.

And keep showing up for the version of you who finally gets to exhale.

You’re worthy of a life where the load is lighter.

Let it be.