The Day I Felt Like Myself…Until I Didn’t

When confidence, chaos, and community collided for me on Mother's Day and why asking for help is part of the journey

Iris and me in my power outfit….before it was covered in blood.

On Mother’s Day, I wore an outfit that made me feel like myself.

Which feels important to mention because a few weeks earlier, I had a mild identity crisis over what to wear to a fundraising brunch at River Oaks Country Club.

The event was beautiful and floral and flowy and very much giving “ladies who have their lives together.”

I am not a floral dress girl.

I do not enjoy shopping.

I especially do not enjoy trying things on.

And I definitely don’t feel like I fit in at the River Oaks Country Club….not one bit.

But I wanted to feel confident, so I used a gift card I had to Chloe Dao, a local Houston designer. Chloe happened to be there that day, and she pulled together this outfit for me: hot pink wide-leg pants, a button-up shirt with tiny hearts, and heels that were frankly way too tall…but oh so cute.

When I put the outfit on, I thought:

Oh. There she is.

This is Holly Tate.

Fast forward to Mother’s Day.

I had not planned what to wear, so I put that same outfit back on…big heels and all.

Church was lovely. Truly. Bouquet bar, mimosas, macarons, a beautiful sermon from Ericka Graham about the joy and grief motherhood holds. Iris and I had lunch together in the café afterward, and I was feeling very proud of my Mother’s Day plan:

Feed the toddler at church.
Go home.
Put her down for a nap.
Take the longest, most glorious Mother’s Day nap of my life.

And after running after her inside the church building trying to convince her that it was time to go home, we finally started walked to the parking lot.

I was carrying Iris, my bag, probably flowers, probably 47 invisible mental tabs, and eventually I put her down next to the car so I could find my keys.

She immediately started running around the car.

I couldn’t see her.

I panicked…trying not to fall in my stupid heels as I walk around the car trying to find her.

She peeked around the side of the car, laughing like it was hilarious, so I grabbed her arm and sternly said, “Iris Tate.”

She pulled away, fell on the pavement, and when I picked her up, blood was pouring down the side of her face.

Our first real bloody kid injury.

And there I was, in my hot pink pants, tiny heart shirt, and dumb heels…shaking, yelling for help, carrying my crying toddler back into church while both of us had blood on our clothes.

A mom I barely knew from the playground jumped in immediately. She grabbed the first aid kit and started cleaning Iris up.

People were asking me what I needed, and I had no idea.

A police officer asked if I wanted them to call the fire department, and I said, “I don’t know. I’ve never been in this situation before.”

Which honestly feels like the most accurate sentence I have ever said about motherhood.

A doctor from our church came over, helped calm both of us down, and eventually we realized it was a small cut on her forehead. We still went to urgent care, because of course we did, and thank goodness she was okay and didn’t need stitches.

But I keep thinking about the whiplash of that day.

Feeling like myself in an outfit I loved.
Celebrating Mother’s Day.
Eating lunch with my daughter.
Planning my nap.
Then suddenly holding her bleeding face in my hands, blood pouring down both of our outfits, needing help, and not knowing what to do next.

That is motherhood, isn’t it?

You can feel confident and completely unprepared in the same hour.

You can be grateful and terrified in the same moment.

You can be wearing the outfit that makes you feel most like yourself while also realizing you are still becoming someone new.

And sometimes the bravest, most honest thing you can say is:

I don’t know.
I’ve never been in this situation before.
Can someone please help me?

When I got home, I realized something else: this moment hit a deeper nerve.

I have a recurring dream where I’m screaming for help, and no one can hear me.

That day, even though I felt embarrassed by how scared I was, it reminded me how deeply I fear being unheard when I need help.

And honestly, it’s why I’ve always tried to be the one who does hear others, who helps, who has a plan.

But I’m learning I also need that village around me, and that’s what Get Mom Ready is all about…helping each other hear and help.

So I invite you: lean into your community…this community.

We’re exploring deeper ways to do that, and I’d love to know what you want this community of women to become. Let us know in the comments.