The Lie That Nearly Destroyed Me

The Lie We All Bought

At some point, someone said it out loud and we all nodded our heads like it was gospel truth:

“A mom is only as happy as her unhappiest child.”

Maybe it was at a basketball game. Or a support group. Or whispered between sobs in the church parking lot. I don’t remember where I heard it first. But I do remember believing it with everything in me.

And why wouldn’t I? It feels true. When one of your kids is hurting, how can you possibly feel joy? When addiction is wrecking their life, how can you sleep, laugh, or sing without guilt? When your son is in jail or your daughter is on the street, doesn’t everything inside you ache?

That quote became my mantra. It sounded selfless. Holy, even. Like a badge of maternal honor.

But it was a lie.

And believing it nearly destroyed me.

When the Lie Becomes a Life Sentence

It’s easy to see why this lie feels so true—especially for the average mom. When your child is struggling, it’s natural for your heart to ache. When they’re thriving, you breathe easier. That’s a part of mothering.

But in my life, this wasn’t just a tender truth twisted into a lie. It became a full-blown death sentence to joy.

You see, I didn’t raise one or two kids in a traditional way. I adopted ten children from foster care—five boys and five girls, including two sibling groups. All of them came to us with unique histories, genetic vulnerabilities, and deep trauma.

Mental health struggles.

Addiction in the family tree.

Developmental delays.

Abandonment wounds.

Trauma from neglect and abuse.

The kind of heartache that no child should ever carry—but mine did.

I love them with everything in me. Still do.

But the reality? The odds were stacked high.

I wasn’t just likely to have one child in crisis—I was practically guaranteed to have someone struggling all the time.

And if that quote was true—if “a mom is only as happy as her unhappiest child”—then I was doomed. Permanently. There’d be no windows of peace. No breathing room. No joy. Ever.

When you lay that lie across an extreme situation like mine, its preposterous nature becomes clear.

I couldn’t just sentence myself to a lifetime of misery and call that faithfulness.

That’s not holy. That’s bondage.

And what kind of mother would I be to the kids that were doing okay if I was always obsessed with the “unhappiest” among them? What kind of wife, daughter, friend, etc. would I be if I could never have any joy?

I had to find another way.

The Fruit of the Lie

That little phrase gave my children’s choices the power to control my emotions, my health, my peace, and my relationship with God. I felt guilty any time I smiled or found joy in something that didn’t involve my child’s healing.

If she was broken, then I must stay broken.

If he was hopeless, then I had no right to hope.

I wore their suffering like a cross I was never meant to carry.

I confused love with martyrdom.

And slowly, I started disappearing.

The Truth That Set Me Free

Nowhere in Scripture does it say, “A mom is only as happy as her unhappiest child.”

That’s not in Proverbs, it’s not on the lips of Jesus, and it’s not the model of motherhood God gives us.

Here’s what is in His Word:

“The joy of the Lord is your strength.” — Nehemiah 8:10

“You will keep in perfect peace all who trust in You.” — Isaiah 26:3

“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9

My joy is not tethered to my child’s sobriety.

My peace is not dependent on their choices.

My hope is not canceled out by their pain.

My joy, my peace, and my hope are anchored in Christ—not in my child’s emotional state.

That doesn’t mean I don’t hurt when they hurt. Of course I do. That’s the heart of a mama.

But I can hurt with them without losing myself in the process. I can love deeply without letting their chaos swallow me whole. I can sit in the grief and still rise in hope. Because my identity is not “mother of a struggling child.”

My identity is daughter of the King.

To the Mama Who’s Stuck in the Lie

Maybe you’ve been living in survival mode for so long, you’ve forgotten what peace feels like.

Maybe someone made you feel like you’re a bad mom if you’re not suffering with your child 24/7.

Hear me, Mama:

That’s not Jesus.

That’s codependency wrapped in a Pinterest quote.

Jesus doesn’t ask you to carry what only He can heal.

What I Choose Now

I still pray like crazy. I still weep when addiction rears its ugly head. I still carry my children to Jesus every single day.

But I also laugh. A lot actually. (It’s my super-power.)

I worship with all my heart.

I take naps and go on walks and sip Diet Dr. Pepper (my personal drug of choice) without shame. 😌

Because I’ve learned this sacred truth:

I can be full of joy, even if my child is not okay.I can be faithful, even if they’ve wandered far.I can be whole, even as I grieve what’s broken.

A Final Word

You are not a better mom because you are miserable.You are not more faithful because you’ve lost yourself in your child’s pain.You are not selfish for pursuing joy while trusting God with their healing.

You are still a good mom—maybe even a better one but we’ll talk more on that later—when you live in the freedom Jesus died to give you.

So let’s rewrite that old saying.

“A mom is as joyful as the One who holds her and her child in His hands.”

And His hands never let go.

P.S. If this hit home, I’d love for you to share it with another mama who needs to hear it. And if you're looking for a community of women who are learning to live in joy—even in the storm—come join us in the Hope Holders community – subscribe to my email list for more encouragement and prayer.