To the Woman Who Does What No One Sees
What I wrote for the woman who holds our family together—one sleep sack, labeled Ziploc, and spotless bathtub at a time.
Today’s for the moms—and in my world, no one shows up like Jenn.
Let me tell you what I see.
Yesterday, she was deep in the weeds planning Roman’s formula like she was running a home-based chemistry lab—clipboard in hand, precision scales out, like some kind of suburban Walter White but with more onesies and fewer felonies.
Six bottles lined up. Distilled water only—because even the filtered tap doesn’t meet her standards. Weighing out grams, checking scoop discrepancies, calculating the feeding plan down to the hour so it would sync with the sleep training schedule.
She does this not because she’s trying to be perfect, but because she can’t stomach the idea of falling short. Of doing less than what her gut tells her is best.
Even now, with Roman sleeping through the night, she’s still up. Alert. Her mind scanning for the one thing that might go wrong.
When Guilt Moves First
And then there’s Izzy—our boundary-testing, full-sprint middle child—who seems to have a sixth sense for locating whatever nerve Jenn has left by the end of the day. Some days it really does feel like life is intentionally surfacing the exact wounds she’s working to heal.
That’s her biggest battle: not being able to control all the variables.
Not because she needs power—but because deep down, when something goes sideways, her nervous system jumps to the conclusion: “It’s my fault.” That sense of guilt moves first. And then her mind tries to make sense of it. Fix it. Solve the un-solvable. Because that’s safer than sitting in uncertainty.
But I’ve seen the shift.
She’s starting to recognize that not everything is hers to fix. That her need for resolution often masks a deeper need for emotional safety. That she can hold herself—and all of us—in love, even when she doesn’t have the answers.
She’s learning to forgive herself. To pause. To feel. And most of all, to remember that even when things are messy, it doesn’t mean she’s failed.
What Most People Don’t See
Jenn is the coordinator of every doctor visit. She fills out every form, follows up on every bill, and doesn’t let things fall through the cracks—not even the little ones. If a product doesn’t work as advertised, she gets the refund. If there’s a weird exception hidden in the system, she’ll find it—and use it—to take care of her family.
She’s even managed to earn quiet exceptions in places where policy is usually ironclad—things that technically follow the rules, but aren’t commonly extended. It’s a testament to the way she mixes warmth and precision. People want to help her because they feel seen by her, and because she does the work to make it easy to say yes.
The bedtime routine she runs is surgical. The girls get washed and scrubbed, lotioned and conditioned. Every diaper is checked and double-checked. The pajamas are always clean, the sleep sacks zipped just right. And when they’re down, she resets the whole space.
Every. Single. Night.
Surfaces are scrubbed. Toys are put away. Dishes are done. Tables are cleared and chairs flipped over so the floor can be vacuumed—or mopped. She treats the tub like a surgical suite. I’ve seen her dry tile grout as if water itself is a biohazard. And I know at least one other person who gets it—shoutout to my brother-in-law—but still, it’s next-level.
She does laundry like it’s a science. Cleans out the washing machine drum on schedule—she follows the maintenance cycle religiously, making sure it never builds up grime or gets that musty smell most people ignore.
The kids’ outfits are packed in labeled Ziplocs—marked by name and occasion: extra outfit, swim stuff, Tuesday outfit. It’s the kind of clarity that makes teachers and caregivers visibly relieved when they unzip the bag.
And now that she’s unlocked the power of ChatGPT? There’s no stopping her.
Her True Power
But Jenn’s power goes way beyond logistics.
She’s a visionary. She doesn’t just dream—she manifests. She once made a list of 50+ qualities she wanted in a husband (yes, I’ve seen it), and by some miracle I check most of the boxes. That’s not luck. That’s clarity. That’s her.
She has this gift—this transmission—that makes you feel what she believes. When she’s aligned, her energy fills the room. Her love isn’t always soft or quiet—but it’s fierce, and focused, and deeply protective.
And no, she’s not fully letting me in yet. But I see the desire in her. I see her doing the work. And if the day comes where she feels safe enough to fully open, I know what’s waiting on the other side will be something sacred.
What She Really Needs
So no, she didn’t tell me what she wanted for Mother’s Day. But I think I know what she needs.
To be seen.
To be reminded that she’s not failing when things feel chaotic. That she doesn’t have to fix everything to be loved. That her power is bigger than perfection.
I love you, Jenn. I see you. I believe in you. And I’m proud of the woman you’re becoming
