Three years ago, our family was handed another diagnosis.
My son, who had already been struggling with Eosinophilic Esophagitis (EOE), was diagnosed with a Chiari malformation — essentially, his brain was too big for his skull and he needed brain surgery to fix it.
It’s something I’ve never shared publicly until now. The stress of my child needing brain surgery — combined with running a storefront and trying to keep life together — broke me. I started having panic attacks in the middle of the night. Eventually, I got on medication and told myself, “Okay, I fixed it.”
The surgery went well. We closed our storefront to focus on family and create more flexibility. Life felt like it was settling down. My business became just me — I could work on my own schedule, which sounded perfect in theory.
When It All Caught Up With Me
Then this summer, our other son started having intense stomach pain. Managing that, on top of everyday life and another chronic illness, became too much. I started spiraling — convinced I had ADHD because everything felt so chaotic.
When I finally met with a psychiatrist, I unloaded everything. I told her my ADHD was out of control. Her response stopped me in my tracks:
“I don’t think it’s ADHD. I think it’s depression.”
I left that appointment embarrassed, angry, and ashamed. I didn’t even tell my husband, Michael, right away. I thought, No one can know.
But then it hit me — what message am I sending to my kids if I hide this?
Why I’m Sharing
We started sharing our EOE and Chiari journey years ago because everything we found online was so negative, so doomsday. We wanted to give people hope. Somewhere along the way, we stopped sharing, and this season reminded me why we started in the first place.
Over the last few months, I’ve pulled back. I’ve isolated myself. I’ve ignored texts because I didn’t want to be “that person” — the Debbie Downer. When people asked how things were going, I didn’t want to say, “Actually, life’s really hard right now. We’re barely hanging on.”
But what I needed was someone to tell me that it was okay. That what I was feeling was normal. That getting help, taking medicine, and seeing a therapist didn’t make me weak — it made me human.
Depression Doesn’t Always Look the Same
The first time I went through this, it was obvious. Panic attacks. Sleepless nights. My body literally screaming at me to slow down.
This time, it was quieter. A slow slide I didn’t even notice until someone else pointed it out. I wasn’t seeking help for me— I was seeking help so I could be a better mom. But the truth is, you can’t pour from an empty cup.
We’ve all heard the airplane analogy: put your oxygen mask on first. It makes sense in theory, but when your kids are sick, it’s the hardest thing to do.
Giving Myself Grace
I’m not sharing this for sympathy. I’m sharing it because I know there’s another mom reading this who feels the same — who’s exhausted, overwhelmed, and unsure how she’ll keep going.
If that’s you, I want you to know: what you’re feeling is okay. Talk to someone — a friend, another mom, a therapist, a doctor. You don’t have to carry it alone.
For a long time, I told myself that because my kids’ diagnoses weren’t life-threatening, I didn’t deserve to struggle. But hard is hard. Just because it’s not terminal doesn’t mean it isn’t heavy.
Moving Forward
Michael and I have been having a lot of heart-to-hearts lately about what the future looks like. I’m working hard to find joy again — to create boundaries, routines, and balance.
I love clothes. I love fashion. I love helping women feel beautiful. That will never change. But I’m also learning that showing up authentically — even when things are messy — matters too.
I know I haven’t shown up the way I want to these past few months, and maybe I won’t this month either. But I’m giving myself permission to figure it out. To find balance. To show myself grace.
I’m deeply grateful for my husband, my family, and my customers-turned-friends who’ve been patient and supportive. And I’m genuinely excited about what’s next — about rebuilding, reconnecting, and helping other moms feel seen, understood, and beautiful again.
I don’t know exactly what the future holds, but I know I’m walking into it with a full heart, more honesty, and a lot more hope.