In March, FAbM Base launched its podcast, and on their second episode, the first with a guest, that guest was me. I shared my story of going from birth control to diagnoses and treatment of PCOS and endometriosis through fertility awareness and NaPro technology. I shared how healed I felt after going off birth control and finding real help—not just from my hormonal conditions but for my fibromyalgia, too. My symptoms of chronic pain and fatigue basically disappeared, I said.

It was true. My anti-inflammatory diet (no gluten, dairy, or processed sugar) treated not only my PCOS but my fibromyalgia, too. When I recorded the interview last fall, I was experiencing a return of my fibromyalgia symptoms, but I figured it was a short-lived flare-up due to pregnancy and childbirth.

Ten and a half months after having my daughter, and my fibromyalgia symptoms are still here, and I’ve been not only struggling with how to deal with those symptoms while caring for an active infant who’s in about the 95th percentile for size. I’ve also been struggling with feeling like a liar and a fraud. Do I need an asterisk by every interview I’ve done and every article I’ve written about my health journey?

The answer to this question came while I was reading Danielle Walker’s memoir, “Food Saved Me: My Journey of Finding Health & Hope through the Power of Food.” Walker is a cookbook author and blogger whose grain-free, dairy-free recipes are the rare magical kind that still taste like “regular food” but can help someone with allergies or food sensitivities manage his or health and still eat delicious food. She tells her story of how diet has helped improve her health (she has severe ulcerative colitis) and also describes her fear of being a fraud when she still has debilitating and even dangerous flare-ups while on her diet. Her husband has to remind her of what she wrote on her own blog: “There are always occasional bumps on the road when you’re battling an autoimmune disease, but you just have to keep your eyes on the horizon and keep pushing forward to the smooth and straight parts.”

I never claimed that you could cure fibromyalgia, at least not in an interview or an article. I think I’d convinced myself that I was cured, though. And just like ulcerative colitis, there is no cure. There are ways you can manage symptoms, and there are times when you might feel great. But, there is no cure, and there are always “bumps on the road.”

I lived most of my 20s in fear that I would never feel well enough to be pregnant or care for a child. When I felt at my healthiest, I let go of that fear, but I never prepared myself for the reality of parenting with chronic illness—of getting up in pain and carrying on anyway. Now, I’m scrambling to catch up. I’m putting in the work to build my strength, but it will take time, and I am not a patient person. I’m learning patience—motherhood is a training ground for this virtue—but I need to remember to be patient not just with my daughter but with myself.

My Catholic faith is my saving grace, literally. It reminds me that I don’t have to do this on my own; that I can and must rely on God to carry me. But, it also reminds me that healing is a process that will only end, God willing, in heaven. There will always be physical and emotional challenges here. Acceptance of this reality is one step in that healing process (and it’s an ongoing struggle, too). It’s not a giving up; it’s an acknowledgment that I can always become healthier, but I can never heal myself fully. And that’s OK.

I can be a good mother with these limitations that my body puts on me, because every mother has limitations. We are all imperfect and broken. Hopefully, my struggle with my own imperfections and brokenness will actually make me a better mother. Hopefully, someday, my daughter will know that it is OK to be imperfect and broken. Hopefully, she’ll know that whatever challenges God gives her, she can work on them, with them, and through them on her own path toward sanctification, because she’s seen me do it.

That’s my prayer, anyway.

I preordered Haley Stewart’s new book “Jane Austen’s Genius Guide to Life: On Love, Friendship, and Becoming the Person God Created You to Be,” from Ave Maria Press as soon as it was available. I began it on Saturday and finished it on Sunday.

Don’t read into how quickly I read it, though: This book was not a light, breezy book. It was just short and enjoyable. Stewart has a knack for making profound, thought-provoking points in a very conversational tone. It made reading this book both comfortable and uncomfortable—comfortable because I felt like I was talking about my favorite author with a friend and uncomfortable because it made me reflect on my own virtue and the many places where I have room to grow.

The book devotes a chapter to each of Austen’s novels, highlighting one vice and its corrective virtue. First up was pride and humility and, of course, Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy of “Pride and Prejudice.” I’ve been focusing a lot of my own personal and spiritual development lately on identifying pride and cultivating humility, so I was ready for this one. But, with each new chapter, I uncovered aspects of different vices in my own life, realizing anew how far I have to go in my own growth as a Christian.

Fortunately, the book was encouraging, offering the Catholic perspective that there is always mercy, always hope, always opportunity for growth. The beloved characters from Austen’s novels (perhaps most notably my favorite, Emma) show us that even great vice can be overcome with great humility. The more aware I am of my sin, the more humble I become, and the more open to God’s grace I can be. Throughout the book is Stewart’s belief (the Catholic belief) that we were created to be good, and one line in particular struck me:

“As the mother of four children, there are many, many moments when I am inconstant—when I surrender to what will shatter the self. I am called to be a patient, gentle, and loving mother; it is who I am designed by God to be. And yet, I often fall short! I lose my temper, grow frustrated, or make a cutting remark. None of these actions make me feel like I am being true to myself!

In the nine and a half months since my daughter I was born, I, too, have had many moments where I fell short. But, in those moments, I have not often felt that I was being untrue to myself; rather, an anxious, perfectionistic voice inside me says, “See? This is who you are—a failure. Your true self is a bad mother, a bad wife, a bad person.” This is a voice that I need to silence.

This book was enjoyable to read, because diving deep into Jane Austen’s novels is always enjoyable. But, for me, the biggest gift it offered is that moment of clarity: that reminder that while I am fallen, while I am sinful, I was made in the image of God—made to be good—and that the times that I fall are never reflections of who I am as his daughter. They are indications that I am a sinful person who has access to the infinite mercy of God and who can, with his grace (and like Austen’s heroines!), grow more in virtue every day.

It was a self-serving question as I planned a blog post for today—but I immediately realized that there was more to the answer than content strategy.

No form of family planning is 100% effective (other than complete abstinence, of course), but I’ve come to realize that by and large, it’s only fertility awareness methods that truly acknowledge their fallibility. Perhaps it’s because practitioners so frequently cite the research to prove that they are effective—which means we know the effectiveness rating is never 100%. Perhaps it’s because we understand the science of the hormonal cycle so well. Perhaps it’s because there’s more room for human error in a fertility awareness method than there is in taking a pill (hence the often large range of “typical use” statistics among fertility awareness methods—although some research finds higher effectiveness ratings for typical use of fertility awareness than for the pill and certainly for condoms).

The bottom line is that fertility awareness is great at acknowledging the fact that if you have sex, you might have a baby. That acknowledgment, however, can carry some anxiety if you have really, really serious reasons not to get pregnant. Which is why in addition to having health and relationship benefits, fertility awareness has the beautiful side benefit of helping us learn to trust God.

Actually, scratch that. I think that teaching us to trust God might be the whole point of natural family planning. Which is where the Annunciation comes in.

Church tradition tells us that Mary was never planning on having a baby. She was always going to be a consecrated virgin. While the Church also teaches that after having Jesus, Mary continued with that part of the plan, being a mother was a fork in the road. At the Annunciation, then, Mary’s fiat (“Let it be done unto me”) was a huge act of trust in God. She surrendered her body, her plans, her life to God.

None of us will be the mother of God. None of us will suffer in quite the same way that Mary had to, as the mother of God. But, as women, we all have to surrender our fertility (or infertility) to God, which often involves suffering. Sometimes great suffering. The Church asks us to be open to life, and for some, that openness can be incredibly challenging. It can require a heroic level of trust in God, trust that requires a great deal of prayer.

So, as we close Fertility Awareness Week and celebrate Mary’s “yes,” let’s look to her as a model of surrender. If that surrender is as difficult for you as it is for me, here are a few prayers that might help:

The surrender novena (you can pray the entire novena, but I have just the prayer “Jesus, I surrender myself to you, take care of everything” on my heart frequently).

Our Lady, Intercessor of Fertility Awareness (a prayer by Bridget Busacker of Managing Your Fertility).

The joyful mysteries of the rosary.

“Lord, I believe! Help my unbelief” (said by the father of the boy healed by Jesus in Mark 9:24).

It’s been several years, a successful endometriosis excision surgery, a wedding, and a healthy pregnancy and delivery since I last saw my pelvic floor physical therapist, but I frequently think back to how grateful I am to have experienced this physical therapy. I’ve also read and heard interviews with Catholic pelvic floor physical therapists and am grateful that some Catholic women have access to this crucial health care with providers whose values are similar to theirs. It’s made me reflect on what a Catholic perspective on pelvic floor physical therapy would be.

The Body Is Good

As Catholics, we believe that human beings consist of a body and soul—and that both body and soul are good. The body is broken (and the soul is prone to sin), but it is still good. As a result, we must treat our body—and others’ bodies—with the respect it is due. After all, God came to earth and had a human body (still does, according to the Church’s teaching on the ascension). We are made in his image and likeness.

Broadly speaking, our culture does not believe the body is good. It reveals how it feels about the body—particularly, I would argue, the female body—in the way it treats it. The human body is used, abused, commoditized, and shamed. Our culture rents out women’s wombs, tears children out of them, and exploits both genders in pornography to make a quick buck.

Pelvic floor physical therapy takes a different approach to a woman’s body—one that says it is worthy of respect and of healing. Our pelvic floor goes through a lot to nurture life, but so many of us have experienced such pain in this part of our body that the “fertility is beautiful!” line doesn’t resonate. With pelvic floor physical therapy, a woman can go from misunderstanding and fearing her body to respecting and loving it.

When Is Pelvic Floor Physical Therapy Helpful?

I am neither a medical provider nor a pelvic floor expert, so here is a discussion of pelvic floor physical therapy from someone who is: an episode of the Natural Womanhood podcast featuring pelvic floor physical therapist Dr. Jen Tippmann. According to Dr. Tippmann’s website, pelvic floor physical therapy can help with:

• Painful intercourse.
• Urinary and fecal incontinence.
• Pelvic organ prolapse.
• Pelvic floor muscle performance and core muscle stability.
• Pelvic pain.
• Prenatal and postpartum support.

If you think pelvic floor physical therapy might be good for you, I encourage you to ask your restorative reproductive health provider for a recommendation! Your body is worth it.

I have fibromyalgia, PCOS, and an anxiety disorder (previously endometriosis as well), so I’m no stranger to living with chronic illness. Mostly, I’ve gotten used to it and learned that a good life is possible, even with suffering (perhaps even especially with suffering). I’ve also, at least recently, taken for granted the security of having health care providers I trust. I had a therapist I’d been working with for over five years; a primary care provider I’d been seeing since I was a child; and an OB/GYN practice that understood PCOS, used a restorative approach to healing rather than suppressing hormones, and, while I was pregnant, valued the life of my unborn child as much as my own.

My therapist left her practice a few months ago, and I decided to take the opportunity to find a Catholic therapist (something like natural family planning is just really hard to talk about with a therapist who doesn’t have a Catholic perspective!). So far, it’s been difficult to find one that is in my insurance network and can practice in my state, though I’ve made some progress on that front this week. Fortunately, my mental health is in a good place right now, so I have some time (though it’s important to note that finding a therapist while you don’t particularly need one is better than waiting until you do!).

Then, this weekend, my OB/GYN practice announced that it was no longer taking obstetric patients and was going out of network with all insurance providers.

I panicked—so much that my husband, hearing my exclamations while reading the email, thought someone had died. There are no NaPro or FEMM providers close enough for comfort when it comes to pregnancy, and most OB/GYN practices are not equipped to help me manage PCOS without the birth control pill. One practice website I looked at even said, “More common cases of irregular periods can be regulated through use of a hormonal birth control.” While it’s true that the pill can alleviate symptoms, it doesn’t regulate the period (or the cycle)—it gets rid of it. It’s a solution I’ve tried and felt OK with at the time, but it’s not a healthy solution, and it’s not one I want to return to. (I’ve also heard horror stories of OB/GYNs withholding medical care, directly or indirectly, from fetuses with adverse diagnoses and was terrified of the possibility bringing any pregnancy to such a doctor.)

Long story short: I found out that two of the providers from my practice are moving to another one, which is in my network, and I am following them there. Sigh of relief. Panic over. Exhaustion sets in.

I made some mistakes in this process, so here are a few lessons I learned that I want to share with anyone else facing a change in their health care:

1. Don’t Panic

I feel justified in being upset about the initial change in my health care plans—having a doctor you trust is important—but I should not have panicked. It all turned out alright, but even if I were still trying to figure out my next steps, that panic would not be helping. You need a clear head in order to make decisions regarding your health care. Take a deep breath; it’s probably not the crisis you think it is. If you need to cry or react emotionally, give yourself a few minutes to do so, and then move forward.

2. Identify What You Need

If you need to look for a new therapist or medical provider, start by making a list of what you’re looking for. First, list the things that are non-negotiable; for example, I need a provider who can help me manage my PCOS without birth control, and I need a pro-life obstetrician so that, if and when I am pregnant again, my husband and I can trust that the baby’s life is just as valued as mine. Next, list the things that you’d like to have but that are not deal-breakers. For example, I’d like a provider within 20 minutes of my home, but I can drive further if needed.

3. Have a Backup Plan

Once you find a good solution, have a backup plan in mind. My backup plan was to go back to my old NaPro provider (two hours away) and find a local obstetrician that was recommended by other pro-life Catholic moms, even if that obstetrician could not meet my gynecologic needs. Ideally, I wanted to see the same person for obstetrics and gynecology—but I had a Plan B if that didn’t work out.

Your health is important, and so is your peace of mind. That peace of mind can come from having a provider you trust, but you can also find some peace in the process of looking for one. Take a deep breath. Say a prayer. After all, your ultimate peace should come from surrendering to the Father who loves you, not from any doctor—no matter how good.

First-time Reads

“The Sinner’s Guide to Natural Family Planning,” by Simcha Fisher

This book helped me ease back into NFP postpartum. It was a difficult read but an important one—and Simcha’s great sense of humor doesn’t hurt.

“Sorcery & Cecilia: or The Enchanted Chocolate Pot,” by Patricia C. Wrede and Caroline Stevermer

This novel (and its sequels) scratched my itch for a fun read while pregnant. Nineteenth-century English society and magic—what more could you want?

“The Possibility Mom,” by Lisa Canning

I know Lisa through my work at Catholic Women in Business, and she never fails to inspire and support other moms, particularly moms who are struggling to find a way to live out their multiple dreams—wife, mother, and entrepreneur (or, in my case, writer and editor).

“Letters to Women: Embracing the Feminine Genius in Your Everyday Life,” by Chloe Langr, and “A Place to Belong: Letters from Catholic Women,” edited by Corynne Staresinic

I reviewed these collections of letters by Catholic women for FemCatholic. They really showed the range of gifts God gives women, to use in wonderfully diverse ways.

“Mom Genes: Inside the New Science of Our Ancient Maternal Instinct,” by Abigail Tucker

Such a fascinating read, especially as a new mom! (Did you know that the hippocampus, which plays a major role in memory, stops making new cells during pregnancy? Explains so much.)

“Jayber Crow,” by Wendell Berry

My first Well-Read Mom read, this novel was a beautiful look at a small town and a great reminder of the benefits of slowing down.

“Bringing Up Bébé: One American Mother Discovers the Wisdom of French Parenting,” by Pamela Druckerman

Apparently, I have a French parenting style. (I didn’t agree with everything, but there was a lot of good.) This one was also fun to read.

“This Present Paradise: A Spiritual Journey With St. Elizabeth of the Trinity,” by Claire Dwyer

I read this one in two evenings for an article but will need to go back and dip my toes in various chapters more slowly over time. Possibly my favorite book of the year.

“Carmelite Spirituality: The Way of Carmelite Prayer and Contemplation,” by Cardinal Anders Arborelius, O.C.D.

I read this book for Lent, and it’s another one I’ll need to revisit—so much fruit here.

Re-reads

“The Lord of the Rings,” by J.R.R. Tolkien

One of my favorites, I hadn’t read it since high school, when the movies were coming out. I got more out of it this time. (I also didn’t skip over some of Frodo and Sam’s climb up to Mount Doom like I did the first time, so I didn’t miss this gem: “There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.”

“Anne’s House of Dreams,” “Anne of Ingleside,” and “Rilla of Ingleside,” by L.M. Montgomery

I picked these up again looking for positive books about motherhood. So much fun!

“Reed of God,” by Caryll Houselander

This one was my Advent read—lovely reflections about Mary.

“A Christmas Carol,” by Charles Dickens (audiobook read by Hugh Grant)

I’ve had trouble with audiobooks in the past, but I received an Audible subscription for Christmas and listened to this one while traveling to visit my in-laws. I really enjoyed it and picked up “The Hobbit,” read by Andy Serkis, next.

“Emma,” “Persuasion,” and “Northanger Abbey,” by Jane Austen

While I was struggling through the postpartum days, my husband encouraged me to reread my favorite novel, “Emma,” and it brought me a lot of comfort! I followed it up with my second-favorite Austen novel, “Persuasion,” and the only one I’ve only read once: “Northanger Abbey.”

What were your favorite books in 2021? What are you looking forward to reading in 2022? I’d love your recommendations!

Mary set out

and traveled to the hill country in haste

to a town of Judah, 

where she entered the house of Zechariah

and greeted Elizabeth.

When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting,

the infant leaped in her womb, 

and Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit, 

cried out in a loud voice and said, 

“Blessed are you among women, 

and blessed is the fruit of your womb.

And how does this happen to me, 

that the mother of my Lord should come to me?

For at the moment the sound of your greeting reached my ears, 

the infant in my womb leaped for joy.

Blessed are you who believed

that what was spoken to you by the Lord

would be fulfilled.”

The Gospel reading for this Sunday, the fourth Sunday of Advent, shares the beginning of the Visitation: Mary’s journey “in haste” to her cousin, Elizabeth. Her visit took place during the early months of Mary’s pregnancy and the final months of Elizabeth’s. We can see in the Gospel the joy the two women experienced in becoming mothers and in celebrating together the arrival of Jesus.

Both Mary’s and Elizabeth’s pregnancies were unplanned—at least, by them. Elizabeth’s was a longed-for pregnancy that she and her husband had likely long ago stopped waiting for. After all, when the angel Gabriel tells Zechariah that he will become a father, he tells the angel, “How shall I know this? For I am an old man, and my wife is advanced in years” (Luke 1:18). Mary was betrothed to St. Joseph but with the intention of remaining a virgin and, therefore, never becoming a mother.

God, however, had different plans for both Elizabeth and Mary (and, of course, Zechariah and Joseph). While Elizabeth must have struggled with the difficulties of being an elderly mother, and there’s no doubt Mary experienced great sorrow as a result of being the mother of God, we can see in both women great joy. I believe that this joy is what we, as pro-life advocates and ministry volunteers, must convey to women experiencing difficult pregnancies.

In a recent article for The Catholic Thing, Father Peter Stravinskas writes, “Joy is a state of being in which a person rests comfortable and assured of God’s power and will to save. Thus one can still be joyful after an earthquake, upon learning of one’s diagnosis as terminally ill, or amidst financial ruin.” A mother who is struggling to figure out how she can financially support a child, a couple who has recently received a frightening prenatal diagnosis, a teenager who is unexpectedly pregnant … these are all people our culture says should not be joyful. And they are all people who may struggle to feel joy. But joy can exist for them, and we can help them find that joy.

“Joy enabled Mary (like all the other great women of faith – Sarah, Hannah, Ruth – in the Hebrew Tradition) to see through the darkness of her unplanned pregnancy, beyond the ignominy of Calvary, to the glory of Christ’s resurrection and her own assumption,” continues Father Stravinskas.

So, how do we help expectant mothers and parents in crisis find joy?

Elizabeth’s first reaction to Mary’s pregnancy wasn’t pity. It wasn’t an offer to help her end the pregnancy. It wasn’t to tell her, “You can’t do this.” Her first response was joy.

Every new parent deserves to be told, “Congratulations!”

Alexa Hyman, a mom who supports women who (like she did) face unplanned pregnancies through a community called Back in February, writes on her website that “resounding joy” is what “every woman deserves to hear when she shares this news” that she is pregnant. “Despite imperfect circumstances, there was life beginning (not ending) and that alone was cause for celebration,” she continues. The friend of hers who was the first to respond to her news with joy “dismissed my shame not seeing my pregnancy as a problem but something to be excited about. He pulled the joy buried inside of me.” This conversation gave her the courage to cancel her abortion appointment.

Joy does not mean that pregnancy and parenthood aren’t difficult. It doesn’t discount the challenges that women and couples face. After Elizabeth rejoiced with Mary, I imagine that she gave her much-needed support, encouragement, and assistance.

But first, she rejoiced.

When I was a kid, my favorite TV show was “Wishbone.” It was a literary show with two parallel stories in each episode. One story followed modern teenager Joe and his friends, observed by Joe’s dog, Wishbone. The other was a classic story that paralleled whatever was happening with Joe that week—and the main male character was always portrayed by Wishbone.

It sounds goofy if you didn’t watch it as a child (a dog Mr. Darcy? but, somehow, it never seemed that crazy to me). I loved it, and it helped nurture the love of books I’d had since I sat in my mother’s lap as an infant, listening to her read “Goodnight Moon” again and again.

My favorite episode of “Wishbone” was about Our Lady of Guadalupe and St. Juan Diego (who was Blessed Juan Diego at the time the episode aired). I haven’t seen it since I was a child, so I can’t unilaterally recommend it; I don’t know how aligned it is to the actual apparition and Church teaching. I do, however, remember loving the story of Mary, Juan Diego, the flowers, and the miraculous image of Mary (pregnant with Jesus) that appeared on Juan Diego’s tilma. I read more about this apparition as a teenager; I even had a book that went into some of the scientific research done on the image on the tilma (though some claims about the tilma are false). What I loved most about Our Lady of Guadalupe and her story is the beauty of the flowers (roses, my favorite) and the tilma and the love Our Lady of Guadalupe shows for Juan Diego, as one of her children.

I never really nurtured my devotion to Our Lady of Guadalupe. This year, however, leading up to her feast day on Sunday, I’ve felt a rekindling of my love of this story. I love that in the image, Mary appears to be pregnant. I love that she used roses for the miracle. I love that she was persistent in promoting Juan Diego to deliver her message, despite his protestations that he wasn’t the right person for the job. And, I love this statement:

“Am I not here, I, who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not the source of your joy? Are you not in the hollow of my mantle, in the crossing of my arms? Do you need anything more? Let nothing else worry you or disturb you.“

What a powerful reminder that we all have a Mother who is caring for us and protecting us, bringing us always closer to God. I don’t know about you, but I need this reminder, straight from Mary’s lips, that I don’t, in fact, need anything more than her and her Son.

I should say that I know new year’s resolutions rarely work out. Also, at least for the last couple of years, my resolutions, like my “word of the year,” have been handed to me by God—often in a way that is very challenging. (2020 was detachment, a lesson I began learning even before COVID upended our wedding plans. 2021 was surrender, because pregnancy and new motherhood are the hardest things I’ve ever done, and they forced me to start learning to let go of control and depend on God.)

That said, I like trying to set goals, even if my weakness (or God’s plans) change them. So, here’s what I want to try this year:

1. Learn to Be Silent

In the interest of learning to become more contemplative and give God the silence to speak to me (usually, he has to hit me over the head with something before I hear him), I will start practicing silence. Five minutes to begin with, just trying to listen to God. Silence has always been uncomfortable for me; I get bored easily and despise boredom to an unhealthy degree, and I’m also always afraid that silence will give me the opportunity to start spiraling in anxious thoughts.

So, five minutes at a time. Five minutes of silence, of letting my mind wander but then bringing it back, of trying to hear God’s voice. Maybe, by next Advent, I’ll be more comfortable with it.

2. Focus on Patience

Patience is not a virtue that has ever come easily to me—patience with myself or with others. I was kind of hoping I’d magically become more patient when I became a mother, but motherhood, like holiness, is not easy. My daughter needs to see my enthusiasm for her existence, not my impatience with her.

When she wakes up from her naps, I always smile at her when I pick her up from her crib (it’s hard not to; she’s always so excited to see me!). Step 1 in learning to be a more patient mother is to smile before she can see me. Fake it till you make it, right? Smiling makes you feel happier despite yourself, and it reminds me just how overjoyed I am to be a mother, even when I’m being interrupted.

I’m also going to work on being more patient with myself. I’m a perfectionist by nature, but I’ve come to learn that perfectionism is rooted in pride (why do I expect myself to be perfect rather than relying on God?). If God is merciful and patient with me, why can’t I be merciful and patient with myself? If God forgives me, why can’t I forgive myself? So, every time I think, “I’m a terrible mother,” I’m going to let that thought be a trigger that what I’m feeling is based on perfectionism, not reality.

3. Exercise More

Pregnancy and the postpartum period are never easy, but the last year has taught me just how woefully out of shape I am. Had I been in better shape before I got pregnant, pregnancy may have been easier, and my fibromyalgia might be easier to manage now. I don’t know if or when God will give us another child, but I can be in better shape now for the one I already have. Then, if and when I am pregnant again (and chasing after a toddler or a young child at the same time!), maybe it will be easier to handle.

I’ll start small, though: daily pushups and squats, continuing my long walks with my husband and the baby, working my way up to doing SoulCore workouts again (my mom and I got into SoulCore during lockdown last year). As Catholics, we believe that the body is good. It’s time for me to live up to that belief by taking better care of mine.

4. Read the Bible in a Year

I’ve always wanted to read the Bible more, but I’ll admit that even for someone who loves reading as much as I do, it was difficult to get into. Recently, though, I’ve been reading the daily readings each morning with my daughter, and it’s giving me a new appreciation for Scripture. I finally understand just how precious it is—a book full of messages from God! Why aren’t we more excited about it?

Meg Hunter-Kilmer has a “Bible in a Year” reading plan that I’m going to attempt this year. It may be too much reading to do with my daughter at once, so I may continue with the daily readings with her. But I can’t wait to dive in and hear more of God’s word.

5. Go to Daily Mass (at Least Occasionally)

It’s a win-win: I get to go to Mass more often, and my daughter gets more exposure to Mass and gets used to being there (I have a feeling once she starts crawling, her current peace during Mass will be no more). I’m not fooling myself: There will many, many times that I wonder why I’m going to Mass with a baby on a day I’m not obligated to. But, it seems like it’s worth the effort—for her sake as well as mine.

What are your new year’s resolutions? Have you ever made a resolution that you stuck to? I’d love to hear from you in the comments!

The Lord said to her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things. There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her” (Luke 10:41-42).

I never really related to Christian woman who bemoan their “Martha-ness” and talk about yearning to be more like Mary. Sometimes, I felt like I was a bit of a slacker; after all, when I’m hosting a dinner party, I wait to do the dishes until everyone leaves. I prefer to sit and talk with my guests. The popular refrain is, “I’m so busy!”, and sometimes, it sounds like a humble brag. After all, our culture values productivity, often to the detriment of more important priorities.

So, am I a Mary? In some ways, yes. I do think that if Jesus were at my house, I’d be at his feet, not wanting to miss a thing. That’s how I am with anyone who’s visiting, so of course I’d be like that with the Savior. I’d have some major FOMO if I couldn’t hear every word he was saying. And I think that makes for a good hostess—the tidying up can wait, but your guests will only be there for so long.

Before I rest on my laurels, though, I need to decide what makes a Mary and a Martha in my own context, in my own life. Yes, I do prioritize conversation over task completion when other people are around. But, do I prioritize conversation with God? Am I always joyfully present to the people I love? Too often, the answers to those questions is, “No.”

It takes faith to sit with Jesus now, when his voice isn’t as clear as it was when he walked the earth. It takes patience to listen for it—and patience is not a virtue that comes naturally to me. Sometimes, God makes his voice unmistakeable, shouting from the rooftops to get me to hear. But he wants me to listen, too. He wants me to seek him out, to leave the kitchen and come sit at his feet.

“The Lord was not in the wind; after the wind, an earthquake—but the Lord was not in the earthquake; after the earthquake, fire—but the Lord was not in the fire; after the fire, a light silent sound” (1 Kings 19:11-12).

Sure, sometimes God speaks in a burning bush. But often, as my husband reminded me the other day, he’s not in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire. Often, he speaks in light, silent sounds. He stirs quietly in our hearts. Are we like Martha, banging around with the pots and the pans too loudly to hear? Or, are we like Mary, seeking him out in silence to listen to what he has to tell us?