Some days feel heavier than others. The news scrolls by, full of heartbreak. The world feels too loud, too broken, too much. And in the middle of it all, there we are—moms trying to raise kind kids, hold it all together, and still believe that better days are coming.
I’ve had moments where hope felt like a stranger. Moments when I questioned whether anything I was doing really made a difference. But I’ve learned a few things along the way—lessons that have helped me hold on when everything in me wanted to let go.
Start small.
When the world feels out of control, I turn my attention to what I can control. I water the plants. I write a note to someone I love. I press play on a song that makes me feel something good. Small things are big when they carry intention.
Look around you.
We weren’t made to do life alone. I’ve found that community—real, imperfect, present community—is one of the strongest cures for hopelessness. Whether it’s talking with another mom over coffee or hanging out in the kitchen with my kids, those moments remind me I’m not walking this path by myself.
Let the music speak.
Music has always been my bridge back to hope. A melody can lift what words alone can’t. Whether it’s gospel, classic country, or 80s pop, the right song has a way of reaching places that no pep talk ever could. Music reminds me that others have felt what I’m feeling—and made it through.
Love harder.
When I feel powerless, I remind myself that loving my people well is a form of resistance. It’s not naive to lead with love. It’s brave. Every bedtime story, every lunch packed, every hug offered—it all matters more than we know.
Let yourself rest.
Hope doesn’t grow in burned-out soil. When I’m running on fumes, I’m more likely to give in to despair. So I give myself permission to pause. To breathe. To feel whatever I’m feeling without rushing through it.
Remember the long view.
Hard seasons come, but they also pass. I look back at other hard moments and remind myself that I made it through them. That I’m stronger now. That hope doesn’t always feel like fireworks—sometimes it’s just a quiet whisper saying, “Try again tomorrow.”
Point your kids toward light.
As moms, we carry so much influence. I don’t have to have all the answers. I just have to model the values I want them to grow into—kindness, resilience, and a belief that light still wins. That’s the legacy I want to leave.
Hope doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it’s a hum, a heartbeat, a harmony in the background reminding us that even in the madness, beauty still exists. We just have to keep looking and listening for it.
And when we can’t hear it ourselves, we can sing it for someone else—until they find it again too.
The Music Mom: Eileen Carey 