What seems to be just as instrumental in building up (or tearing down) our kids’ self-esteem is so much subtler than I could have predicted: While the words are important, the intention behind my words probably matter more. Children are little detectives, constantly analyzing our tone of voice, facial expressions, and body language to convey meaning—and all it takes is a quick roll of the eyes, an escaped sigh, or a fake smile through gritted teeth to turn “Try it like this instead,” into “You never do anything right.” This is chaos theory at its finest, and I am the butterfly.

Did you know that the average cost for full-time daycare in the United States is $1,100 per month? And that’s IF you can manage to snag an open spot! We’ve built a system that only rich people can opt into, leaving low-income Americans without any options. In other countries around the world, like Denmark and France, childcare is heavily subsidized by the government and surpasses ours in quality.

Maybe you wouldn’t even be able to tell from the outside looking in that I am a complete wreck ninety percent of the time. After all, I’ve got the cute husband and the starter house in the ‘burbs and the work-from-home job that I love. I’ve got the family I’ve always imagined, enough money to live comfortably, and even a bit of travel occasionally thrown in the mix. As my best friend recently reminded me, I’m living the life I once prayed desperately for. So why does it seem like I’m stuck in survival mode?

While most would agree that questioning the tenets of your own belief system is necessary for growth, I can't shake the feeling that my search for the truth looks on some days more like a flat-out rejection of The Truth I've been taught—the same one that's kept me company in my safe little bubble for years. Which leads us back to the idea of faith, and the ability to trust that there's a God who wants me even at my most uncertain.

There was something significant about turning 27, something that I couldn't quite put my finger on. It didn't occur to me as I celebrated with my family in Rayne, or even when I got back home on the evening of my actual birthday. A week later, on a walk around the block to get out of my head, it finally hit me. Twenty-seven. The age you were. The age you'll always be.