Hearing the Sound of My Steps for the First Time: Living in the Beautiful Chaos of Motherhood

Captured for Joanna Colomas Magazine. Please credit if shared. Not for commercial use without written permission.

Journaling…

This morning, for the first time in almost five years, I heard the sound of my own footsteps.
Not in a metaphorical sense—literally.

The soft rhythmic tapping of shoes meeting pavement, uninterrupted. No tiny voice beside me. No questions about beetles or centipedes. No stops to lift rocks in search of ground life. Just my steps. My breath. My pace.
And I realized—I hadn’t heard that sound since before I became a mother.

We chose a parenting path that doesn’t really have a name, or maybe natural parenting, if that is a thing. We just listen to our children, follow our hearts, trust in our Lord, always try to follow our innate instincts, and live close to all of His creations. Some might call it natural parenting, but really, it’s just listening—tuning out what the world expects and following what my children need.

We don’t use strollers, we carry them close. We breastfeed past what’s “normal.” We bedshare. We choose communication over punishment. We don’t send our children to school. We don’t leave them in the care of strangers, not because we think it’s wrong for others, but because we feel deeply called to be the ones to witness them grow, every day, every moment.

My life is devoted to them. And that is a privilege I don’t take lightly. But, it is consuming.

There are no solo showers, no private meals, no unescorted trip to the toilet, no silent workdays, no empty rooms. Even my runs are often shared—my eldest usually jogs beside me, chattering about ants and frogs, stopping to lift stones while I bounce in place. We don’t have nearby family to offer those little breaks, but that’s okay. I chose this for us, and I really want this for us, and feel that’s right. Being with my children 24/7 is not a burden to me—it’s pure joy and what I’ve always dreamed of. An honor. A gift from my husband. A true gift from God.

But even in the deepest joy, there are sacrifices. And I think it’s important to admit that too.

This morning, something shifted.
My son wanted to stay back and look for spiders in the garden. And so, for the first time in years, I ran alone.
No headphones. No interruptions. Just me.

And as I ran, I noticed a sound I had forgotten even existed—my own steps. Crisp, steady, grounding.
It felt oddly familiar, like a memory you don’t realize you missed until it returns. I didn’t get emotional. I didn’t overthink. I simply noticed and listened. And I was so glad I hadn’t brought music.

Running has always felt good to me—liberating, like a fresh wind sweeping through my body. But this time it carried something more: space. A sense of gentle return.

I had just prayed the night before asking God to help me slowly rediscover myself. Not to leave where I am now, nor to rush what is sacred, but to begin weaving my personhood back into the fabric of my motherhood. My second baby is growing now—he’s on the move, wide-eyed and full of wonder. For the first time, I can set him down for a moment, and he’s content. That’s a turning point.

And surely this run was God’s response. No voice beside me. Just the sound of me, still here, somewhere close.

I came home grateful.
Grateful for my boys, for my husband, for this all-consuming, all-rewarding life.
Grateful to be the one they turn to, every hour of the day and night.
Grateful, too, to be reminded that I am not lost. I’m still here, breathing, moving, slowly returning.

And God, in His divine timing, reminded me not with thunder, but with footsteps.

“He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.” — Psalm 23:3

---

Related Reads You’ll Love