Motherhood in the Middle of a Medical Crisis

Aug 29

4 min read

By Jenna Schutt

The missed baseball games. The countless times of saying, “Mommy just needs to rest.” Wondering if your children are getting the version of the you they deserve.

All of it can be boiled down to two words:

Mom guilt.

I used to be inundated with it.

As a mom of two young boys, I was diagnosed with a rare, incurable disease when both of my children, just 18 months apart, were still in diapers. They don’t know a life outside of Mommy needing IV chemotherapy, doctor’s appointments, medications, and eventually a stem cell transplant and post-transplant care.

Presence over perfection has always been important, but illness gives those words an entirely new meaning.

Presence means movie nights on the couch.

It means reading one chapter instead of the whole book.

It means sitting beside them during church services, even when your body is exhausted.

This isn’t the mother I wanted to be or expected to be.

But it is the mother I have been called to be.

There has been grief in that calling.

Grief over the life I expected to have. Grief over the activities I thought I would be able to do effortlessly. Grief over the energy I no longer possess.

And yet, gratitude and grief can coexist.

As Ecclesiastes 3:4 reminds us, there is “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.”

I am not sharing this to bring anyone down. I want to bring encouragement.

Because when we begin to base our value solely on what we do—our productivity, the activities we plan for our children, the things we can accomplish—what happens when that productivity has to stop? Not because we want it to, but because our bodies simply cannot do what they once could.

What does our identity look like then?

Who even are we?

I’ll tell you.

You are still you.

Deeply loved.

Chosen.

Valuable.

Worthy of rest.

Worthy of accepting help.

Meals from a meal train.

Friends and family stepping in to drive your children.

Someone helping with laundry.

A neighbor dropping off groceries.

Receiving help is sometimes much harder than giving it. But Galatians 6:2 reminds us to “Carry one another’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

My children are watching me.

But they’re not simply watching what I do.

They’re watching how I do it.

How I handle pressure.

How I:

Navigate real-life disappointments.
Pray.
Choose faith.
Choose peace.
Choose joy in the middle of circumstances I never would have chosen for myself.
Continue showing up to the best of my ability each day.

Most importantly, they know how deeply and truly I love every part of who they are.

If you’re walking through illness, relationship struggles, overwhelming stress, or another difficult season, I want to encourage you:

Ask for help.
Choose connection over perfection.
Celebrate and cherish the ordinary moments.
Keep pointing yourself and your children back to Jesus.
- Back to His strength.
- Back to His love.
- Back to His care.

And back to the joy He so lovingly provides.

If you’re mothering through uncertainty, I want you to know this:

Your children do not need a superhero.

They need YOU.

They need your hugs, your prayers, your laughter, your apologies when needed, and your willingness to trust God right in front of them.

Even in these difficult seasons, God is still writing a beautiful story through your family.

There are things no children should have to normalize, but mine have.

They know what IV infusion days are. They understand what those days mean and how we will handle them together. They know Mommy has doctor’s appointments, medications, and treatments that are necessary to help me heal, function, and keep moving forward.

But through this, they have also learned compassion. They have learned that there are good people, friends, and family members who step in and help carry the load. They are learning to pray and trust God when life is hard. They are learning that they can name what is difficult without being defined by it.

They are learning that courage is not always the absence of fear, but the choice to keep showing up anyway. They are learning that joy is possible, even in some of the most difficult circumstances. And they are learning what it looks like to trust God one day at a time.

Truly trust Him.

And they have learned all of that from me: their mom, their survivor.

This illness may have changed the way I saw myself and the way motherhood looked for me, but it did not take away my ability to love them, teach them, nurture them, or care for them.

And as much as I have taught my children, they have taught me too.

They have shown me what unconditional love looks like. They have given me something undeniable to fight for, live for, and keep going for.

They have taught me that I, right here and right now, am the mother they need.

Not because I can do everything.

Not because I can be everywhere.

But because I am theirs.

Because God chose me to be their mom.

Because I am me.

Jenna Schutt is a former cardiac nurse, stem cell transplant survivor, keynote speaker, and faith-based writer passionate about helping women train peace, faith, and joy. She is the creator of The Joy Reflex™, which is also the title of her forthcoming book, and she shares encouragement through devotionals, speaking engagements, and podcast interviews. Connect with Jenna at jennaschutt.com or follow her on social media for more.