Hello Lymphies,
I had a heartfelt conversation with my stepson the other day.
He’s all of nineteen and carrying that familiar, heavy mix of pressure and possibility that seems to come with that age—maybe a little more intensely than most.
From where I sit, it’s a strange thing to try to offer advice. This generation is facing a version of the world that feels more uncertain by the day, and promises fall flat fast. So instead of pretending I had answers, I shared the one thing I know to be absolutely true: no matter what you plan for the future, life has other plans. It will not work out the way you want—or the way you think you want—and thank goddess for that!!
He laughed and said, “Oh yeah, Jess, having step-kids wasn’t in your life plan when you were my age?”
Definitely not. Having kids of any kind was never a box I planned to check. And yet, here I am, thanking my lucky stars every single day that life brought me my family. Being a stepmom has been the greatest honor of my life. I didn’t take it lightly. I showed up. I paid attention. I loved deeply and often, and I loved every minute of it. – so lucky.
What I’m especially proud of—something I somehow had the clarity to recognize in real time—is that I knew the season we were in mattered. I knew that the years we lived under one roof together were precious and fleeting, that one day it would prove harder and harder to get all four of us in the same place at the same time as life pulled them toward school, work, relationships, and their own growing worlds.
I knew we were actively living in “the good old days,” even as they were unfolding. That awareness changed how I showed up. It made me softer, more present, more willing to pause and soak it all in (most days).
It also wasn’t part of my life plan to start a business—one that I half-jokingly refer to as my baby. I know that analogy can feel touchy, especially to those who have carried and raised children in the most literal sense, and I hold a lot of respect for that. But the truth is, Austin Lymphatic has been my obsession, my responsibility, my heart, and my life’s work for over a decade. I poured myself into it in the same way you pour yourself into anything you love fiercely. Before I found this work, I was floating—curious, capable, but unanchored. Then suddenly, purpose arrived all at once, the way it tends to – I started Massage Therapy school two weeks after meeting my now-husband. Life has a funny way of doing that to you.
I once heard that most people wildly overestimate what they can accomplish in a year and deeply underestimate what they can build in five.
Ain’t that the truth. When I look ahead five years, I can’t begin to imagine where we’ll be. And when I write down goals for this time next year, they sometimes feel almost laughable on paper. But what I hope—what I know, actually—is that no matter how quickly things grow or how unexpectedly life unfolds, I want to keep doing it the same way: with care, intention, and heart.
This Mother’s Day feels different for me. Our human kiddos are grown up now and we’re opening our Houston location. With that, I’ve noticed a familiar feeling bubbling up—equal parts excitement, tenderness, and a quiet ache. Austin will always be my baby. It’s where everything began. It holds so many memories, lessons, and growing pains. But just like in life, love doesn’t shrink when it’s shared—it expands. Making room for something new doesn’t mean abandoning what came first. It means trusting that your capacity has grown, even if you didn’t realize it was happening.
I think that’s what motherhood is, in all its forms. It’s caring deeply about something—or someone—outside of yourself. It’s showing up when it’s inconvenient, staying present when it’s hard, and loving without guarantees. It’s a sacrifice. It’s recognizing seasons while you’re in them, and letting go when it’s time, even if your heart tugs back. You don’t have to be a mother by definition to know this feeling. You just have to have loved something with your whole heart and soul.
So today, I want to celebrate all the mothers, stepmothers, caregivers, builders, dreamers, and nurturers—the ones raising children, the ones raising families, the ones raising businesses, communities, ideas, and futures.
The ones who never planned for this life but showed up anyway. May you trust that there is always room for more love and more growth. May you know that the care you give—to anything you hold dear—matters more than you’ll ever fully see.
Happy Mother’s Day Lymphies. 💛 💛
